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an
"undead killer." Which, of course, I'm not.
What I am is a ruthless opportunist.
I needed the physical and emotional contact of a bite to
influence his thinking directly, but I could, by God, intensify
whatever emotions he was already feeling.
So I bought Jim Decker tickets for a guilt trip and sent him
on his way.
He was bloody well going to close those curtains before I
got through with him.
Luckily, he'd been well on the road to doing it anyway,
having rationalized that I was too stubborn to tell him anything.
It took me only about five minutes to get him to the window. As
I watched through slitted lids, he pulled the shade down and
closed the thick curtains, shutting off the blinding assault.
My body is tough; the headache and nausea began to fade
almost instantly as the room fell into shadow. Of course, I was
still weak as a wine cooler, so I wouldn't be breaking any
handcuffs anytime soon.
So, for lack of anything better to do, I went back to
probing him as he hovered by the window. And almost wished I
hadn't.
Decker was regretting the impulse to c
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