Passage. Part 40

"I don't know how much you know about the disease," Kit said, offering Joanna a cookie. "The first symptoms are little things, forgetting appointments, misplacing things-Uncle Pat kept losing his grade book and a couple of times he forgot a faculty meeting-the kind of things you put down to age or stress." She put sugar in her tea and stirred it. "It was funny, you mentioning the t.i.tanic yesterday, because that was how I realized there was something really wrong. I went to see the movie, which, having listened to Uncle Pat talk about the disaster for years, I hated."

"I did, too," Joanna said.

"Oh, good, then you know what I mean. Well, anyway, I came home and told Uncle Pat how the movie made everyone look like cowards, even Lightoller and Molly Brown, and how they'd gotten all kinds of facts wrong-like Murdoch shooting a pa.s.senger!-and he was furious, just like I knew he would be. He said he was going to write a stinging letter to James Cameron in the morning, and when I went up to bed, he had all his t.i.tanic books out, looking things up so he could quote them exactly."

She took a sip of tea. "The next morning I asked him if he'd written the letter yet," she said, and all the despair of Amelia Tanaka and Greg Menotti was in her voice. "He didn't have any memory of the letter or our conversation, not even of my having gone to the movie. He didn't even know who Lightoller was."

And yesterday I came blundering in, Joanna thought, not only talking about the t.i.tanic, but asking Mr. Briarley if he remembered what he'd said in cla.s.s. "Kit, I am so sorry," she said. "If I'd known-"

"Oh, no, it's okay. I just wanted you to know that was why I acted so peculiar yesterday, asking you if my mother had sent you and everything. My mother and I have a difference of opinion regarding Uncle Pat's care. She's always sending people over to try to talk me into putting him into a care facility. She thinks taking care of him is too much for me."

I can see why she thinks that, Joanna thought, looking at Kit's painfully thin collarbones, her shadowed eyes. She had said Mr. Briarley wasn't sleeping. Joanna would bet she wasn't either.

"I know Uncle Pat will have to be inst.i.tutionalized someday," Kit said, "but I want him to be able to stay here as long as he can. He was very kind to me, and-anyway, when you said you worked at Mercy General, I a.s.sumed-what do you do at Mercy General?" she asked curiously.

"I'm a cognitive psychologist," Joanna said and wondered if she should let it go at that, but Kit reminded her of Maisie in more ways than one, and Maisie hated not being told the truth. "I'm working on a research project involving near-death experiences," she said. "You know, the tunnel-and-light phenomenon?"

Kit nodded. "I read The Light at the End of the Tunnel. My cousin made me read it after-"

She stopped, her cheeks red with anger or embarra.s.sment.

And what could be worse than discovering your uncle had Alzheimer's? Joanna thought. Havingyour cousin comfort you by inflicting Maurice Mandrake on you.

"You don't work with Mr. Mandrake, do you?" Kit asked challengingly.

"No," Joanna said.

"Good. I thought it was a horrible book. 'Don't worry, the dead aren't really dead, and they aren't really gone. They can still send messages to you from the Other Side.' "

"I know. I work with Dr. Wright. He's a neurologist. We're trying to figure out what near-death experiences are and why the dying brain experiences them."

"The dying brain?" Kit said. "Does that mean everyone has them? I thought they were something only a few people had."

"No, about sixty percent of revived patients report having a near-death experience, and those are concentrated in certain kinds of deaths-heart attacks, hemorrhaging, trauma."

"You mean like car accidents?" Kit asked.

"Yes, and stabbings, industrial accidents, shootings. Of course there's no way to tell how many people who aren't revived have them."

"But they're pleasant, for the ones who do have them, I mean?" Kit said. "They're not frightening?"

Joanna thought of the young woman, standing out on deck, asking the steward, "What's happened?" her voice filled with fear. And Amelia, saying, "Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no."

"Are they frightening?" Kit asked. "Uncle Pat has hallucinations sometimes. He sees people standing at the foot of his bed or in the door."

In the door. Joanna would have to tell Richard that. Alzheimer's was caused by a malfunctioning of neurochemicals. Maybe there was a connection.

"...and sometimes the things he's saying seem to indicate he's reliving past events," Kit was saying.

L+R, Joanna thought. "Most people who've had near-death experiences report feeling warm and safe and loved," she said rea.s.suringly. "Dr. Wright's found evidence of elevated endorphin levels, which supports that."

"Good," Kit said and then shook her head. "Uncle Pat's are almost always upsetting or frightening things. It's like he can't forget them and can't remember them at the same time, and he goes over and over them. It's like he's trying to make sense of them, even though his memory of them is gone." She put her hands over her face for a moment. "The books say not to confront him or contradict him, but not to go along with the hallucination either, which is hard."

"It sounds like it's all hard," Joanna said.Kit smiled wryly. "I thought a sudden death was the worst thing that could possibly happen, and now it's obvious it's not." She sat up. "I'm sorry, you don't want to hear all this. I didn't mean to go on like that. It's just that I hardly ever get to talk to anybody about this, and when I do, I-" She made a face. "I obviously need to get out more."

