The Bluest Blue (XI)

The man in the gray suit unfolded impossibly long legs as he got out of the car. Brian just stared as the stranger stood up, all seven feet or so of him. He towered at least one foot taller than Brian, who felt dwarfed despite his own height of 6”1’.

“God, you must be seven feet!” That was the best Brian could come up with at the moment. His brain had stopped functioning properly a while ago.

The stranger laughed loudly, revealing large white teeth. “That’s nothing. In your other form, you were much taller.”

For a moment the two men stood there in the parking garage of the office building, silent and unmoving. Brian was aware that this man, this so-called Henry Davenport, was staring at him unblinking, unflinching, but he was also aware that it was without malice or intimidation behind it. The man had an aura of calm about him that instantly put Brian at ease.

“Shall we go somewhere to speak? We have a lot of catching up to do,” the man suggested in his well-modulated voice. Brian found himself agreeing.

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