Chapter 5 - A Encounter by Chance
Three weeks after the collapse, Owen began walking the streets himself.
His doctors advised against it, but he felt an overwhelming restlessness. He walked down Fifth Avenue, then turned onto Madison, then Lexington, wandering into the poorer neighborhoods of East Harlem and the Lower East Side where the glass skyscrapers yielded to fire escapes and crumbling brick.
He was looking for a yellow jumpsuit.
It was a cold Tuesday afternoon when he stepped into a small, dimly lit pharmacy on 116th Street to escape a sudden downpour.
At the counter, a little girl was standing on her tiptoes, trying to hand a handful of crumpled dollar bills and quarters to the pharmacist behind the glass.
"Please, sir," the little girl was saying. "Just three pills. That's all the money I have."
The pharmacist, an overworked middle-aged man, shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I can't split a prescription bottle. The computer won't let me, and the medication costs two hundred dollars."
"My mom is really sick," the child pleaded. Her voice cracked, but she didn't cry. "She fell down yesterday. I gave her water, but she needs the medicine."
Owen, standing near the back aisle, froze.
The voice.
It was the same rhythm. The same solemn, steady pitch he had listened to on the emergency recording.
He stepped forward, his heart hammering against his ribs far faster than it had during his cardiac arrest. He looked down.
The little girl was wearing a faded yellow jumpsuit with frayed cuffs. Her sneakers had peeling rubber at the toes.
May you like
"Excuse me," Owen said, his voice trembling.
The little girl turned around. Her wide, brown eyes looked up at him—innocent, exhausted, and fiercely protective.
