Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey. -Lord Byron
Multi-colored, hard-backed plastic chairs line the walls. All of the furniture is bolted down to the buffed, shiny tiled floor. I follow Drake to the hospital information station. The receptionist's desk is framed in a clear plexiglass with an amber tint.
"Can I help you?" a woman asks.
"Yes, a man was brought in with a gunshot wound to the shoulder." Drake leans down. "The last name is Shaffer. Paul Shaffer.
"Ahh," she says, "let me see. Are you family?"
"No, he works for me."
"I'm sorry, Sir, but only family is allowed with the patient."
"I'm family." I blurt the words out, not sure where the words came from.
The middle-aged woman narrows her eyes, then she purses her lips into a thin line of red lipstick.
"Yea don't say," the woman says.