Bill sat on the curb, head in his hands, blood pulsing through his veins.  He felt the carotid on the right side of his neck, counting the beats as he controlled his breathing.  His head felt like it had swollen to three times its normal size since he exited the car and watched Jack drive away, and a wave of nausea gripped him, forcing him to sit.  I got him the phone, at least, he thought.  It took every ounce of control he had left, but before Bill got out of the car he pulled Jack’s phone from his shirt pocket and slid it across the seat to his brother.

“One step at a time,” he said, and his mouth filled with saliva.  It was a prelude with which he was all too familiar.  He leaned to the side and emptied his stomach in wracking heaves. ...

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