“If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it the night I left Death Row,” he snarls, his voice so low that it penetrates the marrow of my bones. “I could have slithered out from under your bed and smothered you in your sleep. I could have strangled you with your sheets or stabbed your thick skull. I could have snapped your neck, slashed your jugular vein, or shot you in the stomach.”
