Passage. Part 52

"What about time dilation?"

She shook her head. "Nothing was speeded up or slowed down. It all happened in real time."

Only obviously it hadn't. "How long was I under?"

"Eight seconds," Richard said. "How long was it compared to the other times?"

"Longer," she said promptly.

"Then that and Mr. Sage's NDE confirm there's no correlation between subjective time and elapsed time," he said, and Joanna thought suddenly of Lavoisier. How long had he really been conscious? And how much time had elapsed for him between each blink?

"Was it a complete NDE or did it cut off in the middle?" Richard was asking.

"Both," Joanna said, wis.h.i.+ng Tish would finish unhooking her so she could explain. "I was trying to find Mr. Briarley. He was going to the post office, and I was trying to catch up with him, and I started down this pa.s.sage-"

"Post office?" Tish said. "I thought you were supposed to see heaven."

"-and I didn't realize till I was already in it that it was the same one, and then it was too late. I was already back in the lab."

"So the ending was different?" Richard said eagerly.

"Yes and no. I came back through the same pa.s.sage, but it was more sudden than the other times. There was more of an abrupt cutoff."

Richard went over to the console and typed rapidly, and then looked up at the screen. "Justwhat I thought. Your last scan is a dead-on match for Mrs. Troudtheim's." He began typing again. "I need you to get your account recorded and transcribed as soon as possible."

"I will," Joanna said, "and I want to talk to you about what I saw."

He nodded absently, staring at the screens. Joanna gave up and went into the dressing room, pulled on her blouse and jacket and put on her shoes, and then came back out. Richard was still typing. Tish was winding up the monitor cords. She was nearly done putting things away. I'll wait till she's gone and then tell him about the Grand Staircase, Joanna thought, and pulled a chair over to the far corner of the lab, sat down, and switched the recorder on.

Of course he'll probably say I confabulated it from the conversation we had, she thought, and began recording. "Joanna Lander, session six, March 2. I heard a noise, and I was in the pa.s.sage,"

she said softly into it. She described her attempts to find the Grand Staircase, her fruitless conversation with Greg Menotti, her going out onto the Promenade Deck. "I walked along the deck to where the light from the bar-" she said, and thought of something.

She had said an hour, and it had definitely seemed that long, but an hour after the collision the s.h.i.+p would have had a definite list. Maybe there had been time dilation, after all, or maybe that was another discrepancy that meant something.

I need to tell Richard that, she thought, and looked over at the console. He was taking papers out of the printer. "Joanna," he said, "I want to show these readouts to Dr. Jamison and see what she thinks," and walked out before she could turn off her recorder.

She had half stood up. She sat down again, frustrated, and began recording where she'd left off, describing the man dealing out cards, the library, seeing the man at the writing desk. "And when he looked up, I saw it was Mr. Briarley, my high school English teacher, but it wasn't the Mr. Briarley I'd seen five days ago. He remembered my name and which cla.s.s I was in, and he looked well and happy-"

Well and happy. "My mother looked well and happy," Ms. Isakson had said, "not like the last time I'd seen her. She got so thin there at the end, and so yellow," and Joanna had thought, That's how NDEers always describe their dead relatives, with their limbs and their faculties restored.

Mr. Briarley remembered who Kit had been named for, he had been able to quote "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

He's dead, she thought, and a current of fear ran through her. He died. That's why I saw him on board. The stories Mr. Mandrake told me about seeing someone in an NDE and then finding out they'd died are true.

No, they aren't, Joanna thought, glaring at the recorder in her hand. You know perfectly well that none of those cases were doc.u.mented, that the subjects never even mentioned having seen the person until after they'd had outside confirmation of the death, like those mediums who claimed they'd "seen" W. T. Stead at two-twenty on the night the t.i.tanic went down. Not a single one had come forward with their claim until after they'd seen Stead's name listed among the lost. Those stories aren't true. Mr. Briarley's not dead. You saw him because you were thinking about him, because you were worrying about him. Then why didn't I see Vielle? Or Maisie? And why did I see Greg Menotti?Because he's dead, she thought, the dead are who's on board, and felt the s.h.i.+ver of fear again. I have to find out. I have to call Kit.

But if she called, and something had happened to Mr. Briarley, she'd be in exactly the same situation as Mr. Mandrake's NDEers. She'd have no proof she hadn't had advance knowledge of his death, that she hadn't talked to Kit first and then confabulated Mr. Briarley's presence in the library.

I have to tell Richard about my NDE first, before I call Kit, she thought, but there was no telling when he'd be back. She could try to find him, but even if she did, he hadn't been with her the whole time. For all he knew, she might have received a call from Kit while he was out of the lab.

Tish could attest to the fact that she hadn't left the lab, or received or made any calls, but Richard didn't want her to know about the t.i.tanic. He's right, Joanna thought. If Mr. Mandrake were to find out about this... she could see the Star headlines already: "I See Dead People! Scientist Receives Message from Afterlife."

