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.
“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
