Once or twice a minute Horton’s computer chimed to announce the arrival of another e-mail demanding urgent attention. The calls, faxes, and e-mail were coming in nonstop. With the FDA approval hearing for her brainchild Oraloxin only weeks away, it was now crunch time. But in spite of the looming deadlines, Horton had spent the past half hour staring beyond her screen saver—her cat lying upside down on the bed and scratching at the air—at the ominous gray skies. She imagined how it would feel to climb out the window of her eighteenth-floor office and simply let go. Would those last moments—her body tumbling and ears ringing—be peaceful? she wondered. Or would they be seconds of sheer terror, equal parts panic and regret?

The thoughts of bridges, buildings, and pills had resurfaced in the past days. But they weren’t nearly as compelling as the time eight years earlier when she reached such a low that she had no choice but to overdose on tranquilizers, an act that landed her in an ICU, followed by a month in the psychiatric ward. No. Her mood was now stable enough. She had been diligently taking her anti-depressants. She decided that the morbid suicidal fantasies represented her brain’s idiosyncratic way of facing the mounting stress. The fatigue didn’t help, either. Ever since she heard about the two chimps in her lab, sleep had become elusive. And she remembered from her time in med school how much havoc poor sleep could wreak on the psyche.

Horton was thankful for the knock at her door that pulled her back into the moment. She looked up to see Dr. Neil Ryland standing in the doorway. The mere sight of him chased the dark musings from her mind.

“How you coping, El?” Ryland asked as he wandered into the room.

Horton smiled at the stocky microbiologist. They had worked together on the development of Oraloxin for more than five years, long before SeptoMed expressed interest. Ryland’s steady presence had made Horton’s jump from the university to private industry far less lonely. “Okay, Neil.” She hit a button on the keyboard and her cat was replaced onscreen by the Oraloxin logo. “And you?”

“Fine. But I don’t have all that celebrity stuff to deal with.” He waved his hand in front of him. “Don’t get me wrong, El. I’d rather have a bad case of the clap than all that bull you have to put up with. You can keep your Nobel Prize. I like my privacy.”

“Nobel Prize. Right!” Horton shook her head and laughed. “But you can’t stay out of the limelight that easily.”

“Believe me, nobody wants to see me in bright lights.” He shrugged, his eyes downcast and cheeks pink with boyish bashfulness.