Passage (28 page)

She oohed and ahhed over the crocheted marigold. “Well, isn’t that the cutest thing?” she said to Joanna. “You don’t have the pattern, do you?”

“Sorry, I don’t,” Joanna said. “I bought it at a bazaar.”

“I’ll bet I could take a pattern off it,” Mrs. Troudtheim said, leaning over the console to examine the yarn flowers. “This is just double crochet with a shell stitch—”

“You can take it home with you if you like,” Richard said, handing her the pot.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Troudtheim said.

“I’m sure. Keep it as long as you like. You can have it.”

“Well, how nice,” she said, pleased. “Look, Tish, isn’t it the cutest thing?”

Tish oohed and ahhed, too, and they all examined the petals. Maybe the problem’s nothing but simple anxiety, Richard thought, and talking like this will calm her down to the point where she can sustain the NDE, but it didn’t. She was in the NDE for the space of a single, perfect frame, and then wide awake.

“I feel so embarrassed that I can’t do this,” she said. “I don’t know what my problem is.”

I don’t either, Richard thought, looking at the scans after she left with her crocheted marigold. The NDE frame was a dead-on match for Mr. O’Reirdon’s.

Joanna came in. “Mrs. Haighton just called,” she said. “She can’t come Thursday after all. Emergency Friends of the Ballet meeting.”

“Did you reschedule her?”

“Yes,” she said. “For Friday after next. Listen, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about, and there’s another reason you should send me under. It would make me a better interviewer. The accounts are all so vague, even from good observers like Amelia Tanaka, and I think the reason is that I simply don’t know what to ask. It’s like if you were asking someone to describe a painting without knowing whether it was a Monet or a Salvador Dalí. No, worse, it’s like if you were trying to get them to describe a painting without ever having
seen
a painting yourself. Right now I have no idea what they’re experiencing. They all say it’s not a dream, that it’s real. What does that mean?

“If I went under and
saw
that painting for myself, I’d know. I’d know if dark meant dark as in Carlsbad Caverns or the hospital parking lot at nine o’clock at night. I’d know if peaceful meant ‘tranquil’ or ‘anesthetized.’ And I’d know what they’re experiencing that they’re not even mentioning because they don’t realize it’s important, and I don’t know how to ask them about it. I think you should do it. I think you should send me under.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t given up on Mrs. Troudtheim
yet, and we’ve still got Amelia Tanaka. We do still have Amelia Tanaka?”

She nodded. “At eleven.”

“That means I’d better get things set up.” He turned his attention back to the console. “I want to lower the dosage again. The lack of detail you’re worried about may not have anything to do with your questions. It may be due to endorphin levels, and if it is, it’s simply a question of finding the right level, and even Mr. Sage will turn into a fountain of observation.”

“And if it doesn’t? What then?”

“We’ll deal with that when it happens. Right now, you need to call Tish and tell her to get up here. Amelia will be here any minute.”

“There’s plenty of time,” Joanna said. “Amelia’s always late. She won’t be here for at least fifteen minutes.”

But she came in right on time, carrying her backpack. Richard shot Joanna a triumphant look. “Go ahead and get ready, Amelia,” he said, and started over to the console.

“Can I talk to you a minute, Dr. Wright, Dr. Lander?” she said, and he saw that she hadn’t made a move to shed her backpack or coat.

“Sure,” he said.

“The thing is, my biochem professor is really piling it on, and I’m getting totally swamped . . . ”

“And you need to reschedule? That’s not a problem,” Richard said, trying not to show his disappointment. “What time will work for you?” he said. “Thursday?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t just biochem. It’s all my classes. My anatomy prof’s giving a test a week, and my genetics class—there’s so much homework, and the labs are getting a lot harder. My biochem lab—” She stopped, an odd look on her face, and then went on. “I need the extra psych credit and all, but it won’t do me any good if I don’t pass the class. Or all my classes.” She took a deep breath. “I think the best thing is for me just to drop out, and for you to find somebody else.”

Somebody else, he thought desperately. There isn’t anybody else. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he said, avoiding looking at Joanna. “I’m positive we can work something out. How about if we cut your sessions down to one a week? Or if
next week is bad, we could skip it altogether,” but Amelia was already shaking her head.

“It isn’t just next week,” Amelia said uncomfortably. “It’s every week. I just have too much going on.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I’m short on subjects, and you’re one of my best observers. I really need you in the project.”

For a moment he thought, from the look Amelia gave him, that he had swayed her, but then she shook her head again. “I just can’t—”

“Is it because of the project?” Joanna asked, and Richard looked at her in surprise. “Did something happen during one of your sessions? Is that why you want to quit?”

“No, of course not,” Amelia said, turning to smile at Richard. “The project’s really interesting, and I
love
working with you, with both of you,” she added, glancing briefly at Joanna. “It isn’t the project at all. I’m just so worried about my classes. Like in psychology—”

“I understand,” Richard said, “and, trust me, the last thing I want you to do is fail psychology, but I also don’t want to lose you. That’s why I’m so determined to work something out.”

“Oh, Dr. Wright,” Amelia said.

“What about weekends?” he said, pressing his advantage. “We could schedule sessions on Saturday morning, if that’s better for you. Or Sunday. You just tell us what would work for you and we’ll do it.” He smiled at her. “It would really help me out.”

She bit her lip, and looked at him uncertainly.

“Or evenings. We could schedule sessions at night if that’s better.”

“No,” Amelia said, and her chin went up. “I’ve made up my mind about this. It’s no use trying to change it. I want out of the project.”

V
IELLE HAD A FIT.

“What do you mean, he’s sending you under?” she said when Joanna went down to the ER to talk to her about Dish Night. “That wasn’t part of the deal. He was supposed to send volunteers under, and you were supposed to interview them afterward.”

“There’ve been complications,” Joanna said.

“What kind of complications?”

“Some of the subjects turned out to be unsuitable,” Joanna said, thinking, That’s putting it mildly, “and two have quit, and we can’t get approval on a new set of volunteers for at least six weeks, so—”

“So Dr. Right, or should I say, Dr. Frankenstein, decides to experiment on you,” Vielle said.

“Experiment on—? I can’t believe I’m hearing this! You were the one pushing me to work with Richard in the first place.”

“Work
with,” Vielle said, “conduct experiments with, go out for Happy Hour after work with, not become a human guinea pig of. I can’t believe he’d let you do something so dangerous.”

“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.

“How come you get to do this, and I don’t?” she had asked, as if Joanna had talked Richard into taking her to Happy Hour. Joanna explained as best she could from her supine and nearsighted position. “Oh, right, I forgot, you’re a doctor, and I’m only a lowly nurse,” Tish said and began slapping electrodes on Joanna’s chest.

She would have thought Tish would like the prospect of having Joanna absent and Richard all to herself for the duration of the session. I
should
be nervous, she thought. Tish is liable to start flirting with Richard and forget all about me. Or she’ll decide this is a good time to get rid of the competition once and for all, and pull the plug.