Tunnel Vision (30 page)

“We’re looking at the mind of God,” Gladstone declared.

“More likely the mind of someone else.”

“But from the other side.”

“That I don’t know,” Stern said.

That was the most he was going to concede. “Why not God?”

“Because we don’t have God’s profile on file.”

“But you’re telling me that the boy was in communication with someone from the other side. So why not God? Why couldn’t his mind have merged with the Lord’s?” Warren could barely contain himself.

Stern shook his head. “I didn’t say from the other side—”

“Warren,” Elizabeth broke in, “what we picked up was clearly an intrusive electrical presence imposed on his own activity. It’s a huge leap to claim merging with God. More likely he mind-merged with someone now deceased, which is nonetheless still remarkable. A first!”

“Hallelujah.”

Warren had seen the videos of the other test subjects, including several college kids; he had listened to their accounts of near-death experiences, some so full of detail and passion that he was nearly convinced. He had even allowed Luria to set up their lab in his own minister’s home, which they’d had to gut to install their MRI machine. He had spent $10 million of ministry money, an investment that had turned some board directors against him. And after all the years of expense and false hope, after all the brain scans and videos of people in suspension—this was the first time that Elizabeth Luria and company had shown actual evidence of spiritual contact.

Yes, more tests would be needed, as Elizabeth had said. But he felt a near rapturous anticipation of the day he could grasp the Holy Grail and show the world that the Lord God Almighty exists.

And the possibilities were endless. No longer would belief be simply a leap of faith. No longer would death be final. His would be evidence of things unseen. Evidence that all the world would embrace. Gone would be barriers that separated Christians and Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and the rest. All would be joined in one unifying belief system, at the core of which would be Warren Gladstone and his tabernacle. Yes, there would be cries of trickery, even heresy, perhaps even temporary backlashes—the inevitable resistance and protests against any pronouncement from Evangelical Christianity. But he’d cross those bridges when he got to them, fortified by the realization that he was at the vanguard of the greatest revelation ever: that he had found God.

“And you’d said he declared no religious affiliation?”

“Sorry. He entered ‘NONE’ on the questionnaire.”

“Sorry nothing,” Gladstone chortled. “All the better. He’ll be our own Doubting Thomas who not only sees the light but sheds it on the world.” Then he added, “Guard him well. This young man is manna from heaven, a gift from the Lord God Almighty Himself.”

“It couldn’t have happened without your generosity.”

“Worth every penny.” Warren stared at the images from the fMRI. “And delicious irony abounds. Deus ex machina.”

Elizabeth Luria smiled. “That may be, but we still have more computations to do before we claim vindication.”

“Then do them.”

And as Warren lost himself in those pulsing colors across the schematic of Zack Kashian’s brain, he felt the breathless promise well up in his soul. He knew he was looking at the mind of the Creator—but he also knew in his soul that he would indeed live in the house of the Lord forever and ever.

Amen.

55

Zack had called Dr. Luria two days ago to explain that he was not interested in any more suspensions. It was taking too much of his time, and he had to finish his thesis. His manner was polite and his tone neutral. And he said nothing about the murder flashes because she would use that to fuel her insistence that he return for more tests.

As expected, she did not take kindly to his announcement, beseeching him to reconsider, proclaiming that they were on the cusp of a great discovery, et cetera, et cetera. She had enlisted her best appeals short of begging. To soften the blow, he said that he would get back to her if he changed his mind.

In the meantime, he worked on his thesis, occasionally flipping through library books on NDEs. Most reports described the standard experiences—tunnel rides, total serenity, a oneness with the universe. And the standard presence of light and spiritual beings. A great number of claimants reported how NDE changed their lives for the better, making them more faithful and caring. But none reported anything like his horror shows.

As he did most mornings, Zack headed for an isolated table in the student union café that Thursday. It felt good to be back at his thesis without distraction. He worked steadily for a good part of the morning, until a voice startled him.

“Hello, Zack.”

He looked up from the screen, and out of a half-glimpsed premonition there stood Elizabeth Luria. She was holding a tray with two coffees and croissants.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked cheese or chocolate, so I got one of each.”

Zack had seen her only in a white lab smock, but she was dressed stylishly in a pink blouse, tan slacks, and black blazer. Her hair was done up, and she wore a silver locket around her neck.

“May I join you?”

“Sure,” he said. He got up and pulled over a chair for her. “How did you know where to find me?” He tried not to let his irritation show.

“It wasn’t easy.” She sat down. “Working on your thesis?”

“Trying to.”

“Well, I won’t be long.”

“I mean it’s just hard to get back the enthusiasm.”

“I’m sure it’ll return.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You probably suspect why I’m here.”

“Yes, and I’m not interested.”

“Because you had an unpleasant experience, and I’m sorry that happened.”

Had Sarah told her? He didn’t think she’d betray him. But maybe she had. Luria was her boss after all. “Whatever. I just don’t have the time.”

“I understand.”

She reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope. From that she extracted a photograph and turned it toward him. It was a studio shot of a handsome young boy smiling broadly at the camera. Behind that was a shot of the same boy with a golden Labrador and an older man. “This was my son, Kevin, and his father, my husband. They were killed in an automobile accident some years ago. He was twelve at the time.”

“I’m very sorry, Dr. Luria.” It was the same child in the photograph on her lab desk.

