Rash Decisions
Summary: After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.
A/N: In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.
Rating: Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

Chapter 2

"I really do have a patient now," House said as soon as Cuddy bore down on him.

"I know. Congratulations. You're making use of that expensive department of yours. And you're waiting on test results. Now finish your clinic hours for the day."

Giving his head a shake, he limped his way into the exam room. Opening the door, he closed his eyes and groaned loudly. A frantic looking woman stood beside a teenaged boy sitting on the table – with a wooden rod sticking out of his nose.

"It's stuck," he sniffled.

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that's why you left it in there all this time. I'm up on all that's hip, and this isn't," House said as he gloved up. "Do I want to know how you managed to get a drumstick up your nose? Explosion in the music room?"

"My brother and me were trying something."

"Please tell me this 'something' wasn't 'something' you saw on TV."

"The guy on the show could get it all the way through is nose to…"

"I get the picture. Unfortunately. Did it ever occur to you that they call the show 'Jackass' because that's an accurate description of the idiots on the show?"

"Yeah?"

House dropped his shoulders. "Is that all you aspire to be in life? A jackass? Trust me, it's possible to aim higher than the groin. It takes more work, but usually involves less surgery."

"OW!"

"Sorry. Here. Have one of these. I love them," he said, handing the boy a Vicodin.

"Surgery?" the mother asked fretfully.

"Well, unless you want me to wiggle that around and hope I don't pop his eyeball out trying to work it free. It's your call. I don't mind, but those things are so gosh darn hard to get back in again."

"Mom!"

"Don't worry, Henry. It'll be all right. Isn't that right doctor?"

"That's the million dollar question! The sinuses lead directly to the brain. Genius here could have killed himself. If the surgery goes well, and if there's no infection, he should be okay."

"Is there anything we can do?" the mother asked.

"Yeah. Get rid of your TV until the kids are out of the house," he said, pausing dramatically. "I can't believe I just said that. Hell has frozen over, and Cuddy went skiing. Okay, keep the TV, but maybe you should try supervising them a bit more closely."

Grabbing his cane, House limped angrily out of the room.

Approaching the exam room, Cameron slowed as she observed a crowd surrounding Kelleher. When she saw the sheaths of paper being pushed in his direction and his attempts to brush them away, she resumed her course quickly, walking into their midst with a determined stride.

"Gentleman, Mr. Kelleher needs his rest. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave."

"It won't take long for us to go over these contracts for…"

"And I think I can have security in here sooner than that." She eyed the crowd unflinchingly until they began packing up their briefcases.

"Thanks," he said once they left the room, closing his eyes and rubbing his head. "They were giving me a real headache."

"How long ago did it start?" she asked, immediately moving to examine him.

"Not long. It's not that bad. Hmm. Guess Joey was wrong. I didn't totally scare them away."

"I don't know a lot about banking, but I'm not sure I'd want to do business with someone who would rush you while you're in the hospital."

Kelleher chuckled softly. "You're probably right. There's some date they're worried about. If the papers get signed before then, things are easier. Or cheaper. Or something."

"Can't you remember?"

"Don't worry. I never really understood it all. I had some accounting classes, but nothing like this. When they first approached me, I thought they wanted to open one or two other locations, but they want to go nationwide immediately."

"It sounds like your business is a success." The line of questioning was more than a polite venture on her part. If he was experiencing confusion or forgetfulness, it could help narrow the possible causes of his condition.

"Never underestimate people's greed or vanity," he said with a shy grin. "Open a fitness center, and say an Olympic boxer designed the workout. Add an ex-Olympic tennis player, swimmer and marathon runner, and offer their programs. People who think they could have been great athletes flock to you."

"None of these people actually will become professionals?"

"Not a chance in hell. But like I said, it's a vanity thing. They're great in their own minds, so they think they deserve something associated with the Olympics. Hey, they have a lot more money than common sense. I have a lot more sense than money. Seems like a fair trade to me."

Cameron returned his smile and noted his headache on his chart. He was obviously tired, but his speech was clear, and he could answer her questions coherently. While that was a good sign, it did nothing to help with the diagnosis.

"You, you don't know what's wrong with me, do you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Not yet. So far, we haven't gotten any definitive results from your tests."

"This is bad, isn't it?"

