He stepped gracefully aside, because he knew I had a plan, but his voice whispered through my head, Be careful, ma petite. It was all mist and softcottony fog. I fought to wake up enough to say something, and it took more effort than was pretty. The light was now pulsing out of his eyes in two great round beams.
I laughed, and it wasn't joyous now. It just lay there glinting in the overhead lights. The dark-haired guy who'd been so sullen turned out to be ex-army, so his prints came up. Blotches of diseased, evil graycome and go on my surface, as though light is being beamed from within.
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