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Phantom by Kristine Kathryn Rusch 1. He pushed open the auditorium door _(the whisper of old pine echoed in the silence as, up onstage, silver glistened)_ and stood with his hands on the cushioned metal seat at the end of Aisle Z. Someone had carpeted the great room and added false wooden arches. The hall's perfect acoustics _(a single, startled grunt resounded in the stillness)_ had been sacrificed to an ignorant remodeler's whim. Martin stepped over the seat and then sat down. The other rows were well spaced and curved down toward the stage. From this spot he would be able to see everything clearly. Not that he wanted to. Being in the Dixon left him with a vague feeling of unease. He could see Terry standing next to the piano, his hair combed back in a greasy ducktail that Elvis Presley would have been proud of. Terry haunted the Dixon for Martin, and so did a knife, a long, slender |
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