Turnout

Calvin stepped into his room, his head in whirlwinds of both anxiety and confusion. What had he just watched? That which he had just watched take place with Lizzie floating over her bed, bathed in green luminescence, would fit well in a nightmare or maybe in a mystery that he hadn't even started to fathom yet.

He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the wall, on which he saw only ghosts of things passed. Was it the necklace? Was it that now Miranda Dew—full and fat but a decent figure, as those things go—had given him the thing? It loomed large in his thoughts. Had she foreknowledge of what it could do? Was it a gift or a curse?

Calvin shook his head to loosen the ironed unease. But she loved the chain, thinking it represented the link developed and the shared love between them. There was no way he would dispossess her of it, not until he learned more about what was happening at that moment.

"Later to consider," he murmured, then to the intonation, the resolve seemed abjected. He
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