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23 April 2001 The phone didn't ring. It hummed a low, subterranean vibration against the faux-wood of the hazel-rimmed bedside table precisely at 03:...

If life, as they say, is like a game of cricket, We're certainly on a sticky wicket. The loose ball will end in a thicket, But vicious bouncers will...

Calizone stepped towards the passage. The man held up a hand to stop her. “No,” he said, his voice shifting from thin and papery to deep and young,...

[Continuing the hymn-for-Sundays series] From out the city came a crowd – with tears, they carry death. They met another crowd, and he who could...