Two woman sit on the reception desk in a crowded ICU. No one seems to mind or even acknowledge the heavy-set African-American woman and petite red-head who don't seem like they belong there. "Ahh, Tess," the young woman says with a sweet smile and a gentle Irish accent. "I just love hospitals, don't you? It's a place of faith, a place of healing, a place where lives are brought into this world and where they're lovingly carried into the next." The African-American woman laughs. "Angel-girl, there are a lot of people in this world who don't share your fondness of hospitals. Human beings, you see, tend to remember the bad more than the good. And, baby, if you don't have faith, a hospital sure can seem like a lot of bad."
Suddenly, a man in a white suit and long hair starts walking up the hallway toward the two women. "Monica, Tess," he says with a smile. "Andrew," Monica answers, returning his smile. "Hey, Angel-Boy, making your rounds, I see," Tess says, giving him a hug. Andrew's humor fades slightly. "Actually, I was just called-off." Monica's brow furrowed at his words. "I wouldn't think that the angel of death has many vacation days."
"I don't usually have any," Andrew says with a shrug. "But I wasn't exactly 'called-off' more than reassigned." Tess' face shows confusion, an expression it doesn't usually betray. "Reassigned? Reassigned to where?" she asks.
"No, I'm still assigned here, just in a different capacity."
"What kind of capacity?" Monica asks, unsure why a bad feeling has just creeped into the pit of her stomach.
"He didn't say."
"Who didn't say?" Tess asks with suspicion in her voice.
"I'm not sure. But I assume he's one of the higher-ups. Here he comes now," Andrew says, pointing to the man coming up the hallway.