Tunnel Vision

Nearly every account went on about glorious encounters with beings of light, communicating mind to mind with “a loving omniscient presence,” which some called God and others Jesus. And they all claimed that the experiences transformed their lives for the better—made them more spiritual, loving, kinder, more in tune with the universe. Some NDEs even turned agnostics and atheists into believers.

So where was the blasphemy? Where was old Satan in all this?

70

They couldn’t go to the police without first gathering evidence linking the test victims to the lab. They would also need proof that Sarah had joined Proteus after they stopped using street people as guinea pigs. But that would take more time than they had. So Zack had Sarah drive them to Zack’s place, where he showered, changed, and packed some overnight clothes. Then they headed up Commonwealth Avenue to a dealership just beyond the BU campus, where he rented a Nissan Murano and drove to a parking lot on Longwood.

While Sarah waited in the car, he climbed to the third floor of the Goldenson Building on the Harvard Medical School campus. And just as the secretary had said when he called, she was in her office. Without knocking, Zack opened the door.

Elizabeth Luria jerked visibly in her chair, her face draining of color around her birthmark.

“Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” He closed the door behind him.

She let out a small squeal as her mouth quivered for words.

He walked to her desk, which was covered with paperwork. “Back from the dead, and hotter than ever.”

“I can explain.”

“What, how you kidnapped me, then buried me alive? I’d really like to hear that, Elizabeth.”

“W-we needed just one more run to confirm merger, just that one, but I know how you refused. We were so close, I—I just felt desperate.”

“So you force-flatlined me and left me for dead for real. But I bet you got your data.”

Her face lit up. “Yes, yes. It’s remarkable. Really. It confirms—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Then you buried me alive.”

“That was an accident, I swear. We couldn’t revive you. Something went wrong. Maybe it was too early for another suspension. Maybe the sedative was still in your system. I don’t know.”

“But you tried, of course.”

Her face exaggerated itself. “Oh, God, we tried. Of course. Of course—injected you with epinephrine. Used defibrillator paddles over and over. Nothing worked, I swear. You had no heartbeat no matter what we did.”

“So, what I’m wondering is how hotshot neuroscientists with the most sophisticated MRI machine on the planet couldn’t see that my brain was still alive.”

“We couldn’t get a reading. Something went wrong.”

“But you confirmed that I transcended and merged with another sentience.”

“Yes.” Beads of perspiration had formed in the pockets under her eyes.

“And you buried me on Sagamore Beach.”

“Because that’s where you said you felt most spiritual.”

“A little deja vu all over again.”

“Pardon me?”

“Just like my father.” As soon as he said that, he felt a sharp jab in his side.

“What?” She froze for a moment. Then her hand jerked toward the desk phone. But he reached over and yanked the wire out of the wall.

“If you yell for help, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me why you killed my father.”

Again she hesitated, trying to gather herself. “We didn’t kill him. He died on the gurney.”

“He was still alive when you buried him.”

“What?”

“He clawed his way out,” he said. “EMTs brought him to Jordan Hospital with tetrodotoxin in his blood.”

Her mouth quivered as he described the security video. “We didn’t know.”

“Like you didn’t know with me.”

She made no response, looking overwhelmed.

He picked up a bronze brain-shaped trophy. According to the pedestal engraving, it was the Department of Neurology award to Luria for teaching excellence. He felt its solid heft, smacking it against his palm and thinking how it would feel to bash her face if she screamed.

“That was three years ago, before we had the MRI machine. We had no idea his brain was still alive. And that’s the truth.” On a shelf behind her was another photo of her son posing on a pony, with Elizabeth standing next to him beaming.

“So you just drove to Sagamore Beach and buried him in the sand.”

“Because that’s what he wanted. He entered the same place on the questionnaire.”

In spite of himself, Zack felt his throat thicken. Where they had felt most connected with the universe. Where they’d been the happiest as a family. “Except he dug himself out.” And Zack had relived it all in his head, then last night for real. “This was all a setup from the start. You had my father’s brain patterns on record, and when he died you went after me, hoping if I crossed over, I’d contact him. All because you wanted secrets of the dead. Well, you got it,” he said. “And the secret is he wasn’t dead.”

She looked at him blank-faced and said nothing.

“Whose ashes are those on my mother’s fireplace?”

“Nobody’s.”

“Nobody’s? Then who was Brother Albani?”

“Bruce.”

“Bruce? So, you buried my father alive, then sent that fucking creep in a monk’s robe to give my mother some bullshit story how he died in his sleep, clutching his crucifix. And for three years we thought those were his remains when it’s probably charcoal from one of your friggin’ lab cookouts.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

“No, lady, you deserve a lot worse. You destroyed people’s lives in pursuit of cheesy glory.”

“It wasn’t glory. The activity in your father’s brain was off the charts. So was yours with identical circuitry. We hoped you’d transcend and make contact with him.”

“I did,” he said. But he wasn’t the father I had hoped for. Again, the stabbing pain to his left side. He winced and straightened up. “How did you end up suspending him?”

“He volunteered.”

“Don’t give me more bullshit.”

“I’m not. We began scanning people who claimed to be spiritual. That brought us to religious groups, including Carmelite nuns and the Benedictine monastery where your father was. When we told him what we were doing, he volunteered to be suspended.”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to contact your brother.”

Zack couldn’t quite define it, but his heart clutched in a primal reflex of jealousy. His father had always favored Jake. Smooth, smart, confident Jake, he thought sourly.

“We never determined that he did,” Luria continued. “When we read about you, we saw an opportunity to test the genetic possibilities, hoping that you’d merge with him.”

“I did.” And he’s a psychopathic killer.

“And that was incredible.” Her eyes lit up again. “Zack, our intention wasn’t to harm people. We weren’t conducting some kind of Nazi experiments.”

“Then what about these, mein Fuhrer?” From his back pocket he pulled photocopies of the articles of people who had killed themselves or died—all with tetrodotoxin in them.

She scanned the articles. “These deaths were not intentional. I swear.”