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Phillip Quinn died at the age of thirteen Since the overworked and underpaid staff at the Baltiency room zapped hi

As far as he was concerned, it was plenty long enough

What had killed him, briefly, were two 25-caliber bullets puh the openof a stolen Toyota Celica The finger on the trigger had belonged to a close personal friend—or as near to a close personal friend as a thirteen-year-old thief could claim on Baltimore's bad streets

The bullets missed his heart Not by h

That heart, young and strong, though sadly jaded, continued to beat as he lay there, pouring blood over the used condoutter on the corner of Fayette and Paca

The pain was obscene, like sharp, burning icicles stabbing into his chest But that grinning pain refused to take him under, into the release of unconsciousness He lay awake and aware, hearing the screams of other victiines, and his own ragged and rapid breaths

He'd just fenced a small haul of electronics that he'd stolen from a third-story walk-up less than four blocks away He had two hundred fifty dollars in his pocket and had swaggered down to score a diht Since he'd just been sprung froone quite so smoothly, he'd been out of the loop And out of cash

Now it appeared he was out of luck

Later, he would re, Shit, oh, shit, this hurts! But he couldn't seeotten in the way He knew that The bullets hadn't beencolors in that frozen three seconds before the gun had fired His own colors, when he bothered to associate his that roamed the streets and alleys of the city

If he hadn't just popped out of the system, he wouldn't have been on mat corner at that moment He would have been told to stay clear, and he wouldn't now be sprawled out, puutter

Lights flashed—blue, red, white The screah the slick haze of pain his instinct was to run In his ile, street-smart, and ht had cold sweat sliding down his face

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and fingers probed until they reached the thready pulse in his throat

This one's breathing Get the paramedics over here

Someone turned him over The pain was unspeakable, but he couldn't release the screa over hirihts burned his eyes So sobs

Hang in there, kid

Why? He wanted to ask why It hurt to be there He was never going to escape as he'd once pro red into the gutter What had coliness What was noas only pain

What was the damn point?

he went away for a while, sinking down below the pain, where the world was a dark and dingy red From somewhere outside his world came the shriek of the sirens, the pressure on his chest, the speeding motion of the ambulance

Then lights again, bright white to sear his closed lids And he was flying while voices shouted on all sides of him

Bullet wounds, chest BP's eighty over fifty and falling, pulse thready and rapid In and out Pupils are good

Type and cross-match We need pictures On three One, two, three

His body seey red was going gray A tube was pushing its way down his throat and he didn't bother to try to cough it out He barely felt it Barely felt anything and thanked God for it

BP's dropping We're losing him

I've been lost a long tiht

With vague interest he watched thereen-suited people in a small room where a tall blond boy lay on a table Blood was everywhere His blood, he realized He was on that table with his chest torn open He looked down at himself with detached sympathy No more pain now, and the quiet sense of relief nearly made him smile

He floated higher, until the scene below took on a pearly sheen and the sounds were nothing but echoes

Then the pain tore through him, an abrupt shock that made the body on the table jerk, that sucked hile to pull aas brief and fruitless He was inside again, feeling again, lost again

The next thing he knew, he was riding in a drug-hazed blur So The rooht filtered through a pane of glass that was spotted with fingerprints Machines beeped and suckedonly to escape the sounds, he rolled back under

He was in and out for two days He was very lucky That's what they told him There was a pretty nurse with tired eyes and a doctor with graying hair and thin lips He wasn't ready to believe them, not when he was too weak to lift his head, not when the hideous pain swarmed back into him every two hours like clockwork

When the two cops came in he ake, and the pain was smothered under a few layers of lance His instincts weren't so dulled that he didn't recognize the walk, the shoes, the eyes He didn't need the identification they flashed at him

"Gotta sh He had a low-grade desperation for nicotine even though he doubted he could arette

"You're too young to smoke" The first cop pasted on an avuncular smile and stationed hiht wearily