“Ah, Jesus,” Monk said, forcing himself through the opening, kneeling down, bending close. “Ah, Jesus, Patty…”
His words were gruff, his tone gentle and sad. He gathered her in his arms and picked her up. She weighed nothing at all. Tears ran from her eyes but her lids were closed. She shivered constantly and her golden skin was patterned with goose bumps. Monk held her close, sharing his animal warmth with her. Patty was so cold. Like death, but not yet dead.
She turned her face into the cleft between his chin and shoulder and began to weep. Much harder and louder than before. Big, terrible sobs that punched jagged holes in the walls of the new day.