March 1951
It took four men to carry the body into the police station. I opened the door for them, the cold rain falling from the grey October sky stinging my face like nettles. The men struggled to maneuver their burden up the slick marble steps. As they squeezed by me in the narrow entryway, I caught a whiff of the wet wool fug of the army blanket wrapped around the corpse. They carried it past me into the small waiting room that housed my desk, an ancient filing cabinet and a hot plate plugged in near the radiator. The American flag crisscrossed with the blue Maine flag on the wall next to the front door. Water fell from the sodden edge of the blanket. Plink, plink on the concrete floor.
A young woman in 1940's Los Angeles attends a seance that has unexpected - and possibly fatal - consequences.
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