Holding the envelope, Daniel slowly staggered back to the hospital. He desperately tried to picture the stranger's face—a Michael, someone with a smiling face, a perfect look, attractive hair, and defined eyebrows—now lying six feet underground, being covered by earth.
The way he shuddered was profound, and the thought itself was vile. How could someone as sweet as that Michael be destined to die so soon? Life was profoundly unfair. People like Adrian, who was as malicious as the devil, were still breathing—though Daniel doubted for how long. But it was people like Adrian who were supposed to be killed, not a sweet soul like Michael.
Still wearing the jacket and clutching the test results, he walked to the ICU room and saw that it was finally open.
Through the open door, he saw Draven. He lay on the bed, lifeless, with tubes connected to his nose and mouth to aid his breathing.
