Errol's hand tightened on the Zelazny book when he heard Preston's voice. He hadn't heard that voice in years, but it was a hard one to forget when he'd heard it nearly every day for so long, and when it had been the last he'd heard before he'd died.
His face went blank out of habit as he assessed the situation. The guns he'd taken to carrying again were hidden behind the counter, since there was no place easy or comfortable to hide them in his polo shirt and khakis. He might be able to defend himself, or at the very least dodge behind something to buy himself some time if Preston pulled out his own guns and started shooting. He was suddenly very glad that the bookstore was empty save for the two of them.
Except... except that the look on his face and the sound of that whisper weren't something that came from someone still on Prozium. There was something different about Preston now. By the time they'd both glanced down at the book and back up, Errol had untensed slightly and lost the blank look, now furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity. "Preston?"