toast. It was taking him too long to get downtown now. They’d talked about moving but wanted to wait until Liam finished his residency. Amish turned on the radio. He’d been doing a lot of overtime lately. Ever since the FDNY had promoted about nine hundred of their EMTs and paramedics to firefighters, there was a shortage. Everyone wanted to be a firefighter. It paid better, and they didn’t have to spend all day sitting in an ambulance, going on endless calls without breaks. He’d been offered the firefighter promotion. But he loved being a paramedic, despite the shortage of ambulances and the wait time. Manhattan was the worst, and that was where he was.
When he finally got to work and entered the station, there was breakfast on the table. He went to his locker, got dressed, and went to see if he could steal a few pieces of bacon. Some casual conversation with colleagues, a mouthful of scrambled egg, and then he boarded his ambulance.
Sandra Zalinski, his partner, had mentioned recently that she was thinking about the firefighter job, too. “The pay is great,” she was saying now as she drove the ambulance out of the parking lot. “You and Liam could put a down payment on a house. With your salaries, you’d live well, hon.”
“There’s more to life than money,” Amish replied.
They drove through downtown Manhattan, parking the ambulance on Eleventh Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. They knew it wouldn’t be long until they got a call. It came five minutes after they’d parked, a building on thirty-fourth street, two blocks away. Heart attack.
It was a busy day as usual, and they were into overtime. Just before seven that evening, when they were told they could return to base, they got another call.
Sandra sighed. “Here we go again.”
The operator announced, twenty-some-year-old man, in distress, apparent cardiac arrest.
“It’s an apartment building,” Sandra said, putting on the siren. “What number?”
It took a few minutes for the operator to reply to Amish’s inquiry. When she said, not inside, on the roof, his eyes widened. “On the roof?”
“On the roof,” came the reply.
Amish called for back-up. He wasn’t sure what they were facing, and he couldn’t take any chances.
Sandra pulled the ambulance up in front of the building. The buildings in Hell’s Kitchen were, on average, no more than six stories. This one was typical.
“Why in hell would someone be on the roof in this kind of weather?” Sandra muttered, getting out. Amish followed with the equipment. “There must be an exit to the roof.”
Amish took a quick look around the side. “Fire escape is up. We can’t use that. Let’s go.”
They pressed the elevator inside. It seemed to be stuck on the sixth floor. “Come on,” Amish muttered, “we’ll take the stairs. It’s taking too long.”
Winded with the weight of their equipment, they finally reached the top floor and saw the fire exit at the end of the hallway. Amish and Sandra began running. Outside they saw two figures. One was standing, and the other was on the ground. As they got closer, the wind blew so hard Amish was finding it difficult to move forward. The scene became blurred. Snow was coming down again. He saw Sandra kneeling beside the body in the distance, but he felt paralyzed.
A voice spoke in his head. A face loomed near his. Amish, you have to save him. I love him so much. It’s our chance now. Only you can do it. It’s still in you.
The fog cleared. Azrael?
Amish pushed forward again, confused but determined. He began to do what he’d been doing for the past few years, saving a life. Ravish. How did he know him? But he did. He knew them both.
When Ravish opened his eyes, he smiled at Amish. “Hello, my friend.”
Azrael burst into tears.
As the second team arrived and took Ravish down to the ambulance on the stretcher, Azrael remained by his side. Outside on the sidewalk, Amish watched as the vehicle rode away, speechless.
Sandra looked at him. “You all right?”
Amish nodded.
“What were they doing on the damn roof?” she asked.
Amish shook his head.
“Did you know him?”
“No, I—yes, I think so. Maybe. Long ago.”
“I don’t know how you managed to bring him back,” Sandra said, getting behind the wheel. “He’d been gone a while. No signs of life at all. Not the first time you’ve done that, you know.”
Amish blinked. “What?”
“Brought someone back from the dead. You’re a God-damned genius, Amish. I don’t think you should give it up for anything.