DEADLY INTENT
Edmund Stout awoke into darkness. He was lying on his back in some sort of box made of rough-hewn timber, his head wedged into a corner, chin on chest, knees drawn up. His first thought was that he’d been buried alive.
Laraine Stephens
Edmund Stout awoke into darkness. He was lying on his back in some sort of box made of rough-hewn timber, his head wedged into a corner, chin on chest, knees drawn up. His first thought was that he’d been buried alive.