How long Peter Evans stared at the carpet he did not know. The arm of the chair pressing against his chest impeded his breathing, but it was becoming more difficult to breathe in any case. Images from his life flashed into consciousness—the basement where he played with his first computer, the blue bicycle that was stolen the same day he got it, the boxed corsage for his senior prom date, standing up in Professor Whitson’s con law class, his legs shaking, while old Whitson took him apart—

“Peter? Hel-lo? Peter?”

—and terrorized him, they were all terrorized by Whitson, and the dinner that was the final interview for his LA job, where he spilled soup all over his shirt and the partners pretended not to notice, and—

“Peter? Peter! What are you doing there? Peter? Get up, Peter.”

He felt hands on his shoulders, burning hot hands, and with a grunt he was hauled back into sitting position. “There, that’s better.” Janis peered at him, her face inches from his. “What’s the matter with you? What did you take? Talk to me.”

But he could not talk. He could not move at all. She was wearing a leotard top and jeans and sandals. If she moved to one side, she was out of his field of view.

“Peter?” A puzzled tone. “I think something is really wrong. Have you been doing ecstasy? Did you have a stroke? You’re too young for a stroke. But it could happen, I guess. Especially with your diet. I told you no more than sixty-five grams of fat a day. If you were a vegetarian you would never have a stroke. Why don’t you answer me?”

She touched his jaw, a questioning look on her face. Evans was feeling distinctly lightheaded because he could hardly breathe anymore. It was as if he had a twenty-ton stone on his chest. Even though he was sitting up, the great stone weighed on him.

He thought, Call the hospital!

“I don’t know what to do, Peter,” she said. “I just wanted to talk to you tonight, and now you’re like this. I mean, I guess it’s a bad time. But it’s kind of scary, too. I have to be honest. I wish you would answer me. Can you answer me?”

Call the hospital!

“Maybe you’ll hate me for this, but I don’t know what you took that makes you this way, so I’m going to call 911 and get an ambulance. I’m really sorry and I don’t want to get you into trouble, but this is freaking me out, Peter.”

She went out of his field of view but he heard her picking up the phone on the table next to his chair. He thought, Good. Hurry.

She said, “Something is wrong with your phone.”

Oh Jesus.

She stepped back into his field of view. “Your phone is not working, did you know that?”

Use your cell phone.

“Do you have your cell phone? I left mine in the car.”

Go get it.

“Maybe one of the other phones in your apartment is working. You need to call your service provider, Peter. It’s not safe to be without phones—what’s this? Somebody tore the phone out of the wall? Have we been having a fit of pique?”

Knocking on the door. It sounded like the front door. “Hell-lo? Anybody here? Hello? Peter?” A woman’s voice. He couldn’t see who it was.

He heard Janis say, “Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Janis. I’m Peter’s friend.”

“I’m Sarah. I work with Peter.”

“You’re tall.”

“Where is Peter?” Sarah said.

“He’s over there,” Janis said. “Something’s wrong with him.”

Evans could see none of this, because he could not move his eyes. And now he saw the first gray spots that signaled the impending loss of consciousness. It took every ounce of energy he possessed to move his chest and fill his lungs the tiniest bit.

“Peter?” Sarah said.

She moved into his field of view. She looked at him.

“Are you paralyzed?” she said.

Yes! Call the hospital!

“He’s sweating,” Sarah said. “Cold sweats.”

“He was that way when I found him,” Janis said. She turned to Sarah. “What are you doing here anyway? How well do you know Peter?”

“Did you call an ambulance?” Sarah said.

“No, because my phone is in my car, and—”

“I’ll do it.”

Sarah flipped open her cell phone. It was the last thing Evans remembered.