“Dude,” the young man who’d moved the truck said. “This wasn’t your fault. That other guy blew the red light and rammed them right into you.”
A tiny moan drifted from the center of the car, so quiet that only Azrael could hear it. Someone was still alive?
“They’re all dead,” the truck driver wept.
No. They weren’t. Someone was still alive. Franz's sister, he presumed. How had he missed the sixth spirit?
Sirens became audible in the distance. Police cars. Slow! Too slow! Now that he knew it was there, he could sense the child’s life force fading by the second. So weak. He could sense the jagged energy of fear. Panic. Pain. It was unlikely anyone could survive such a horrific accident, but Azrael couldn’t bear to leave a child to suffer when one touch from him would alleviate her pain. I
