![]() ![]() ![]() It shifted its weight in the folding chair, and its good eye lolled up to look at her face. It grunted, a flatulent gasp of rotten breath, and scowled down at its manacled hands. "As near as we can tell, Mister Beauchamp." "And I died in two thousand twelve?" it asked, wheezing. "It’s twenty sixty-seven, Mister Beauchamp." The corpse scowled, the pallid flesh of its forehead wrinkling in concentration under the single naked bulb. "And how old are you now?" She poised the pen above the clipboard. "Thank you," she said to the creature, making no sign that she’d heard the command. Bhim Raychaudhuri smiled appreciatively at the view and spoke into the microphone wired to her ear bead. She crossed her legs and rested the clipboard between her knee and the folding table, unknowingly flashing her slip to the men behind the mirror. Demonic Visions 50 Horror Tales Chris Robertson 9.99 Paperback Add to Basket Transformation in Troubled Chris Robertson 22.50 Paperback Add to Basket Demonic Visions 50 Horror Chris Robertson 7.33 Paperback Printed Circuit Board Designer's Chris Robertson 71. The lights flickered as the air circulators shuddered to life in the depths of the bunker, filling the observation room with a faint scent of bleach and formaldehyde. Joan jotted down the response, then chewed pensively on the tip of her red pen. "Twenty-seven," the corpse replied, more gurgle than speech, as it gazed idly around the interview room. The scientists watched her behind the one-way mirror, hands clasped behind their backs. "And how old were you when you died, Mister Beauchamp?" Joan Rothman asked, leaning back in her chair. ![]()
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