“Your sweating bullets. How bad?”“Bad, let me sit. Orange juice and some candy”I quickly got her what she needed. Now for those of you who hav... not been following my stories, some back story.My wife Terry was a juvenile diabetic. I say was because she passed away last year. She fought the devil for sixty years.Sometimes a diabetic’s sugar goes either up or down. Mostly down, and when it does, you need sugar, and fast. When it’s low, you first get the sweats. My wife has had them so bad that she. A blackdress with a cape or shawl or something like that."The guard stared at me. After what seemed a long time, he pulled out hiswalkie talkie. "Fred," he said. "Marie's back. Better shut the doors."The guard took me by the elbow."Hey!" I cried, as he dragged me towards the main doors.He pushed me out. "Go home, kid," he said. "The library's closed." Despitethe gruff voice, I could hear an undertone of fear.I found myself outside, wind whipping through the trees. The night. More

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