Dan’s hands trembled uncontrollably as he searched for his pills. They hadn’t even shaken this badly when he’d killed his first victim. His heart raced, terrified he was going to die. All this because I couldn’t sleep, he told himself. That was why he’d seen the psychologist, why he’d taken the pills, on his shrink’s orders, all because he had insomnia.
Now, he felt ill. He’d tried to cough up the medicine, but all he could manage was a few dry heaves. His intestines seized and clutched like a cold fist in his gut. If only that smug psychologist were here now, he’d have some advice, Dan thought frantically, recalling his delight at the doctor’s look of disgust when he’d heard the reasons for the sleepless nights, conveyed with bloody detail. Dan was smart, well aware of doctor/patient privilege, knowing his shrink was helpless to stop him. Head throbbing, his vision blurred as he finally found the medication bottle.
Squinting to read the label, realization suddenly set in. He staggered forward, reaching for the phone, falling after only two steps. Crashing to the floor, darkness encircling him, Dan thought of his psychologist, the bottle of pills rolling towards him, almost mockingly, the prescription boldly asserting: One pill daily. WARNING: DO NOT EXCEED DOSAGE- SEVERE INJURY OR DEATH MAY RESULT. As Dan made his final connection, he thought, the shrink had said, “take at least three.” He realized that perhaps the psychologist hadn’t been so helpless after all.
