"So you're the guy, are you?"

If it hadn't been for the brief flicker of motion at the corner of his eye, the voice coming out of the shadows might have made Corwin jump. As it was, he managed to simply turn to face the man seated across from the bed, meeting a desperately challenging stare square on.

The man was big-- that much was obvious even with him seated. Standing, he would have towered a full head above Corwin's height, and he had the look of someone who played college football just as a matter of course. There were dark circles under his eyes, though, and a pinched look across his cheeks. "You don't look like I expected you to."

Corwin gave a thin smile. "You're not the first to say that."

The man gave a quiet snort, then turned his attention to the window, staring out at the lights beyond the glass. "This entire thing is--" he started, and broke off with an angry shake of his head. "It's stupid. It's so fucking stupid. I feel fine. But apparently I'm going to be dead in six months." He turned back and met Corwin's eyes. "Brain tumour. Inoperable."

Corwin nodded slowly. "So I was told."

Now the man rose, and if his shoulders and back had been straight he would have towered as he approached. "They told me my family would be-- provided for, if I did this." He quirked a smile that was thin and twisted and held little real humour. "They also tried to drug me, but I wanted to see the face of the guy who was going to kill me. Just on principle."

Ah, Corwin thought, gritting his teeth. So that's why he's awake. I'm going to have to have a talk with Isabel.

"So you, what," the man said, stopping a few paces in front of Corwin. "You feed on killing people? On death?"

"Something like that."

The man was quiet for a while, then huffed out something like a laugh. "That's got to suck."

The sincerity behind the words surprised Corwin into a smile. "It does have its drawbacks."

"Drawbacks." The man laughed again, a little stronger. "Right. Well, okay." He turned suddenly, walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, placed both hands on his lap and twisted them together like was afraid what they'd do otherwise. "Go ahead. Do it, then."

It was what he'd come there for, something he'd had to do countless times before, but finding himself faced with a perfectly cogent and rational person instead of a simple sleeping body, he had to ask. "Are you sure?"

"Hell yes," came the surprisingly emphatic answer. "I've seen what this does to people, you know. My dad--" He shook his head, just a sharp little movement. "They said I've been lucky so far, that it's going to get a lot worse from here on out-- and you know, I can feel it starting. I won't go through that-- I won't put my family through that, won't make them sit here and watch me rot away in a bed--"

The man took a shaky breath, looking down intently at his clenched hands, then looked up again and met Corwin's eyes determinedly. "So yeah, I'm sure," he finished quietly. "Better to have it done with now, I think, than drag it all out. So if you can, you know--" His throat worked as he tried to say the words. "Make it quick--"

"I can," Corwin said quietly. He waited for the man to let out a long, shaky breath, to close his eyes, then stepped forward, lifted one hand-- and called.

The man gave a little gasp, eyes fluttering once, and slumped over sideways on the bed.

Corwin turned sharply on his heel and left the room.