"It could be," she answered softly. "Unfortunately, there are a number of conditions that could cause seizures. Some can be very severe, and others are easily treated. Until we can isolate what is causing yours, I can't give you a better answer."

"You're honest. I like that," Kelleher said. His hands twisted the sheet covering his body. When he noticed Cameron watching him closely, he dropped the material. "The boxing. It could have caused this."

"Did you meet Dr. Foreman earlier? He's a neurologist. Since you never boxed professionally, he thinks it's unlikely that it caused any brain damage."

"Unless there was an underlying condition, right?"

Cameron tilted her head, before nodding slightly. "It's rare, but sometimes it happens."

"Seems like karmic justice. Ah, don't worry about me. I'm just tired."

Outside the examination room, Dr. Wilson watched House, who in turn was observing Cameron's interaction with the ex-boxer. He walked over slowly, clasping his clipboard over his chest. He'd already heard that a patient had been flirting with her, and it was clear that House was there to check it out himself.

"Physical exams are easier if you actually go in the room," Wilson said with a feigned innocence.

"That's why I have lackeys. What's the point of having minions if they don't do your grunt work?"

"So, do you think those two will start grunting soon?" Wilson asked, ignoring the harsh look directed his way. "He is cute."

"Now I know why your marriages always fail. You needed to be the one in the dress."

"Hey, I'm comfortable with my masculinity. And I know what women like. He's buff, good looking, doesn't go around scruffy all the time."

"You aren't reassuring me," House said, hobbling away towards an empty exam room. "Have you thought about starting your own show on Bravo?"

"Yeah. ' Makeovers for jealous, obsessive doctors' has a nice ring to it. I even know where I can get my first project."

"It would be hopeless."

"Allison doesn't seem to think so," Wilson said softly as he followed him into the exam room.

"Why do people insist on talking about my personal life? Isn't it clear by now I don't want to talk about it?"

Wilson nodded. "And that's exactly why people talk. You don't provide any clues, so people have to fill in all the details themselves. It's probably not accurate, but it's a lot of fun."

"So, if I actually opened up to the entire staff, they'd finally shut up?"

"Hell, no. We'd wheel you up to the psych ward in a heart beat."

House sank into a stool wearily, letting out a long breath as he did so. Pulling his portable TV out of his pocket, he darted his eyes to his friend who was regarding him calmly. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be her pet project of the month?"

"Did it ever occur to you that that's not what she had in mind?"

"Please. That's what she lives for. She married a man she knew was dying of cancer, and now that he's gone, she has her sights on me. She wants to 'fix' me."

Wilson's jaw dropped suddenly. "Please. I know this is probably hopeless, but, please, please, tell me you didn't say that to her."

"Why not?" House asked irritably. "It's the truth. And she asked me pointblank what I honestly felt. I told her."

"So, Allison, this nice, sweet girl that actually likes you for some mysterious reason. She watched a man she really did love die a slow, horrible death, and you mocked her pain and loss, saying it was all a game to her."

"Does that make me a bad boy?"

"No. It makes you a total ass," Wilson said, storming out of the room angrily.

Alone with his long-battered and oft-ignored conscience, House tapped his forehead against the handle of his cane. It had been an honest answer to Cameron's question. He'd wanted to discourage her, but he couldn't forget the pained look she'd given him later when she said she was glad he was capable of love, even if it wasn't her.

She'd been wrong. He could love her. If he knew that it wasn't going to turn into a total wreck if he tried. His hand automatically reached into his pocket, but he let the bottle of painkillers fall back in. Grimacing, he stood up and followed his friend out into the corridor.

"I didn't say it was all a game to her," he insisted, rolling his head at the glare directed his way. "Okay, I just implied it. See, this is why she's better off getting over her, her crush on me. Believe it or not, I'm not a people person."

Wilson turned slowly, shaking his head sadly. After a sigh, he went back to watching her through the glass wall. "She's not Stacy."

"I'm well aware of that," House answered in a low but harsh voice.

"Yeah, for one thing, she's actually available. You know, not being married to a guy she doesn't plan on leaving."

"She's also naïve. There aren't enough horses and king's men to put me back together again. She'd only wear herself out in the process."

"I don't think she'd agree. And I think she might be right."

"I think I may have a better handle on that," House said miserably.

