Over to You, Michael Marshall Smith
I put the phone down and picked up the bishop. As with any small object whose purpose inherently involves being touched, it was hard not to roll it around in the fingers, and to wonder who else had done so. What with me not being psychic, no answers were forthcoming.
When I touched my finger to the base, it was at least as damp as the day before. Which seemed odd, as the ambient temperature was reasonably high. I raised it to my nose, and thought the smell was a little stronger, too.
I closed my eyes and tried to get closer than Scott’s pretty decent summation. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to me to have something of hospital corridors about it.