“Needle out!” Dr. Nawaz announced and handed it over to Constance. He took a deep breath and then lifted the edge of the drape to look in at Ashley. He could sense Daniel was looking over his shoulder. Ashley’s expression of revulsion had changed to irritation. His mouth was now set, with his lips pressed together in a thin line. His eyes were open wider and his nares flared.
“Are you all right, Mr. Smith?” Dr. Nawaz asked.
“I want to get the hell out of here,” Ashley snapped.
“Do you still smell that odor?”
“What odor?”
“You complained about a bad smell just a moment ago.”
“I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. All I know is I want out of here!” Suddenly intent on standing up, Ashley strained against the tape holding his torso to the cranked-up operating table and against the tape on his wrists. At the same time, he drew his legs up, bringing his knees to his chest.
“Hold him down!” Dr. Nawaz shouted. He leaned across Ashley’s lap, trying to force Ashley’s legs back down flat with the weight of his body. Dr. Nawaz was still holding up the edge of the drape, watching Ashley’s face turn red with effort.
Daniel dashed to the foot of the operating table and reached in under the drapes to grasp Ashley’s ankles. He tried to pull them down and was surprised at Ashley’s strength of resistance. Dr. Newhouse had released the hold he had on Ashley’s shoulder to grab his wrist, which Ashley had succeeded in freeing from its taped restraint. Marjorie leapt around the table to grab Ashley’s other arm, which was also coming free.
“Mr. Smith, calm down!” Dr. Nawaz shouted. “Everything is okay!”
“Get off me, you freaking animals,” Ashley shouted back. He sounded like the quintessential belligerent drunk, resisting all efforts to be constrained.
Stephanie, Paul, and Spencer came flying into the operating room while struggling to get their facemasks in place. They lent a hand holding Ashley down, giving Marjorie a chance to reinforce the wrist restraints and helping Daniel get Ashley’s legs flat again. With his hands free, Dr. Newhouse rechecked Ashley’s blood pressure. The beeping of the cardiac monitor had increased its tempo considerably. Marjorie briefly left the room to get a pair of leather ankle restraints.
“Everything is okay,” Dr. Nawaz repeated to Ashley once they had him under control. He stared at the man’s defiant, enraged face, which was beet-red from exertion. “You must calm down! We have to close your little incision, and we will be done. Then you can get up. Do you understand?”
“You’re all a bunch of perverts. Get the fuck off me!”
Ashley’s use of such inappropriate and objectionable language in the operating room stunned everyone almost as much as his sudden physical struggling. For a beat, no one moved or said a word.
Dr. Nawaz was the first to recover. Now that he was confident Ashley was restrained, he raised himself from lying across Ashley’s lap. As he did so, everyone noticed Ashley had a full penile erection that tented up the drapes.
“Please let go of my hands and feet!” Ashley said tearfully, as he began to cry. “They are bleeding.”
Everyone’s eyes immediately looked at Ashley’s hands and feet, particularly Daniel, who was still holding Ashley’s ankles as Marjorie struggled to put on the restraints.
“There’s no blood,” Paul said, speaking for the group. “What’s he talking about?”
“John, listen to me!” Dr. Nawaz said. He was still holding up the flap of drape to expose Ashley’s face from the eyebrows down. “Your hands and feet are not bleeding. You are fine. You just have to relax for a few more minutes to allow me to finish.”
“My name is not John,” Ashley said softly. The tears had disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Although he still sounded inebriated, he seemed suddenly at peace.
“If it is not John, what is it?” Dr. Nawaz asked.
Daniel shot a worried glance at Stephanie, who had taken a step back from the OR table after having helped restrain one of Ashley’s hands. On top of Daniel’s bewilderment, he was now concerned that Ashley was about to reveal his true identity in his drugged state. What that would do to the final outcome of the project he had no idea, but it couldn’t be good, not with all the requisite secrecy so far.
“My name is Jesus,” Ashley said softly, as he beatifically closed his eyes.
Most everyone in the room was again dumbfounded and exchanged bemused glances, but not Dr. Nawaz. His response was to ask Dr. Newhouse what he had given the patient as a sedative before the procedure.
“Intravenous diazepam and fentanyl,” Dr. Newhouse answered.
“Do you feel comfortable giving him another dose immediately?”
“Sure,” Dr. Newhouse said. “Do you want me to?”
“Please,” Dr. Nawaz said.
Dr. Newhouse pulled out the drawer on his anesthesia cart, took out a fresh syringe, and tore open the packaging. With practiced hands, he drew up the medication and injected it into the intravenous port on the IV line.
“Forgive them, Father,” Ashley said without opening his eyes, “for they know not what they do.”
“What’s going on here?” Paul asked in a forced whisper. “Does this guy think he’s Jesus Christ being crucified?”
“Is this some kind of weird drug reaction?” Spencer asked.
“I doubt it,” Dr. Nawaz said. “But whatever its cause, it is certainly a seizure!”
“Seizure?” Paul questioned with incredulity. “This is like no seizure I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s called a complex partial seizure,” Dr. Nawaz said. “Better known as a temporal lobe seizure.”
“What caused it, if not the drugs?” Paul asked. “Sticking the needle into his brain?”
“If it had been the needle, I think it would have occurred earlier,” Dr. Nawaz said. “Since it occurred near the end of the implantation, I think we have to assume it was that.” He looked at Dr. Newhouse. “Check to see if he is asleep?”
Dr. Newhouse reached under the drape and gave Ashley’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Any response?” he asked Dr. Nawaz.
Dr. Nawaz shook his head and lowered the drape over Ashley’s face. He sighed beneath his face mask and turned to look at Daniel. He crossed his still sterile and gloved hands across his gowned chest.
Daniel felt his legs turn rubbery as he looked into the neurosurgeon’s dark, unblinking eyes. Daniel could tell he was troubled, which undermined the composure Daniel had been strenuously maintaining. The fear of a complication, which had been floating in the background of his mind since Ashley’s complaint about a smell, came flooding back with the force of a burst dam.
“I believe you can let go of the patient’s ankles,” Dr. Nawaz said.
Daniel released his grip, which he had been absently maintaining, even after Marjorie had secured the ankle restraints.
“This seizure has me concerned,” Dr. Nawaz said. “Not only do I believe it was not caused by the drugs, the fact that it occurred with the drugs on board suggests it was a particularly violent focal brain disturbance.”
“Why couldn’t it be drug-related?” Daniel asked, with more hope than reason. “Couldn’t it just be like a drug-induced dream? I mean, intravenous diazepam and fentanyl is a potent mix. Combining such a concoction with the suggestively emotive power of the Shroud of Turin is bound to cause wild flights of fancy.”
“What does the Shroud of Turin have to do with this?” Dr. Nawaz asked.
“It has to do with the treatment cells,” Daniel said. “It’s a long story, but prior to the cloning process, a few of the patient’s genes were replaced with genes obtained from the blood on the Shroud of Turin. It was a specific request by the patient, who believes in the shroud’s authenticity. He even said he was hoping for divine intervention.”
“I suppose such ideation could play a role in the patient’s delusion,” Dr. Nawaz said. “But the fact that this was a seizure that occurred with the implantation cannot be denied.”