“Thank you, and please call me Elizabeth.” Then she continued, “I’ll be straight with you. When I first started working on the project, I regarded all NDE claims as the brain’s defense against the onslaught of death. But I’ve seen growing evidence that points to transcendence. And your sessions confirm that.”

He could see that she was fighting back emotions.

“Zack, I believe that we are on the threshold of validating the existence of the afterlife.”

He nodded, beginning to feel sorry for her.

“We’ve analyzed all the MRI data from your last session and, like the first run, everything points to the conclusion that you crossed over.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was brought up in a religious home, but from a young age I didn’t believe in the soul or God. I saw no evidence that the supernatural existed. But now I do. And my investment in this project goes beyond science. Frankly, I’d like to know that my son and husband are in a good place—that they’re all right.”

“Dr. Luria, what are you asking me to do?”

“I want you to submit to another session,” she said, her body ramrod straight, her voice steady, without inflection, her eyes wet. “I want to confirm that the afterlife exists. I want confirmation that my child may still be alive in some form.”

After a long moment, he said, “With all due respect, I’m not some kind of medium or swami.”

“No, but you’re the only person who technically died and returned with evidence that our essence goes on.”

“What evidence?”

“The brain patterns, the electrical activity, the bloodwork—they all verify that your mind had actively separated from your brain, that your sentience continued even in flatline. That you had a near-death experience unlike anything we’ve seen before.”

From nowhere rose the image of that man’s ruined face under Zack’s hands.

“This may be the greatest discovery ever: that we don’t die but continue in some conscious form. Think of the hope that knowledge would afford people.”

“Can’t you use another test subject?”

“None of the others come close to your results.”

“You mean I’m your only test subject?”

“At the moment, yes.”

Tears began to flow, and she caught them with a napkin.
Shit.
He felt himself soften.

“I don’t have the words to tell you the kind of grief and guilt I’ve experienced. Nor do I want or expect your pity.” Then her face stiffened. “Did you have another unpleasant experience in the last run?”

“It’s not worth talking about.”

She glared at him as if trying to read his mind. Then from her purse she removed a checkbook. “If you don’t care to discuss it, fine. But I’m willing to pay for your time, knowing full well your other responsibilities.”

And in a fine hand in blue ink she wrote a check and handed it to him. “I’m hoping this will convince you how important it is to let us test you again.”

Zack looked at the check in disbelief. It was made out to him for $10,000.

His first thought was that this was the largest check he had ever seen with his name on it. The second thought was that he could clear all his debts and have money left over to give to his mother. The third thought was that for ten grand he could take the chance of another three-minute suspension. “This is a lot of money.”

“You don’t have to make a decision right now. All I ask is that you please think it over before saying no. Will you do that for me?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“To agree to let us test you a few more times.”

“To put me in suspension.”

“Yes.”

“How many more times is ‘a few’?”

“Until we get certain confirmation.”

“But you already said you have confirmation.”

Her face hardened and she said simply, “We need more data.”

“And how will you know when you get what you want?”

“The mathematical analysis is complicated. It has to do with probabilities—which Morris can tell you more about.”

She was being purposefully vague again. Nonetheless, he saw no point in having her twist in the breeze. “I’ll do it on one condition: that I decide when one more suspension is too much.”

“Fine,” she said. Her eyes fell on the photograph of her son, and they filled again. In a moment, tears were flowing down her cheeks. “I know I can never have my son or husband back.” She dabbed her face with a napkin. “But there would be great consolation to know that there’s something beyond and the possibility that I may be with them again.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be in touch,” she said, and thanked him. Before she left, she said, “His name is Kevin. Kevin Luria.”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving Zack staring at the photograph and the check, thinking how she wanted him to give her hope in something he could not get his own mind around—something that perhaps should remain beyond human grasp.

56

Roman Pace lowered the student newspaper and watched the woman walk away.

He didn’t know who she was—maybe the kid’s mother. Maybe one of his professors. She had slipped him an envelope, which could have been a homework assignment or a letter of recommendation. Anything. But it looked like serious business. Not light talk.

When she got up to leave, Roman was tempted to follow her but decided to stay with the kid. He did get a couple shots of her on his cell phone.

As for that younger, good-looking woman from the Grafton Street place, they seemed to be more than friends. He had overnighted at her place last week.

Whoever she was, he’d find out.

57

Tetrodotoxin is a powerful neurotoxin found in puffer fish and is 10,000 times more lethal than cyanide. Twenty-five milligrams could kill a 165-pound man. There are no known antidotes for the toxin, which kills by causing respiratory failure. For 70% of the victims, death follows within four to 24 hours. The toxin works by shutting down electrical signaling in nerves. Nonlethal dosages can produce dizziness, headaches, and hallucinatory effects.

The last two words jumped out at Zack as he glared at his laptop later that evening.

He was staring at three options:

Behind Door One: He was brain-damaged and had hallucinated murder scenes. Door Two: He was an actual killer who murdered two strangers while in a trance. Door Three: He had crossed over and linked up with some homicidal psyche.

In spite of Elizabeth Luria’s pleas, even Morris Stern’s concession that he may have had out-of-the-body experiences, Zack did not buy the supernatural, no matter what their fancy MRI recorded. He didn’t believe in ghosts. And he didn’t think he was nuts.