aige got home at midnight, drained. It had been exhausting day. There had been no time for lunch, and dinner had consisted of a sandwich between operations. She fell into her bed and was asleep instantly. She was awakened by the ringing of the tele¬phone. Groggily, Paige reached for the instrument and automatically glanced at the bedside clock. It was three in the morning. "H'lo?"

"Dr. Taylor? I'm sorry to disturb you, but one of your patients is insisting on seeing you right away."

Paige's throat was so dry she could hardly talk. "I'm off duty," she mumbled. "Can't you get some¬one...?"

"He won't talk to anyone else. He says he needs you."

"Who is it?"

"John Cronin."

Paige sat up straighter. "What's happened?"

"I don't know. He refuses to speak with anyone but you."

"All right," Paige said wearily. "I'm on my way."

Thirty minutes later, Paige arrived at the hospital. She went directly to John Cronin's room. He was lying in bed, awake. Tubes were protruding from his nostrils and his arms.

"Thanks for coming." His voice was weak and hoarse.

Paige sat down in a chair next to the bed. She smiled. "That's all right, John. I had nothing to do, anyway, but sleep. What can I do for you that no one else here at this great big hospital couldn't have done?"

"I want you to talk to me."

Paige groaned. "At this hour? I thought it was some kind of emergency."

"It is. I want to leave."

She shook her head. "That's impossible. You can't go home now. You couldn't get the kind of treat¬ment—"

He interrupted her. "I don't want to go home. I want to leave."

She looked at him and said slowly, "What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying. The medication isn't working anymore. I can't stand this pain. I want out."

Paige leaned over and took his hand. "John, I can't do that. Let me give you some—"

"No. I'm tired, Paige. I want to go wherever it is I'm going, but I don't want to hang around here like this. Not anymore."

"John..."

"How much time do I have left? A few more days? I told you, I'm not good about pain. I'm lying here like a trapped animal, filled with all these goddam tubes. My body is being eaten away inside. This isn't living— it's dying. For God's sake, help me!"

He was racked by a sudden spasm of pain. When he spoke again, his voice was even weaker. "Help me... please..."

Paige knew what she had to do. She had to report John Cronin's request to Dr. Benjamin Wallace. He would pass it on to the Administration Committee. They would assemble a panel of doctors to assess Cronin's condition, and then make a decision. After that, it would have to be approved by...

"Paige... it's my life. Let me do with it as I like."

She looked over at the helpless figure locked in his pain.

"I'm begging you..."

She took his hand and held it for a long time. When she spoke, she said, "All right, John. I'll do it."

He managed a trace of a smile. "I knew I could count on you."

Paige leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Close your eyes and go to sleep."

"Good night, Paige."

"Good night, John."

John Cronin sighed and closed his eyes, a beatific smile on his face.

Paige sat there watching him, thinking about what she was about to do. She remembered how horrified she had been on her first day of rounds with Dr. Radnor. She's been in a coma for six weeks. Her vital signs are failing. There's nothing more we can do for her. We'll pull the plug this afternoon. Was it wrong to release a fellow human being from his misery?

Slowly, as though she were moving under water, Paige rose and walked to a cabinet in the corner, where a bottle of insulin was kept for emergency use. She removed the bottle and stood there, staring at it. Then she uncapped the bottle. She filled a syringe with the insulin and walked back to John Cronin's bedside. There was still time to go back. I'm lying here like a trapped animal.... This isn't living—it's dying. For God's sake, help me!

Paige leaned forward and slowly injected the insulin into the IV attached to Cronin's arm.

"Sleep well," Paige whispered. She was unaware that she was sobbing.

Paige drove home and stayed awake the rest of the night, thinking about what she had done.

At six o'clock in the morning, she received a tele¬phone call from one of the residents at the hospital.

"I'm sorry to give you bad news, Dr. Taylor. Your patient John Cronin died of cardiac arrest early this morning."

The staff doctor in charge that morning was Dr. Ar¬thur Kane.