"No, you don't. You've given up," Wilson said quietly. "Look, pain can wipe you out. You're living proof of that. But so is she." He waited until his friend met his gaze. "There's physical pain, and there's emotional pain. They're as different as night and day, and they're the same."

"Getting Zen on me?"

"Give her some credit. She's a lot stronger than you think. Probably stronger than she even realizes."

House didn't answer, but watched her exit the exam room. His eyes never left her as she made her way towards them. She was beautiful. She was smart. He did like her. Everyone did. She was the Typhoid Mary of niceness, spreading infectious globules of good cheer among the unsuspecting. What he didn't understand is what she could possibly see in him beyond something that needed fixing.

"Hey," she said as she joined them.

"Who's your friend?" Wilson asked lightly.

"He's an ex-Olympic boxer suffering seizures. Tests didn't show much. The liver functions are off slightly. Tox screen is clean, nothing came up on the CT, chems are within normal ranges."

House took the proffered reports and skimmed them quickly. "If he had a fever, I'd say it was encephalitis. It matches all the other symptoms," he sighed. "Let's do a spinal tap to be sure. And do sub-c smears on Kelleher to rule out parasites."

"Whoa!" Wilson said excitedly. "That's Glen Kelleher? Glen 'The Killer' Kelleher?"

His two companions exchanged a confused look before nodding. "And how did he get a nickname like 'The Killer'," House mused. "He's bashful."

"He killed his opponent during a match."

"He beat a man to death?" Cameron stammered, unable to believe her seemingly gentle patient was capable of that.

"No."

"He brought a gun to a boxing match?" House asked jokingly. "Well, that's not very sporting, but it's great thinking."

"It was the Madrid fight, about eight years ago," Wilson said to him. "Do you remember? The other fighter was some Eastern European kid with a congenital heart condition. There'd been no indications of it before that fight. One punch too many, and he died. Kelleher was the guy that did it."

"Explains why he was asking about pre-existing conditions," she said softly. "He wanted to know if the boxing could have been responsible. He even called it karmic justice."

"And I thought I was morose," House said.

"No. That fight ended Kelleher's career. After that, he had a couple more fights, but he always pulled his punches. He never trusted himself to go all out again. I've got to go," Wilson said, looking at his pager.

House scratched at his beard, making tsking sounds as he did so. "You can't just throw away an entire career that you spent your whole life building up."

"You also said he was lying about the steroids."

"So sue me. Professional boxers are funny. They have no qualms about pounding their opponents' brains to mush, but if they actually kill one, it can ruin their careers. Like Kelleher, they can't get back in the ring. At the professional level, that's a known risk, but you never expect something like that in the amateurs. No, if he quit because of the guilt, there's a good chance he's depressed, too. And people like that have a tendency to either self-medicate..."

"Screens were clear."

"Or to punish themselves," House continued with an annoyed tone. "What could he have done that wouldn't show up on the tox screens? Redo the blood tests and check his hair. And get a visual confirmation that he didn't do steroids."

Cameron nodded and moved off to order the tests. House watched her walk away for a moment before hobbling alone to his office.

Hesitating outside the exam room, House counted to ten before opening the door. His eyebrows immediately shot up as he walked towards the table. A heavyset man lay curled up on it, openly bawling.

"And your chart says you have a rash, Mr. Smith," he noted, resisting the urge to ask if it was 'diaper'.

The man lifted his head up long enough to nod and point towards his groin. With the help of the nurse, he undid his pants, pulling them and his boxers down. After getting his gloves on, House looked up, and let out a long whistle.

"Wow! That's got to hurt."

Red, oozing blisters covered the crying man's genitals, lower stomach and upper thighs. "Am I dying?" the patient sniffed.

"No, but I bet you wish you were. You're wearing a delivery uniform. Let me guess. Your route goes through some nice, wooded parts of the county. Maybe somewhere that has a rest stop."

"Ye,ye, yeah," he spluttered.

"And you decided to stop for a little outside action. Another driver, some stranger, more fun that way. Nothing quite like some anonymous sex to make your day. The cops are always busting people for doing that at the rest areas."

"No! I'd get fired if I did something like that."

"Oh, you did it," House said firmly. "And I bet this feels worse than getting fired. But your partner got the worse end of it."

