Or not, considering this hospital. That was all he needed, for her to be here waiting and looking at her watch, while he tried to find his way back from the west wing. He picked up the phone and paged her, just on the chance she had her pager switched on, and then hit “repeat” again. There must have been something in her tone that would be a clue as to whether—
“All your messages have been erased,” the machine said. No! He dived at the machine, hit “play.” “You have zero messages.”
Richard grabbed for a prescription pad. “Wojakowski,” he scribbled. “Cartwright Chemical, Davis—” Who else? he thought, trying to reconstruct the messages in his mind. Mrs. Brightman, and then somebody from Northwestern. Geneva Carlson? The phone rang. Richard snatched it up, hoping it was Joanna. “Hello?”
“So, have you seen it?” Davis said.
“Seen what, Davis?”
“The star!”
“What star? You call and leave an undecipherable message—”
“Undecipherable?” Davis said, sounding offended. “It was perfectly clear. I even told you what page the article was on.”
Not a star. The Star, the tabloid newspaper. “What was the article about?” Richard asked.
“Foxx! He’s gone nutcase and announced he’s proved there’s life after death. Wait a minute, I’ve got it here, let me read it to you…” There was a thunking sound as he dropped the phone, and a rattle of paper. “ ‘Dr. R. John Foxx, a respected scientist in the field of near-death research, said, “When I began my research into near-death experiences, I was convinced they were hallucinations caused by oxygen deprivation, but after exhaustive research, I’ve concluded they are a preview of the afterlife. Heaven is real. God is real. I have spoken to Him.” ’ ”
“Oh, my God,” Richard murmured.
“He’s leaving medicine to open the Eternal Life Institute,” Davis said. “So, my question is, is this something that happens to everybody who does NDE research? I mean, first Seagal claims he’s located the soul in the temporal lobe and has photos of it leaving the body, and now Foxx.”
“Seagal was always crazy,” Richard said.
“But Foxx wasn’t,” Davis said. “What if it’s some kind of virus that infects everybody who studies NDEs and makes them go wacko? How do I know you won’t suddenly announce that a picture of the Virgin Mary appeared to you on the RIPT scan screen?”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
“Well, if you do,” Davis said, “call me first, before you call the Star. I’ve always wanted to be that friend they interview, the one who says, ‘No, I never noticed anything unusual about him. He was always quiet, well mannered, something of a loner.’ Speaking of which, any babes on the horizon?”
“No,” Richard said, thinking of Joanna. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Whatever the cut-off “A—” in her message had meant, it wasn’t acceptance. She’d probably read the Star and decided working with anybody on near-death research was too risky. It was too bad. He had really looked forward to working with her. I should have offered her something more substantial than an energy bar, he thought.
“No cute little nurses, huh?” Davis said. “That’s because you’re in the wrong specialty. I got ’em lined up out the door.” Knowing Davis, he probably did. “Of course, there’s another explanation.”
“For having women lined up out the door?” Richard said.
“No,” Davis said, “for everybody associated with NDE research suddenly becoming true believers. Maybe it’s all true, the tunnel and heaven and the soul, and there really is an afterlife.” He began humming again, the same weird nontune as he had hummed on the answering machine.
“What is that ungodly sound supposed to be? The Twilight Zone?”
Davis snorted. “It’s the theme from The X-Files. It’s a possibility, you know. The NDEers are right, and when we die we end up surrounded by Precious Moments figurines. In which case, I for one am not going.”
“Me neither,” Richard said, laughing.
“And I’d appreciate you calling and warning me so I can get started on immortality research right away.”
“I will,” Richard promised. There was a knock on the door. Richard looked up eagerly. “Gotta go,” he said, hung up, and hurried across the lab to open the door.
“Ah, Dr. Wright,” Mr. Mandrake said, coming into the lab, “I was hoping you’d be here. We didn’t have a chance to talk yesterday.”
Richard resisted the impulse to look wildly around for an exit. “I’m afraid now isn’t a good time—”
Mr. Mandrake walked over to the RIPT scan. “Is this what you hope to capture the NAE with?” he asked, peering underneath its arch-shaped dome. “You won’t be able to, you know. The NAE can’t be photographed.”
Like ghosts? Richard thought. And UFOs?
“Any number of researchers have already tried to find a physical cause that can explain the NAE, you know,” he said. “Carbon-dioxide buildup, endorphins, random firing of synapses.” He gave the RIPT scan a dismissive tap and walked over to the EEC “There are a number of NAE phenomena that science cannot explain.”
Name one, Richard thought.
“How do you explain the fact that every person who has experienced the NAE says that it was not a dream, that it really happened?”
Subjective experience is hardly proof of anything, Richard thought.
“And how could endorphins or CO2 buildup confer knowledge on the subject experiencing the NAE?” Mr. Mandrake asked. “Knowledge that scientists agree the subject could not have attained by normal means?”
What scientists? Richard thought. Dr. Foxx? Dr. Seagal?
“A number of my subjects have reported seeing a relative on the Other Side whom they thought was alive and being surprised to see them there,” Mandrake said. “When the subjects returned, they telephoned family members and were informed that the relative had just died. In each of these cases, there was no way the subject could have known about the relative’s death in advance.”
“Do you have a list of their names?” Richard asked.
“It would be highly unprofessional for me to release the names of the subjects of my studies,” Mr. Mandrake said disapprovingly, “but there have been numerous documented instances of the phenomenon.”
“Really?” Richard said. “In which journals?”
“The scientific establishment is unfortunately extremely narrow-minded when it comes to publishing the results of near-death research,” Mr. Mandrake said stiffly. “Except for a few brave pioneers like Dr. Seagal and Dr. Lander, they cannot see the greater realities which lie around them.”
At the mention of Joanna’s name, Richard glanced at the clock again. Ten-thirty.
“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’ ” Mr. Mandrake said. “There have also been numerous cases of returned NAEers displaying paranormal gifts. One of my subjects—”
“This really isn’t a good time,” Richard said, “I have a phone call I need to make, so if you’ll excuse me—” He picked up the phone.
“Of course,” Mr. Mandrake said. “I must go see Mrs. Davenport. I’ll be eager to discuss your findings with you.”
He exited. Richard started to put the phone down and then picked it up again and began punching in Amelia Tanaka’s number as Mr. Mandrake reappeared. “I wanted you to have a copy of The Light at the End of the Tunnel,” he said, reaching for Richard’s pen. “No, no, don’t let me interrupt your call.” He waved to Richard to keep dialing. “It’s Wright with a W, isn’t it?”