After having called the ambulance and given Duncan ’s address, Sara had returned to Duncan ’s side. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d remembered that something should be put in a convulsing person’s mouth to keep him from biting his tongue. But try as she might, she’d not been able to pry apart Duncan ’s clenched teeth.

Just before the EMTs arrived, Duncan finally stopped convulsing. At first Sara had been relieved, but then she noticed with renewed alarm that he was not breathing. Wiping the foam and a bit of blood from his mouth, she tried to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but she found herself fighting nausea. By then some of Duncan ’s hallway neighbors had appeared. To Sara’s relief, one man said he’d been a corpsman in the navy, and he and a companion graciously took over the CPR until the EMTs arrived.

Sara could not imagine what had happened to Duncan. Only an hour earlier he’d called her and had asked her to come over. She thought he’d sounded a little tense and strange, but even so she’d been totally unprepared for his state once she got there. She shuddered again as she saw him standing before her in the doorway with his bloodied hands and arms and his dilated, wild eyes. It was as if he’d gone insane.

Sara’s last glimpse of Duncan came after they’d arrived at the Manhattan General. The EMTs had allowed her to ride in the ambulance. Throughout the whole hair-raising trip, they’d maintained the CPR. The last she’d seen of Duncan was when he’d been rolled through a pair of white swinging doors, disappearing into the inner recesses of the emergency unit. Sara could still see the EMT kneeling on top of the gurney and continuing the chest compressions as the doors swung closed.

“Sara Wetherbee?” a voice asked, rousing Sara from her reverie.

“Yes?” Sara said as she looked up.

A young doctor sporting a heavy five o’clock shadow and a white coat slightly splattered with blood had materialized in front of her.