"What?"

"You have poison ivy. And wherever that went," he said, pointing to the man's groin, "they have poison ivy there. Bet they're remembering you real fondly right about now. I'll give you something to help with the blistering, but you're going to be sore for a while."

"You won't tell my boss, will you? He'll fire me if he finds out I, uh, make lunch stops. I like my job."

"Not my business to do that. Of course, you need to explain to him how you got poison ivy all over your equipment."

House rolled his eyes as the driver began bawling again.

Forcing a small smile, Cameron entered the room, clutching her clipboard. Kelleher and Joey were talking, with the older man obviously trying to cheer him up. She asked the trainer to give them some privacy, giving her patient a reassuring look.

"Why do you want me to go?" the old man demanded. "Anything you can say to Glen, you can tell me."

"Go back to the hotel, Joey. There's nothing you can do here. Get some rest. Please," Kelleher said gently. He gave his trainer a friendly smile when he eyed him questioningly.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron asked once they were alone.

"Honestly, I'm just tired. It's Joey you should be checking up on. All this worrying – can't be good for him. He's still spry, but he's seventy, and he's got dermatomyositis," he said, sounding out the name slowly. "I keep telling him to retire, but he won't. So, is it bad news?"

"No. Your blood work didn't show any steroid use, but I … I'm sorry. I need to check your testicles."

As she suspected, he blushed deeply, looking away in embarrassment. "I told you. I didn't use them."

"In our experience, that's something people lie about a lot. You'd lose your medals if it word got out that you had used drugs."

"I'm not lying."

"It's also possible you didn't know about it. One of your coaches could have given you something, and you didn't know it contained steroids," Cameron said softly. "I understand this is embarrassing for you. Either I can do a visual inspection, or I can put my hand under the sheets and examine them that way. Which would be less embarrassing for you?"

"How about I send Joey out to get a digital camera and take a picture for you?" Kelleher asked hopefully. Seeing her determined look, he closed his eyes. "Whatever. I don't care. I'm not hiding anything. Just remember," he said bashfully. "You're a gorgeous lady. If you get more of a reaction than you expected, it's not my fault."

Cameron smiled kindly at him as she pulled back the covers and quickly lifted his gown. The visual inspection only took a moment, but Kelleher was blushing deeply again by the time she finished.

"Thank you. And everything is fine."

"I told you so," he said shaking his head. With a sigh, he smiled shyly at her. "You must really think I'm a nut. Oh, God, I don't believe I just said that."

"I think you're my patient, and you're going through a very trying ordeal. We're performing a spinal tap this afternoon. That's a very uncomfortable procedure. You should try to get some rest now."

Cameron was most of the way to the door before Kelleher responded.

"Hey, doc! Thanks. For everything. Like not laughing at me," he said, chuckling as she walked away.

She found Joey finding behind the hallway corner, his hand rubbing his arm nervously. Walking over to him, she pointed in the direction of some benches. Once sitting, the trainer immediately asked how he was.

"He's stable. If it weren't for the seizure, I'd say he was in almost perfect health. I need to ask you some more questions."

"Anything."

"We know Glen didn't use steroids, and he's not using drugs, at least not currently. Did he ever have a problem with substance abuse, even if it's under control now."

"Oh, no, doc, no. He was the baby of the family, and his oldest brother died of an overdose when he was a little kid. Glen watched it. He was dead before the ambulance got there. He don't talk about it, but that scared him, a lot. Uh, don't tell him I told you that."

"I won't. Could someone have slipped him something? One of his college or Olympic coaches?"

"I don't see how. He's so damn stubborn," Joey said, dropping his eyes to the floor. "Getting him to take something you get at the store is hard enough."

"Thank you. And he was right. You should get back to the hotel and rest. There's nothing we can do until we get some more test results back," she said kindly.

Sitting at the outside tables, Chase chewed his sandwich thoughtfully. After washing it down with some coffee, he addressed the other doctors. "What if we're chasing the wrong symptoms?"

"Like what?" Cameron asked, sweeping back a stray lock of hair that the wind blew into her face.

"The manager said he had a seizure, but since he's been admitted, there hasn't been a sign of one, or anything that could trigger it."

"You think the manager lied?" Foreman asked. "Why?"

"To protect Kelleher?"

