“You work in this place, or what?” The cop pounded again. “Jimmy, it’s Oz, open the door! Open the goddamn door!”

At first nobody said anything from the other side. Then, faintly, Mike thought he could hear a voice droning. He struggled to listen, but couldn’t even tell who it was, let alone what was being said. Again he wished Sarah were here; she probably could’ve figured it out with ease. One of her favorite tricks when they had first started dating was identifying accidental notes in nature, the A-flat of a truck brake, the G-sharp of a fork hitting the floor. Any playful times were long gone, but Mike hadn’t realized until now how much he still relied on her hearing. Life without it was sometimes like a foreign movie without subtitles.

Repko and the other officer were glancing around anxiously, but Oz had apparently already made his decision.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s break the mother down.”

Before the others could respond, the power on the sixth floor flickered, and in the space of a heartbeat, the walled-off, windowless passage fell into total darkness. Mike sucked in a quick breath of surprise and the lights came back on. Later, looking back on that first moment of blindness—surely no longer than a second or two—he thought he remembered an odd coppery flavor fluttering over the back of his tongue, no longer even panic but true fright.

Talk about worst-case scenarios, he thought, a blackout at a time like this…

But there was no need to worry. The power was back. He shoved the thought out of his mind and stood clear, watching as the cops prepared to knock down the door.

11.

By the time Sarah heard Jolie coming up the hall behind her toward the ER entrance, it was too late to pretend she hadn’t noticed her. Jolie was carrying a grocery bag, walking alongside one of the cops, an older one with a gray mustache.

“What happened to the kid?” Jolie asked.

“He hit his head.”

“He all right?”

Sarah adjusted her grip on Eli, not wanting Jolie to see his face. She looked like the kind of woman who would have something to say about a three-year-old sucking his thumb, and right now Sarah wasn’t in the market for outside opinions on parenting, even from a doubtless expert like Jolie. She turned and headed for the exit.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Hang on a second.”

Sarah slowed her pace but didn’t look back.

“I’m pretty sure there’re icepacks in one of the storage closets on the other side of the ER,” Jolie said. “I could go get one if you’d like. I think Officer McPhee here would be happy to wait with you.”

The cop—McPhee—shrugged. “Sure thing.”

Sarah stopped, feet frozen at the door while she reevaluated the lump on Eli’s head, an ugly purple eye of accusation. Ice would probably make a difference on the long ride home.

“Well, you want me to get one?”