Jane Doe had lain unclaimed in the morgue, unwanted and unloved.
But right now she was helping me save Phoebe, and despite myself I couldn’t help loving her just a little for it.
She deserved better.
The second I hauled Jane off the gurney, her feet slipped free. I winced at the double thud they made against the ground, but at least I was able to ignore the pain in my lower back enough to ease her head to the concrete.
The person that Jane Doe had been was gone. I knew that. What I had brought was only remnants.
I whispered “Thank you” before rising to my feet.
Then I raised one hand protectively before me. Seized the gurney with the other.
And tromped towards the inner door, and the fire’s growing growl, as quickly as I dared.
My lower back burned. The checklist had called for me
