Passage

“It’s not dangerous,” Joanna said. “You weren’t upset about his subjects undergoing the procedure.”

“They volunteered.”

“So did I. This was my idea, not Richard’s. And the procedure’s perfectly safe.”

“There’s no such thing,” Vielle said.

“Richard’s done over twenty sessions without any adverse effects.”

“Really? Then how come you can’t hang on to your volunteers?”

“Their quitting didn’t have anything to do with the project,” Joanna said. “And dithetamine’s been used in dozens of experiments with no side effects.”

“Yes, well, and people take aspirin every day without side effects, and get their teeth cleaned, and take penicillin, and then one day they show up in the ER in anaphylactic shock. Or cardiac arrest. There are side effects to everything.”

“But—”

Vielle cut her off. “And even if there aren’t any side effects, you’re taking a drug that mimics a near-death experience, right?”

“Yes—”

“So what if it does such a good job of convincing the brain that it’s dying that the body takes the hint?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Joanna said.

“How do you know? I thought you told me one of the theories was that the near-death experience served as a shut-down mechanism for the body.”

“There’s been no indication of that in our experiments,” Joanna said. “In fact, the opposite may be true, that the NDE’s a survival mechanism. That’s what we’re trying to find out. Why are you so upset about this?”

“Because interviewing patients and discussing death at Dish Night is one thing. Doing it’s a whole different matter. Trust me, I see death every day, and the best survival mechanism is staying as far away from it as possible.”

“I won’t be ‘doing it.’ I’m not going to be having a real near-death experience. I’m going to be having a simulation of one.”

“Which produces a brain scan identical to the real thing,” Vielle said. “What if something goes wrong? What if the light at the end of the tunnel turns out to be an oncoming train?”

Joanna laughed. “I’m more worried that I’ll see an Angel of Light who’ll tell me Mr. Mandrake was right, and the Other Side is actually real. Don’t worry,” she said seriously. “I’ll be fine. And I’m finally going to get to see what I’ve only been hearing about secondhand.” She hugged Vielle. “I have to get back. We’re doing a session at eleven.”

“With you?” Vielle demanded.

“No, with Mrs. Troudtheim.” She didn’t tell Vielle she was scheduled for the afternoon. It would just upset her. “The reason I came down here was to check with you about Dish Night and see what movies you wanted me to rent.”

“Coma,” she said. “This girl gets killed in the first scene because she’s convinced nothing can go wrong on the operating table.”

Joanna ignored that. “Will Thursday work, or are you going out with Harvey the Scintillating Conversationalist?”

“Are you kidding? He was in here this morning, explaining the intricacies of embalming. Thursday’s fine — just a minute,” she said, and then to the aide who’d come over, looking upset, “What is it, Nina?”

“The guy in Trauma Room Two’s acting really funny,” Nina said. “I think maybe he’s on rogue.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Vielle said and turned back to Joanna.

“Rogue?” Joanna said. “You mentioned that before—”

“It’s the latest variety of PCP,” Nina said, “and it’s really scary. Psychotic hallucinations plus violent episodes.”

“I said I’d be right there, Nina,” Vielle said coolly.

“Okay. It started in L.A.,” Nina went on chattily. “Attacks on ER personnel out there have increased twenty-five percent, and now it’s here. Last week a nurse over at Swedish—”

“Nina!” Vielle said dangerously. “I said I’d be there in a minute.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nina said, cowed, and went off toward the front.

Joanna waited till she was out of earshot, and then said, “Attacks on ER personnel up twenty-five percent, and you’re lecturing me on doing something dangerous?”

“All right,” Vielle said, putting her hands up. “Truce. But I still think you’re crazy.”

“It’s mutual,” Joanna said, and at Vielle’s skeptical expression, “I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

But, lying on the examining table that afternoon, looking up at the masked overhead light and waiting for Tish to start the IV, Joanna felt a dull ache of anxiety. It’s the nervousness patients always feel, she thought. It comes from having a hospital gown on and your glasses off. And from lying flat on your back, waiting for a nurse to do things to you.

And not just any nurse. Tish, who had said, when Joanna emerged from the dressing room, “How did you manage to talk Dr. Wright into sending you under?”

Joanna had wondered, considering Vielle’s out-of-left-field reaction, if Tish would suddenly voice all kinds of objections, too, and she did, but not the kind Joanna expected.