Amon turned to her awkwardly. 'Look, I'm sorry, Sunni. I know you're worried sick about your dad but if we don't get Jack—'
'He's here,' she said, dully. 'Dad's here.' She was walking through the operating room.
Ava quickly followed her.
A man who looked to be about sixty was slumped back in a chair, looking up at the ceiling, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. The spit trail from his sagging mouth sparkled in the harsh surgical lights. Ava recalled the comforting smell of cherry tobacco in Walker's car and tried to reconcile the homely image it had conjured in her mind with this harsh, haggard apparition before her now.
'Dad?' Sunni took his uncomprehending fist in her hand. 'Dad, it's me!'
His eyes came down from the ceiling to regard her glassily. 'Who are you?' he asked.
Sunni recoiled as if he'd struck her. 'It… it's me, Dad.'