Passage (15 page)

“Do you think he’s one of Mandrake’s?” Richard asked.

“No, if he were a True Believer, we’d have heard
all
about it. He’ll actually make a very good subject if I can just keep him away from the topic of the USS
Yorktown.
He’s got an eye and an ear for detail, and he talks.”

Richard grinned. “You can say that again. Are you sure that’s an advantage?”

“
Yes.
There’s nothing worse than a subject who answers in monosyllables, or just sits there. I’ll take talkative any day.”

“Then I can schedule him?”

“Yes, but I’d do it right before another subject’s session. Otherwise, we’ll never get him turned off.” She went over to the desk and put down Mr. Wojakowski’s file. “I kept hoping Amelia Tanaka would come in and provide a good cutoff point. She was supposed to be here by now. Is she usually late?”

“Always,” Richard said, “but she usually calls.”

“Oh, maybe she did,” Joanna said, pulling her pager out. “I gave her my pager number.” She hastily called the switchboard and asked for her messages.

“Amelia Tanaka said she’d be late, she’ll be there by two,” the switchboard operator said. “And Nurse Howard wants you to call her.” That was Vielle, and she must not be calling about an NDE. When it was someone who’d coded, she simply left a message for Joanna to come to the ER.

She’s found out what Greg Menotti meant by “fifty-eight,” Joanna thought. She glanced at the clock. It was one-forty. “I’m running down to the ER,” she told Richard, hanging up the phone. “Amelia will be here at two. I’ll be back before then.”

“What is it?” he asked. “An NDE?”

“No,” she said, “I just have to find out something from Vielle.” What fifty-eight means.

And it’s probably nothing, she told herself, hurrying down the steps to fifth. Vielle will probably tell me Greg Menotti was trying to say something perfectly ordinary, like, “Try Stephanie’s office. The address is 1658 Grant.” Or, “I can’t be having a heart attack. I did fifty-eight laps at my health club this morning.”

But he wasn’t, she thought, crossing the walkway to the main building and the elevator. He wasn’t talking about laps or phone numbers. He was talking about something else. He was trying to tell us something important.

She took the elevator down to first and ran down the stairs and along the hall to the ER. Vielle was at the central desk, making entries on a chart. Joanna hurried over to her. “You found out what it meant, didn’t you?” she said. “What was he trying to say?”

“Who?” Vielle said blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Greg Menotti. The heart attack patient who coded on Tuesday.”

“Oh, right,” Vielle said, “the myocardial infarction who kept saying, ‘fifty-nine.’ ”

“Fifty-eight,” Joanna said.

“Right. I’m sorry. I was going to check his girlfriend’s phone number,” she said, pushing her elasticized cap back off her forehead. “I forgot all about it.” She looked past Joanna. “I’ll check on it this afternoon, I promise. Is that why you came down here?”

“No,” Joanna said. “You called me, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Vielle said, looking uncomfortable. “You weren’t there.” She busied herself with the chart again.

“Well?” Joanna said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Nothing. I don’t remember. It was probably about Dish Night. Do you know how hard it is to come up with movies that don’t have any deaths in them? Even comedies.
Shakespeare in Love, Sleepless in Seattle, Four Weddings and a Funeral.
I spent an hour and a half in Blockbuster last night, looking for something death-free.”

And you are clearly trying to change the subject, Joanna thought. Why? And what had she called about? Something she had obviously changed her mind about telling her.

“You can’t even find
kids’
movies,” Vielle was rattling on. “Cinderella’s father, Bambi’s mother, the Wicked Witch of the West—what is it, Nina?” she said to an aide who had come up, and that was odd, too. Vielle usually shouted at aides who interrupted her.

“Mrs. Edwards at the desk said to give this to you,” Nina said, handing a blown-up photograph to Vielle. It was a picture of a blond, tattooed teenager in a knitted cap, obviously a mug shot since there was a long string of numbers along the bottom.

“You didn’t have another shooting, did you?” Joanna asked.

“No,” Vielle said defensively. “It’s been quiet as a church in here all day. Nothing but sprained ankles and paper cuts. Why did Mrs. Edwards say to give this to me?” she asked Nina.

