It seemed nice and well run. I caught a glimpse of Rahim in one of the curtained-off areas of the emergency room. He was conscious, with IVs in each arm. I started toward him, but was stopped by a woman in scrubs who, while pleasant, was very firm. “Let her in.” Rahim’s words were a little slurred. “She is with me.” The woman stepped aside, but the look she gave me was unfriendly. I stepped close to his bed. The circumstances didn’t allow for privacy, but the place was busy enough that there was plenty of background noise. Plus there was a fair amount of whirring and beeping from the machines Rahim was hooked up to, the ones that kept track of his vitals. “You had them call an ambulance. Why? You could have left me to die.” He kept his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t think that didn’t occur to me,” I answered. “But, like it or not, you’re the Guardian. I want Hasan back in the jar. You’re my best bet for seeing that happen.” He nodded. “But, for the record, I quit.
