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Dr.Nay's sleep.

Dr. Sunday was having a very bad week, and to top it all off,

traffic was terrible as he left his office on that snowy Friday evening.

The whole city, it seemed, had tickets to the big football game at Grim Bay Stadium downtown, and the streets were packed.

By the time he made it to the highway and headed south, toward All Saints Federal Prison,

he was 20 minutes behind schedule.

The night was bitter cold, and icy rain pelted his windshield like shooting stars.

Behind the wheel, Dr. Sunday scowled.

He was not in the mood to hum any hymn of worship during tonight's drive. He was jittery,

fretful, troubled. And as he checked in at the gates and parked, he experienced none of his usual

jubilation at the site of the prison complex or the tower rising over the central building.

His feelings about the place had changed over the past six months,

especially in regard to his incarcerated patient in top of that tower. The experimental

drug Sunday was giving to the inmate there had finally started working, but perhaps they had worked

too well. Teeth chattering from the cold, he hurried up the steps and through the double doors, then

passed through security in the atrium, and was led through the labyrinth of corridors and

stairwells until he reached the tower.

You were late tonight, Doc, said Edna behind her desk, when he reached the tower's security

...