"From what?"

"It's possible," Cameron injected. "He's been hounded by investors wanting to take over his business. He complained about the stress. Maybe this was a way out for him."

"The way he's built? All he had to do was tell them he wanted more time to think about it or to go to hell. No sane person argues with an Olympic boxer."

"Okay, the trainer was mistaken. What if it wasn't a seizure but parkinsonism?" Chase asked. "The stress would make it worse."

"There's no sign of brain damage," Foreman said.

"It can be caused by toxins or carbon monoxide poisoning," he noted.

"His oxygen saturation levels are normal and nothing showed on the screens," Cameron said. "It could be another neurodegenerative disorder."

"If it is, it's something that doesn't show on the CT scan. Did you hear all of that, House?" Foreman called out loudly.

"Yes," he replied as he and Wilson joined the rest of the team from his vantage spot nearby. While he didn't say anything, he was glad to see the team examining other options. Not that he necessarily agreed with them, but being too narrow in their approach was a trap he wanted them to avoid.

"If Bashful Boxer doesn't have seizures, whatever else he had instead hasn't show up, either. And if he's faking it, he's putting up with a hell of a lot of pain to go through with this charade. But at this point, it's something to keep in mind," he said turning to Cameron. "Did you get the spinal tap?"

"It's scheduled for this afternoon," she told him. "And definitely berries, not raisins."

"So much for the steroid idea," Wilson said. "He still doesn't have a fever?"

"It went up to ninety-eight point nine, but that doesn't count as a much of a fever," House answered. "His liver functions are off, but that could mean he had a virus sometime in the last few months.

"I still say it may not have been a seizure. What about progressive supranuclear palsy?" Chase asked.

House's cup of coffee paused halfway to his mouth, and he shook his head. "Besides the fact he's too young and he can walk? And the patients really prefer it when their condition isn't something that'll kill them in the next few years."

"Or it was a seizure," Cameron said as she fiddled with her cup. "Angelman's Syndrome. He laughs a lot."

"When you're around. That's 'cause he's a flirt," Foreman said, grinning at her. "He didn't laugh once when I talked to him."

"Again with the still being able to walk thing," House said hotly, ignoring Wilson's amused look. "Big clue there."

"How do we know that?" Chase asked, prompting a round of incredulous stares. "Has anyone seen him walk? We don't know if he's having trouble with it or not."

House let out a resigned sigh and turned to Cameron. "Fine. Before the spinal tap, take Bashful for a walkabout. Look out for crazed wombats."

"What do we do now?" Foreman asked.

"I don't know about you, but I plan to eat," he said. Noticing the stares directed his way House rolled his eyes. "We do what we always do: we wait. If all the tests comes back clean, and he doesn't have any more seizures or whatever, we send him home with directions to take it easy and to get regular checkups. If something else goes wrong, we have a new symptom."

After the rest of the team had finished their lunches and left, Wilson began to laugh softly. House tried to ignore him, but the chuckles gradually became louder. Finally, people from nearby tables began to stare at them.

"Should I have Cameron test you for Angelman's?"

"You have it so bad," Wilson said between laughs.

"No, I had an infarction. That's why I have trouble walking. Don't you think a doctor should be able to keep something like that straight? Maybe Cuddy should be watching you. I think I like that idea."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. And guess what? I don't want to know," House said shortly.

"Since when do you name patients after fictional dwarves?"

"If you think there are real dwarves, you need help."

"You don't like him – more than the way you don't like all your patients. You're jealous."

"You're delusional."

"Oh, no. I'm not. Why else were you staring at them earlier? You were checking out the competition," Wilson said, pointing at his friend and laughing.

"There's no competition," he replied quietly.

"No, you're the winner by default. The guy was flirting with her. It doesn't mean anything. There's no reason for you to get upset."

"And I'm not. That takes care of that. Next subject!"

"Hey, she likes you. God knows why, but she does. But if you're going to throw that away, then you have to let her go," Wilson said, his tone becoming serious. "She's been through enough already. Don't hurt her any more."

House remained at the table watching his friend walk away. Crumbling his coffee cup angrily, he muttered under his breath before heading back inside. "What do you think I'm trying to avoid?"

