He mapped them. They didn’t match those of the other subjects. They showed sharply decreased acetylcholine and elevated norepinephrine, both consistent with arousal. Mrs. Troudtheim was right. She’d jerked awake. When he compared them with the other subjects’ arousal frames, the levels were identical.
He looked at the other neurotransmitters. High cortisol, no alpha- or beta-endorphins, traces of carnosine, amiglycine, and theta-asparcine. Carnosine was a variety of peptide, but he’d never heard of amiglycine or theta-asparcine. He’d need to talk to a neurotransmitter expert. He called Dr. Jamison, who had an office up on eighth, and made an appointment to see her, but she wasn’t much help. “Amiglycine is present in the anterior pituitary gland. It acts as an inhibitor. Theta-asparcine is an endorphin that seems to primarily be involved in digestion.”
Digestion, Richard thought. Wonderful.
“It’s been produced artificially,” she said helpfully. “I think someone did a study on it recently. I’ll see if I can find it. It may have other functions. Endorphins frequently have multiple functions.”
And maybe one of them is inhibiting NDEs, Richard thought, going back to the lab, but when he looked at the other NDEs, theta-asparcine was present in one of Mr. Sage’s and two of Amelia Tanaka’s, and he didn’t find any other anomalies in the neurotransmitter analysis or the bloodwork that might explain its instability.
He spent the next two days going over the scans again, but to no avail. When Mrs. Troudtheim arrived the next day, he still had no idea what the problem was.
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.”