I knew my way to St. Anthony's emergency room. I'd been there too many times. I shoulderedopen the familiar swinging glass door. It was stenciled EMERGENCY, but the letters werepeeling away and there were nail scratches on the glass.

“We're here, Marcus. We're at the hospital,” I whispered to the little boy, but he didn't hearme. He was unconscious now.

“I need some help here! People, I need help with this boy!” I shouted.

The Pizza Hut delivery man would have gotten more attention. A bored-looking security guardglanced my way and gave me his practiced, flat-faced stare. A shabby stretcher clatteredloudly down the halls of medicine.

I saw nurses I knew. Annie Bell Waters and Tanya Hey-wood, in particular.

“Bring him right here.” Annie Waters quickly cleared a way once she sized up the situation.

She didn't ask me any questions as she pushed other hospital workers and the walking woundedout of our path.

We sailed past the reception desk, with SIGN IN HERE in English, Spanish, and Korean. Ismelled hospital antiseptic on everything.

“Tried to cut his throat with a gravity knife. I think he nicked the carotid artery,” I saidas we rushed down a crowded, puke-green corridor that was thick with faded signs: X-RAY,TRAUMA, CASHIER.

We finally located a room about the size of a clothes closet. The young-looking doctor whorushed in told me to leave.

“The boy's eleven years old,” I said. “I'm staying right here. Both his wrists are cut. It's asuicide attempt. Hold on, baby,“ I whispered to Marcus. ”Just hold on, baby.”

CHAPTER 3.

CLICK! Casanova popped the trunk latch of his car and peered into the wide, shiny-wet eyesstaring out at him. What a pity. What a waste, he thought as he looked down at her.