Cameron nodded to the exiting nurse before shutting the door behind her and closing the blinds. Kelleher hadn't responded to her, and she wondered if he'd finally fallen asleep. She double-checked the equipment the nurse had set out, verifying everything they needed was present before going to her patient.

"Glen? Are you awake?"

"No, I'm not. People won't leave me alone. I thought you were supposed to be able to rest in the hospital."

She frowned at his irked tone. It was the first sign of irritation he'd shown, but weighed against how tired he was and the stress of his illness, it didn't seem an unreasonable response.

Just very unexpected.

"We're going to be doing your spinal tap in a few moments, and after that, you'll be able to rest. Before I do that, I need you to get out of bed."

"Want another peek show?"

"No. I need you to walk across the room."

"Why? Do you think I'm lying about that, too? I want to sleep. I'm tired."

"I understand. It won't take long," she said kindly, picking up the chart and quickly noting his change in demeanor. It could be simple exhaustion, but she recalled Joey's statements about how he had brief periods of moodiness.

Grumbling, the ex-boxer climbed out of his bed and easily began walking from one end of the short room to the other. "Fine. I can walk. See? I can do it backwards, too."

"Thanks, Glen. You can get back in bed now. Lie on your side and curl your legs up to your chest for me."

"You have no idea what the hell is wrong with me. No wonder. I'm fine. I'm just tired. Gotta milk the insurance company, right? Not like you don't make enough money as it is."

On the stool beside the bed, Cameron sat with a rising sense of unease. A mood swing this drastic was never a good sign. She quickly checked his vitals. His pulse and respiration showed a slight increase, but his anger explained that. Deciding it would be best to finish the tap as soon as possible, she drew the edge of his gown back.

As she reached for the Novocain, she spotted a sprinkling of red marks just below his shoulder blade. Setting the syringe back on the tray, she ran her gloved fingers over the area lightly.

"Stop that!"

"I'm sorry. Does the rash hurt?" she asked quickly.

"No, it itches. Damn thing's back."

"You didn't mention a rash on your history."

"Because it was gone. I just said it's back. Get Joey in here. At least he knows what he's doing. The pills he got for it before worked."

Cameron moved to the other side of the table, pulling out her flashlight as she did. A suspicion formed in the back of her mind that would account for his symptoms. If she were right, there'd be no need for the exceedingly painful spinal tap.

"Glen, you said he gave you pills. Was it a prescription?"

"Do I look stupid? I don't take someone else's pills. Joey knows that, and he gave it to me. That means it was something from the drug store. He said it was vitamins."

"Okay. Do you know the name of it?"

"Why? Don't you believe me?" he barked.

"Glen, relax," Cameron urged. "I think…"

"You think, you think," he shot back angrily, rolling over and swinging his legs off the table. "You want to know what I think? I think you're full of shit. I'm out of here. You damn witch doctor."

"Nurse!" she started to call, but a hand wrapped around her throat with an iron-like grasp.

Standing up, he pulled her face to his and sneered violently. "I said I was leaving, bitch. You try to stop me, and you're dead. You got that?"

She tried to nod reassuringly, while her hand moved behind her for the drawer containing pre-filled syringes. The pieces of his condition snapped into place, but Cameron understood the risk she faced, and, more importantly, why she had to prevent him from leaving the hospital.

His grip was tight enough that it was getting difficult to breath, and it took an effort to fight the rising fear. Her hand finally wrapped on the drawer handle, and she tried to open it. At that point, the nurse entered, immediately calling for help.

"Give him five milligrams of haldol," Cameron choked out weakly, drawing his attention back to her.

Kelleher saw her hand clasping the syringe, and he yelled in fury. His free hand shot out and grabbed her arm, twisting it violently. She screamed in pain, but it gurgled out as his other hand tightened around her throat.

By now, orderlies and nurses were rushing into the room, trying to restrain the boxer. The first nurse had the correct syringe, and she was attempting to inject him through the maze of limbs. Kelleher's elbow connected with her face, and the syringe went flying to the floor.

Sensing his danger, Kelleher threw Cameron to the side and rushed the other staff. The last thing she saw was him pounding a security guard to the floor. Her body connected with the wheeled cart with enough force to tip it over, and she continued until her head hit the wall with a loud thud. Blinding flashes of light stabbed behind her eyes as she sank into the darkness.

TBC