“The police said if this guy comes in, you’re supposed to call them, he shot a guy in the leg with a nail gun—”

“Thank you, Nina,” Vielle said, handing her back the paper. “Go show it to Dr. Thayer.”

“If the guy he shot shows up, you’re supposed to call them, too,” Nina said. “They’re both gang members—”

“Thank
you, Nina.”

As soon as Nina was gone, Joanna said, “A nail gun! Vielle, when are you going to transfer out of here? It’s dangerous—”

“I know, I know, you’ve told me before,” she said, looking past Joanna. “Oops, gotta go.” She started toward the front of the ER, where two men were holding a pasty-faced woman up by the armpits.

“Vielle—”

“See you tomorrow night at Dish Night,” Vielle said, breaking into a trot.

Too late. The woman vomited all over the floor and the two men. One of the men let go and jumped backward out of the line of fire, and the woman slid sideways onto the floor. Vielle, her worried look back, caught her before she fell.

There was no point in waiting around. The woman was obviously going to take some time, and it was already nearly two. And what could she say if she did stay? “Vielle, why did you really call me? And don’t tell me it was about Bambi’s mother!”

Joanna went back upstairs. Amelia still wasn’t there. “Did you find out what you needed to know?” Richard asked.

“No,” Joanna said. In more ways than one.

“By the way, Vielle—”

There was a knock on the door, and Amelia swept in, exclaiming, “I am
so
sorry I’m late. Can you believe my professors
all
decided to give an exam the same week?” She divested herself of her backpack, gloves, and coat with the same speed as she had two days before, talking the entire time. “I know I blew it. I hate biochem!”

Her long black hair was twisted up into the messy-looking topknot all the college students were wearing these days. She shook it out and twisted it up again into an even messier knot. “I got a D, I know it,” she said, securing it with a large gold plastic clip. “Do you want me to go get undressed, Dr. Wright?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Dr. Lander needs to ask you some questions first.”

“Amelia,” Joanna said, indicating one of the three chairs. She sat down herself, and Richard came around and took the other one. “You’re a premed student, is that right?”

Amelia plopped down in the third. “Not after the biochem exam I just took. It was even worse than anatomy. I was premed. Now I’m dead meat.”

Joanna wrote down “premed.” “And you’re how old?”

“Twenty-four,” Amelia said. “I know, that’s old to still be in premed. I got a BA in music theater before I decided I didn’t want to be an actress.”

An actress. Good at playing roles. At fooling people. “Why did you decide you didn’t want to be an actress?”

“I realized the only parts I was ever going to get were Tuptim and Miss Saigon, and I was never going to get to play Marian the librarian or
Annie Get Your Gun
, so I decided to go to medical school instead. At least doctors can always get parts.” She grinned up at Joanna. “You know, kidneys, gallbladders, livers.”

A joke, which True Believers hardly ever told. If there was any characteristic NDE nuts and ESPers and UFO ab-ductees had in common it was a complete lack of a sense of humor. And Amelia also had a knowledge of science and a willingness to volunteer information that indicated she had nothing to hide. I believe we have a winner, Joanna thought. “Can you tell me why you volunteered for the project?” she asked.

Amelia glanced guiltily at Richard. “Why I volunteered?” she said and looked away. “Well . . . ”

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, Joanna thought.

“You said you were interested in neurology,” Richard said. Don’t give her an out, Joanna thought, glaring at him.

“I
am
interested in neurology,” Amelia said. “It’s what I want to go into, but what I didn’t tell you,” she twisted her hands in her lap, “is that I didn’t volunteer on my own.”

Here it comes, Joanna thought, Mr. Mandrake told her to. Or worse, the voices in her head.

“My psych professor is really big on the idea of premeds being patients ourselves, so that when we become doctors we can empathize with our patients,” Amelia said, looking at her hands. “He gives extra credit for participating in a research project, and I really need the points. I’m doing terrible in psych.” She looked apologetically at Richard. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you wouldn’t take me.”

Take you? Joanna thought. I only wish there were a dozen more like you. Students volunteering for extra credit were perfect. They had no agenda and no particular interest in the subject, which made it unlikely they’d read Mandrake’s book or the other NDE books. “Your professor assigned you to the project?” Joanna asked.

