In which Count trumps King.

"You should stay in Cleveland"

The voice was icy and tinged with an accent. It broke the monotony of the dribble's piercing sledge.

"You wouldn't make in in Europe."

LeBron stumbled, ankles broken -- he heard the swish of a simple layup behind him.

For all his trash talk, Dracula's voice soothed him. Maybe because he could no longer hear his own voice - neither his grunts when feeling his way to the basket, nor his childish scream when he first felt the needles on his throat.