Arson was too clean.It was reckless, noisy, and it would put me in a state penitentiary before I could hold my daughter’s hand when her heart gave out.
More importantly, it was the weapon of a desperate victim.
And I hadn’t been a victim in thirty years.
I backed down the flagstone driveway, vanished into the tree line, and drove toward the hospital with the accelerator pinned to the floorboards.
By the time I reached the fourth floor, the crash cart was already being wheeled out of Room 412.The blue strobe in the hallway had shut off.
Two nurses stood by the biohazard bin, stripping off sweat-soaked nitrile gloves with hollow, vacant eyes.
Dr.Miller stood at the foot of Chloe’s bed, his stethoscope draped loosely around his neck, looking at the floor.
“Dr.Miller,” I said, my voice unnervingly flat.
He flinched, looking up.“Samantha… her rhythm degenerated into ventricular fibrillation twenty minutes ago.
