The hospital room reeked of that weird, institutional freshness that's supposed to make you feel better but only seems to make your nose hairs curl. Like someone had poured a bottle of bleach into the walls and then scrubbed the whole place with a mixture of desperation and regret. The TV in the corner droned on about the weather, but nobody was listening. The anchor's voice was sedative though.

Robert DeLuca lay beneath white sheets, he was too still to look alive if not for the machines ...