By Gregory Knight Miskin
Very slowly her eyes began to focus. She felt cold and wet.
Somewhere nearby a deep voice said, “Don’t try to move. You’re going to be fine.” The voice was calm, walling off a rising panic.
A man knelt over her. He draped his suit jacket over her and pressed a folded white handkerchief into her hand. He moved her hand to her neck.
“Keep pressure here.”
He looked at her closely. As he sat up he noticed his hand covered in blood. He looked shocked, and then he slumped down.
He mumbled, with less conviction this time, “It’ll be okay.”
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