A chill wind found its way through the hospital as emergency-room doors opened and admitted a team of paramedics. They pushed a gurney with a woman whose chest they covered with thick bandages and rushed into the trauma center. The team ran past with their patient. The spectral form of the injured woman followed behind them.
“She’s not going to make it, is she?” Riley asked Death as he continued to nurse his singed hand. The blisters were no longer weeping, but he covered them in the cloth of his shirt. It didn’t stop them from hurting but made him feel better because the shirt prevented him from looking at the wounds.
The excitement surrounding the injured woman’s entrance did not attract the attention of Azrael. He turned from the book when Riley spoke. “Who?” The ghostly image passed
