CLICK
The most terrifying truth is not who pulls the strings, but that there are no strings, only a paying audience.
Curtain
The second Heather said "Don't." I wrote something. I don't remember what. The pen moved and the ink went down and I watched it like a man watching his own hand commit a small, ordinary arson. The programme was cheap card stock. The date in the corner was the only print. My letters went in under it like a confession written into a hymnal. Beside me, the first Heather's hand tightened on the rail. Her knuckles went white against the brass. The second Heather stood at the velvet rope with her