"Well, I've never met anyone who survived an encounter with the Reaper."
"I came pretty close to not surviving."
"Close doesn't count. You made it. You're alive."
"I guess I am. It seems hard to believe. In fact, I'm not sure I do believe it yet. Any of it. It's like.... like a dream."
He grunted. "I wish it were. For your sake and mine and.... everybody's. How's your throat?"
She touched the bandage self-consciously. "It hurts a little. But it's not serious. The garrote"— she drew a quick breath—"didn't cut very deep."
"Garrote?" He sat on the edge of his desk, leaning forward, and flipped open a memo pad. "Is that the weapon he used?"
"Uh-huh. Why? Does he usually do it some other way?"
"We've never known what the weapon was. I'd assumed it was a knife for, uh, for various reasons. But there was no way to tell."
"Oh. Of course." No heads, she remembered. Her stomach rolled.
