Passage

To be able to find out what happened after death was something people had always been fascinated with, as witness the popularity of spiritualism and Mr. Mandrake’s books. Nobody’d ever figured out a scientific way to do it, though, unless you counted Harry Houdini, whose attempt to communicate with his wife from beyond the grave had failed, and Lavoisier.

Sentenced to die on the guillotine, the great French chemist had proposed an experiment to prove or disprove the hypothesis that the beheaded retained consciousness after death. Lavoisier had said he would blink his eyes for as long as he retained consciousness, and he had. He had blinked twelve times.

But it might have been nothing more than a reflex action, like that of chickens running around with their heads cut off, and there had been no way to verify what had happened. Until now. “So your project involves giving patients dithetamine and putting them under a RIPT scan,” Joanna said. “And then interviewing them?”

“Yes, and they’re reporting tunnels and lights and angels, all right, but I don’t know if they’re the same kind of phenomena NDEers experience, or if it’s a totally different type of hallucination.”

“And that’s what you’d want me for,” Joanna asked, “to interview your subjects and tell you if I thought their accounts matched those of people who’d had an NDE?”

Richard nodded. “And I’d want you to obtain a detailed account of what they’ve experienced. Their subjective experience is an indicator of which brain areas are being stimulated and which neurotransmitters are involved. I really need your NDE interviewing expertise on the project,” Richard said. “The accounts I’ve been able to get from my subjects haven’t been very enlightening.”

“Then they must be NDEs,” Joanna said. “Unless Mr. Mandrake’s been telling them what to say, NDEers are notoriously vague, and if you try to press them for details, you run the risk of influencing their testimony.”

“Exactly,” Richard said, “which is why I need you. You know how to ask questions that aren’t leading, and you have experience with NDEs. Except for the core elements, I have no way of knowing how the dithetamine hallucinations compare to real NDEs. And I think it would be useful to you, too,” he said earnestly. “You’d have the opportunity to interview subjects in a controlled environment.”

And without worrying about Mr. Mandrake getting to them first, she thought.

“So what do you say?” Richard asked.

“I don’t know,” Joanna said, rubbing her temple tiredly. “It sounds wonderful but I’ll have to think about it.”

“Sure. Of course,” he said. “It’s a lot to lay on you all at once, and I know you’ve had a hard day.”

Yes, she thought, and saw Greg Menotti’s body lying there on the examining table, pale and cold. And uninhabited. Gone. “You don’t have to decide now,” Richard was saying. “You’ll want to see the setup, read my grant proposal. You don’t have to make a decision tonight.”

“Good,” Joanna said, suddenly worn out. “Because I don’t think I can.” She stood up. “You’re right, it has been a hard day, and I’ve still got some interviews to transcribe before I go home. And I’ve got to go see Maisie—”

“I understand,” he said. “You think about it tonight, and tomorrow I’ll show you the setup. Okay?”

“Okay. Ten o’clock,” she said, and started up the stairs. “And thank you for dinner. Your lab coat’s the best restaurant around.”

She went cautiously to the top of the stairs, opened the door a crack, and peered out. The hall was empty. “The coast is clear,” she said, and they went out into the hall.

“I’ll see you at ten o’clock,” he said and smiled at her. “Or call me if you have any questions.” He pulled a business card out of his lab coat pocket. He’s like one of those clowns, she thought, who keep pulling handkerchiefs and bicycle horns and rabbits out of their pockets.

“I think we’d make a great team,” he said.

“I want to think about it,” she said. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I really want you to work with me. I think we could accomplish great things.” He started down the hall and then turned back, looking bewildered. “How do I get back to my office?”

She laughed. “Elevator up to seventh, go across the walkway, and take the stairs outside Magnetic Imaging back down to sixth.”

He grinned. “You see? I can’t do without you. You’ve got to say you’ll do the project.”

She shook her head, smiling, and turned to go over to the west wing to see Maisie. And ran straight into Maurice Mandrake.

“I couldn’t get you through your pager,” he said sternly. “I assumed you were interviewing a patient. Is that where you’re going now?”

“No,” Joanna said, continuing to walk.

“I heard someone who’d coded was brought into the ER this afternoon,” he said. “Where is he?”

That’s the question, Joanna thought. Where is he? “He died,” she said.

“Died?”

“Yes. Right after they brought him in.”

“Pity,” Mr. Mandrake said. “Heart attack victims have the most detailed NDEs. Where are you going now?”