But there was no one else who could prove she hadn't known about Mr. Briarley's death. And if I don't hurry, I won't have Tish either, she thought, looking over at where Tish was setting up for Mr.

Sage's session. In another five minutes, she'd be ready to leave.

Joanna bit her lip, trying to decide what to do, and then switched on the recorder and began speaking quickly, describing everything she could remember about how Mr. Briarley had looked and what he'd said. "There is always less time than we imagine," he'd said, and " 'whatsoever noise ye hear, come not unto me, for nothing can rescue me.' "

He was trying to tell you he was dead, she thought, and had to force herself not to stand up and go over to the phone, to finish recording the account. "All this time Mr. Briarley's being there seemed perfectly normal," she said into the recorder, "but when-"

"Did you say something?" Tish asked from over by the examining table.

"No, I'm just recording my account," Joanna said.

"Oh. Is there anything else you need me to do, or can I go to lunch now?"

"No, I need you to do something for me," Joanna said.

"Oh," Tish said, disappointed. "What is it? Because it's already one and the cafeteria-"

Probably closed at twelve forty-five, Joanna thought, and if you leave, there goes my doc.u.mentation. "I need you to witness something," she said.

"Witness something? You mean, like a will?"

"No, not a will," Joanna said. "A statement of fact. But before you do, I need to finish recording my account of my NDE, so it'll be a few minutes."

"Can't I go and come back?""No," Joanna said. "I need you here. I'm going to want you to witness the fact that I didn't leave the room or make or receive any phone calls."

She switched the recorder back on and began to talk rapidly into it. "-but when I came out of the NDE-state and began recording my account, I experienced an overpowering feeling that his being there meant that he was dead," she said, trying not to be distracted by the sight of Tish standing in the middle of the lab, tapping her foot and looking at her watch every few seconds. "As far as I am aware, Mr. Briarley-Tish, you don't have to watch me." Tish shrugged, went over to the dressing room door, and began applying lipstick in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"As far as I am aware, Mr. Briarley is alive," Joanna said. "I saw him five days ago and spoke with him on the phone yesterday, and, so far as I know, he was in good health, with the exception of his Alzheimer's, and uninjured. I have had no communication with him or regarding him since then.

End of Joanna Lander's account. Completed at 1:08 p.m."

She popped the tape out of the recorder. "Okay," she said to Tish, who was applying mascara, and went over to Richard's desk. She reached to switch on the computer and then thought better of it-there shouldn't be any possibility of outside input, including e-mail-and grabbed a piece of paper. Tish came over to the desk, her bag already over her arm, obviously in a hurry to leave. Which is good, Joanna thought. She won't ask a lot of questions.

Joanna wrote, "I was in the presence of J. Lander from the beginning of the procedure to the completion of the recording of her account. At no time did J. Lander leave the laboratory or have any communication with anyone outside it," and pushed the paper across the desk to Tish. "I need you to sign and date this, and put the time," she said, handing her a pen.

Tish read the affidavit. "What's this for?" she said. "I'm not providing you an alibi for a crime, am I?".

"No," Joanna said. "I just need you to doc.u.ment when and where my NDE account was written."

"You never asked me to doc.u.ment any of the others," Tish said suspiciously.

"Dr. Wright usually doc.u.ments them," Joanna lied. She looked pointedly at her watch. "It's one-fifteen."

"It is?" Tish said anxiously and signed the paper. "Is that all you need?"

"No," Joanna said, holding up the tape. "This is the tape of my account." She wrapped it in another sheet of paper and taped the ends closed. "I need you to sign across the tape and date it."

"All this for an NDE where you see the post office?" Tish said. "If I ever have an NDE, I certainly hope it has something more exciting in it than the post office."

No, you don't, Joanna thought. She handed Tish the pen. "It's one-seventeen."

Tish looked at her watch and then signed it. "Is that it?""No, one more thing," Joanna said, picking up the phone. "I want you to witness me making this phone call." She punched in Kit's number, hoping, for the first time, that Mr. Briarley would answer the phone, and wondering what she'd say if he didn't. "Hi, we're performing a little experiment here. Is your Uncle Pat alive?"

Tish was tapping her foot again. And what if no one answered? She obviously wouldn't be willing to stick around while Joanna attempted to call- "h.e.l.lo?" a woman's voice, not Kit's, answered. "h.e.l.lo?"

I dialed the wrong number, Joanna thought. "Is... I'm trying to reach Kit Gardiner," she stammered. "Is she there?"

"No," the woman said. "This is Mrs. Gray, the Eldercaregiver."

"Is Mr. Briarley there?"

"No," Mrs. Gray said. "They just left for the emergency room."

32.

Mission Control: Challenger, go at throttle up.

Challenger: Roger, go at throttle up. (static).

(Pause).

Mission Control: Flight controllers here are looking very carefully at the situation.

