Other people arrived and crowded around. Ted heard snatches of the conversation. Two women may have been arguing. The word “insulin” was repeated more than a few times. He was beginning to feel a touch more alert, better able to connect with the world, so he explained that the man he had fought with had punched him outside the elevator at the courthouse. He wasn’t sure why it was important to impart this information at that moment, but he wanted to help. But the words didn’t flow as easily as he imagined them coming out. His tongue seemed to have quadrupled in size and developed a primitive yet independent mind of its own.

“I’m Dr. Cox. You’re going to be okay, Mr. Molloy.” The speaker was a glossy-skinned woman with long thick hair the color of ebony. She was very young.

“I got shot,” he said. No, not shot. Something else. Another word. It didn’t matter. Did it?

“We think you were injected with insulin, but we don’t know how much. The effects may last some time as it works through your system, but the needle did not pierce any major blood vessels. A subcutaneous dose is rarely fatal.”

Rarely. He would have been alarmed, but he was finding that he didn’t care. Everything seemed pointless.

The head nurse pushed her way to his side. “Here. Hard candy. Jolly Ranchers. Keep it in your mouth. Don’t swallow it.”

“He won’t like it,” said a woman’s priggish voice from the back of the crowd.

“Fig Newton,” he said. He hadn’t eaten one in decades, but right then it was the most important thing in the universe.

“What did he say?”

“Here. Here.” The nurse forced a candy through his lips.

Grape. He hated grape. He opened his mouth and let the candy fall out. He needed to get that awful taste out of his mouth. He asked for more soda.

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying.” It was the woman with the nice hair. She sounded nice. But she was too young to be a doctor. “Drink this and you’ll feel better soon.” The cup came up to his mouth, and he gulped down another eight ounces of Mountain Dew. “Can you eat?”

“No. Please. No.” Ted did not want any more grape disasters forced into his mouth.

“So? Was it a stroke?” Another new voice. Male. Older. The man’s breath smelled of cigarettes and coffee.

“No. Insulin shock. Can I ask you to stand back, please?”

The nice male nurse spoke again. “A lollipop would be perfect.”