2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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Haustin waited for Abel outside Midtown General Hospital, travel mug in hand. Coming here was the one positive thing he had going in his life, the single aspect he controlled. Despite being an unremarkable father, Haustin loved kids, and whenever he lost a child in a fire, it haunted him for weeks, thus the visits to the pediatric burn ward. The senselessness of death dogged his heels, and he learned early on, he needed a place to funnel the anger, other than drinking and beating the crap out of random guys at the bar.
All you have to do is call Yael and grab another bright spot, a voice inside his head reprimanded, but he had messed that up already.
The scrap of paper she wrote her number on went with him everywhere, folded in his pocket, and ripped right across the last two digits from when he'd crumpled it up. He sensed it now warm against his hip, a reminder of his quick trigger anger. It'd be easy to swallow his pride and see if Alex could get the number from his girlfriend, but he didn't see a relationship between him and Yael working. They came from two different worlds, and spending time with her might be amazing for a while, but sooner or later, he'd fuck it up. He was an expert at that. Besides, if he did decide to give it a shot, he hadn't exactly been charming the other night. He doubted she'd even take the call.
"I never understand why we have to do this so early on our day off," Abel complained as he ambled over, a large sack slung over his shoulder and reminding Haustin of an Italian Kris Kringle—minus the beard.
"The burn ward is pretty strict on visiting hours," Haustin reminded his buddy. "Did you get new bears, Santa?"
"Yep." Abel's face lit up, proving his grumbling was just for show. "And they're much better than the last ones."
He set the bag down and reached in, pulling out a seven-inch tall FDNY teddy bear, complete with bunker pants, boots, and helmet. Haustin took the toy, pleased to find it plusher than the previous batch.
"Kids will love these." He handed it back. "Let's go."
They entered the hospital, riding the elevator to the fourth floor, and began the long process of washing up, donning surgical masks, hospital gowns, and sterilized booties over their shoes. They left the bag at the nurse's station, taking along a handful of bears. Haustin stepped through the doors and instinctively began breathing shallower. For newcomers, the scent of burnt flesh mixed with sanitizer could be overwhelming. In his line of work, he had, unfortunately, become immune.
The first patient they came across was Sierra, a six-year-old girl who'd been the victim of her teenage babysitter's neglect. Third-degree burns covered seventy-five percent of her body, and over the last two weeks, Haustin hadn't noticed much improvement.
Sharon, her mother, met them at the door with a small, wavering smile. "You don't have to keep visiting."
They didn't. Sierra wasn't even their save, but she could have been.
