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He sat on the wet grass, watching his life go up in smoke. He looked down at the machine. The brass was dull now, the needles dead. He had bought his life, but he had traded the only place her voice still lived to do it.

Arthur stepped inside, the smell of ozone and old cardboard hitting him like a physical wall. Behind the counter sat Barron—a man who looked less like a shopkeeper and more like a collection of sharp angles wrapped in a faded flannel shirt. barron's best buys

"I need a way to hear her," Arthur said, his voice cracking. He laid a photograph of his late wife on the glass counter. "The recordings I have… they aren't enough. I need to hear what she’s saying now ." He sat on the wet grass, watching his life go up in smoke

Through the static, he heard his own voice, terrified: "Get out of the house, Arthur! The gas—" He had bought his life, but he had

Should we explore what happens when Arthur to confront Barron, or

A heavy click echoed from the basement. The pilot light. The smell of sulfur filled the room.