Obviously a major malfunction.

"Emergency room," Joanna said numbly. Mr. Briarley's dead, and I knew it, even though there was no way I could have known. She jammed down the phone and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Tish said. "I thought you wanted me to witness your phone call."

Joanna stopped, staring at her blankly.

"So, do you want me to sign something saying who you called and what you said?" Tish asked.

"No," Joanna managed to say. "You can leave now."

"Okay," Tish said doubtfully. "I thought that was why you wanted me to stay, to witness it."

To witness it. To attest to the fact that she couldn't have known he was dead beforehand. Dead.And himself again, no longer struggling to remember his niece or the word for "tea." Well and happy, with his memory restored. On the Other Side.

"Dr. Lander?" Tish asked, looking anxiously at her. "Are you okay?"

No, Joanna thought. They're real. They're not a hallucination. "I'm fine. Go on, Tish. I know you wanted to get to lunch."

Tish nodded. "The cute new obstetrician I told you about hasn't figured out when the cafeteria's open," she said, digging through her tote bag. "I brought a whole bunch of quarters for the vending machines. Where is that coin purse? I'll admit Doritos and Skittles aren't very romantic, but since there aren't any restaurants around here-Oh, good, here it is." She brought out a red polka-dotted coin purse and stuck it in her pocket. "Somebody really needs to open one across the street," she said, starting for the door. "They'd make a killing," and was finally gone.

Joanna forced herself to wait till she heard the ding and whoosh of the elevator, then raced out of the lab and down to the ER. It can't be true, she thought, tearing down the stairs. The mediums were fakes, and Mrs. Davenport's a moron. There wasn't a shred of truth to any of their claims. It couldn't be true. But there wasn't any other way she could have known. No one had discussed it while she was under. Richard and Tish didn't even know Mr. Briarley, and if Kit had called and left her a message, Richard would have mentioned it as soon as she came out.

Joanna burst through the side door to the ER and stood there, panting. She couldn't see Kit anywhere, or paramedics or the crash team. Over by the ambulance doors a security guard straightened from leaning against the wall and looked at her. You have to act normal, she thought, and tried to slow her breathing, calm her expression, look like she was just down here looking for someone.

She tried to spot the aide-what was her name, Nina?-that Vielle was always yelling at, or the gangly intern, but the flu had apparently taken its toll. She didn't recognize a soul, and she couldn't just march into the trauma rooms, particularly not with the security guard eyeing her, although he had apparently seen her lanyard and ID and decided she was on staff and belonged here. He had gone back to leaning against the wall.

She still couldn't go barging into trauma rooms. She'd have to ask the admissions nurse. She pushed her way across the ER and out to the admissions desk. "I'm looking for Patrick Briarley," she said urgently to the admissions nurse, whom she didn't recognize. "His niece, Kit Gardiner, would have brought him in."

"Briarley?" the nurse said, typing in his name and looking for several moments at the screen.

"You're too late."

Too late. I knew that, Joanna thought. I saw him on the Other Side. I can doc.u.ment it.

"He just left," the nurse said.

"Left?" The word made no sense.

The nurse looked defensive. "There was nothing on his record about him staying until youarrived, Dr.-?" she said, trying to read Joanna's ID badge. "Do you want his home number? I'd call it for you, but I don't think they're there yet. They just left, not five minutes ago."

"For upstairs?" He hadn't died, after all. The crash team had managed to revive him. "He's been admitted?"

"For a cut thumb?" the nurse said.

A cut thumb? Not a stroke or a heart attack. A cut thumb. He wasn't dead. She had frightened herself like a superst.i.tious child, spooked by shadows.

"You say he was cut," Joanna said. "How badly?"

"You'll have to talk to the resident on duty," the nurse said, staring suspiciously at Joanna's ID badge. "Dr. Carroll. That's who treated him."

Joanna turned and walked purposefully into the ER, wis.h.i.+ng it were an intern instead of a resident who'd treated him. They talked freely about patients and treatments to anybody who asked them. Vielle was always drilling patient confidentiality into them. "At least by the time they're residents, they've learned that," she'd told Joanna, "even if they haven't learned anything else."

She'd have to ask one of the nurse's aides. Oh, good, Nina was here after all, over by the instrument sterilizer. She walked over to her. "Nina, I need-"

Nina jumped and dropped a pair of forceps. "Oh, Dr. Lander, what are you doing down here?"

she said, looking nervously around. "If you're looking for Nurse Howard, she's not here."

"I know. It's you I need to talk to. Who a.s.sisted Dr. Carroll with the patient who was just in with a cut thumb? Mr. Briarley?"

"Mr. Briarley?" Nina said, sounding relieved for some reason, but, instead of answering, she motioned Joanna into the communications room. It was still unfinished, the radio console trailing wires, and boxes everywhere. Nina pulled the door shut. "So we can talk without all that noise."