OVERCOOKED

… El saw the black hole. Perfect, round, like from a hole punch. Blood pulsed from the wound in a slowing rhythm; the geysers were over.

Not knowing what he was doing, El clamped his hand to the man’s wound and pressed down. Hard. The blood seeping against his palm felt warm, like water from a tap. When his hand slipped in the slickness he readjusted and kept pressing.

He barely heard the other cop screaming into his mike, calling for help. Yelling at the crowd. “You assholes. Goddammit! You assholes.” Imploring his partner. “Come on Charlie, hang in there. Hang in there.”

… By the time the paramedics had hold of him, trying to yank him away from the fallen man, his whole left side blazed with heat, like he’d burst into flame any second.

… Eldridge had a pretty good idea what had happened. He scooted on his butt to the side of the building and pressed his back against the cold glass. Good-bye street magician and hello—what? Doctor? Healer? God?