“No,” Amelia said and glanced guiltily at Richard again. “We picked whatever project we were interested in.”

“And you were interested in NDEs?” Joanna asked, her heart sinking.

“No, I didn’t know it was about NDEs when I signed up.” She began the hand-twisting again. “I thought it would probably be one of those memory experiments. Not that I wanted it to be,” she said, flushing, “this is a lot more interesting.”

She glanced over at Richard again, and it hit Joanna. “I’ll need a copy of your class schedule so we can set up a good session time, Amelia,” she said.

Richard was looking questioningly at her. Joanna ignored him. “Will tomorrow at eleven fit your schedule, Amelia?” she asked.

“Yes,”
Amelia said eagerly. “I can even stay this afternoon and do one, if you want.”

“Great,” Joanna said. “Why don’t you go get undressed?” She stood up, still avoiding Richard’s eye, and started over to the examining table.

“I know where everything is,” Amelia said, grabbed the pile of clothing off the table, and disappeared into the dressing room.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Richard said as soon as the door shut behind her. “Did you see her reaction when you asked her why she volunteered for the project? She got really upset. I don’t think she was telling the truth.”

“She wasn’t,” Joanna said. “Do you need me to help set things up?”

“If she was lying, how can you be sure she isn’t one of Mandrake’s ringers?”

“Because it was a peripheral lie,” Joanna said, “lying for a personal reason that has nothing to do with the matter at hand, the kind of lie that always gets people in trouble in murder mysteries.” She smiled at him. “She’s not a True Believer. The personality profile’s wrong, and so was her account of her first NDE. Her references check out, and her interview confirms what I thought when I first met her. She’s exactly what she seems to be: a premed student doing this for extra credit.”

“Okay,” he said. “Great. Let’s get started. I’ll go get Nurse Hawley.” He left the lab. After a moment, Amelia emerged from the dressing room with a hospital gown on over her jeans and the sleep mask dangling from her neck. She looked around questioningly.

“Dr. Wright’s gone to get the assisting nurse,” Joanna said.

“Oh, good,” Amelia said, coming over to her. “I didn’t want to tell you with him around. I didn’t tell you the truth before. About why I picked this project.”

Don’t lead, Joanna thought, especially not when you think you know the answer. Amelia ducked her head, the way she had before. “The real reason I picked it was because of Dr. Wright. I thought he was cute. That doesn’t disqualify me from being a volunteer, does it?”

“No,” Joanna said. She’d thought that’s what it was. “He is cute.”

“I
know
,” Amelia said. “I couldn’t believe how adorable—” She cut off abruptly, and both of them turned to look at the door.

“Nurse Hawley wasn’t there,” Richard said, coming in. “I’ll have to page her.” He went over to the phone. “I need to hire a nurse to assist.” He dialed the switchboard.

“While we’re waiting, Amelia,” Joanna said, “why don’t you tell me what you saw during your first session?”

“The first time I went under?” Amelia asked, and Joanna wondered if her use of that phrase was significant. “The first time all I saw was a bright light,” she said. “It was so bright I couldn’t really see anything. The second time I went under it wasn’t as bright, and in it I could see people.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Not really. I mean, I couldn’t really see them, because of the light, but I knew they were there.”

“How many people?” Joanna asked.

“Three,” Amelia said, squinting as if she were envisioning the scene. “No, four.”

“And what were they doing?”

“Nothing,” Amelia said. “Just standing there waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“Yes. Waiting for me, I think. Watching.”

Watching and waiting were not the same thing. “Were there any feelings associated with what you saw?” Joanna asked.

“Yes, I felt warm and . . . ” she hesitated, “ . . . peaceful.”

Warm
and
peaceful
were words frequently used by NDEers to describe the feeling they’d experienced, also
safe
and
surrounded by love
, feelings also associated with the release of en-dorphins.

“Can you think of any other words to describe the feeling?”

“Yes,” Amelia said, but then was silent for several seconds. “Serene,” she said finally, but her inflection at the end of the word rose, as if it were a question. “Cozy,” she said with more certainty, “like being in front of a fire. Or wrapped up in a blanket.” She smiled as if remembering the feeling.

“What happened after you saw the figures in the light?” Joanna asked.