"You should come to Dish Night tomorrow night," Joanna said impulsively.

"Dish Night?"

"Yes. It's not an organized event or anything, just a casual get-together. Dr. Wright comes, and my friend Vielle-you'd love her. We get together and watch movies on video and eat and talk.

Mostly talk. We use it as a safety valve, and it sounds like you could use one, too. Do you like movies?"

"Yes. I haven't seen one in a long time. Uncle Pat confuses what's happening on the screen with reality. That's a common occurrence with Alzheimer's patients, too. It would be wonderful to watch a movie, but..." She shook her head. "Thanks, but I'm afraid I can't."

"Is it because you don't have anyone to stay with him?"

"Oh, no, my mother comes over when I have to go to the grocery store, but-" She was looking at the pan cupboard, and Joanna could guess what she was thinking. If Mr. Briarley took all the pans out again, her mother would use it as ammunition for putting Mr. Briarley in a care facility.

"Have you ever used Eldercare?" Joanna asked. "Mercy General has a program where the caregivers come to your home. They're very good. I know one of the people who works with the program. I'd be glad to call her."

"But if Dish Night is tomorrow night?"

"They have a twelve-hour emergency program," Joanna said. "They know the people who call them are usually at the end of their rope. They have caregivers specifically trained in Alzheimer's," she said, but Kit was already shaking her head.

"They sound wonderful, but I'm always afraid something will happen while I'm gone, and if I call home to check, that can upset him," she said. "So thank you for inviting me, but I'd better not."

"You should get a pager," Joanna said, pulling hers out of her pocket to show her. "Or a cell phone. That way they could reach you wherever you are." Unless she left it in the car while she ran into the grocery store, like Greg Menotti's girlfriend.

"A cell phone," Kit said. "I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to see... you think they could come by tomorrow night?"

Joanna nodded. "If you want to come, I could pick you up."

"I don't know... can I call you tomorrow and let you know?"

"Sure," Joanna said."Or sooner, if I find the book. If Uncle Pat stays asleep for a while, I'll go down to the bas.e.m.e.nt and start in on those books-"

"Oh, you made cookies," Mr. Briarley said, coming into the kitchen.

"I thought you were lying down, Uncle Pat," Kit said.

"I was, but I heard voices, and I thought Kevin was here. Oh, h.e.l.lo," he said to Joanna.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Briarley," she said.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Kit asked, reaching for a china cup and saucer.

"No, I'm rather tired. I think I'll go lie down. It was nice meeting you," he said to Joanna, and started down the hall.

"Be right back," Kit said and darted after him.

Joanna could hear them starting up the stairs, and then Mr. Briarley's voice saying, "They know it when they see it. It is the very mirror image."

I'd better think about getting back, Joanna thought, and looked at her watch. It said twelve-thirty. "Oh, my gosh," she said and started putting on her coat. She went out to the foot of the stairs. "Kit," she called up the narrow wooden stairs, her hand on the railing. "I've got to go. I'll call you tomorrow about Dish Night."

Kit appeared at the head of the stairs. "Okay," she said. "I'll call you if I find the book."

Joanna opened the front door. As she let herself out, she heard Mr. Briarley say, "Aren't you going to go say good-bye to Kevin?"

Was there a Kevin, Joanna wondered, driving back to the hospital as fast as the traffic would allow, or was he one of the hallucinations Kit had talked about? She remembered the picture of Kit and a blond young man in the library. Had he been unwilling or unable to cope with the day-in, day-out nightmare of caring for an Alzheimer's patient, or had Kit simply given him up, as she had apparently given up movies, her education, her freedom?

And how did she end up as his caregiver? Joanna wondered, gunning her car through a yellow light. Her mother would seem to be the logical choice to take care of him, and she was obviously worried about what it was doing to Kit. "As well she should be," Joanna muttered.

She roared into the hospital parking lot. There was some mystery here, but, whatever it was, she didn't have time to solve it now. She needed to get upstairs. It was ten to one. She didn't even have time to take the back route. She'd have to take the main elevator, and please, don't let me run into Mr. Mandrake.

Her luck was in. She made it up to sixth without seeing a soul she knew and skidded into the lab, already taking off her coat. Richard was at the console, Tish over by the examining table, hooking a bag of saline to the IV stand. "...found this new place for Happy Hour," Joanna heard her say as shecame in.

"Sorry I'm late," Joanna said. "I found out something interesting. Mr. Briarley"-Richard shot her a warning glance and nodded in Tish's direction, but Joanna ignored him-"has Alzheimer's, and his niece says he has hallucinations where he sees people around his bed or standing in the door."

"Interesting," Richard said. "Alzheimer's is caused by a lack of acetylcholine, though, not elevated levels. Did she say if he had any of the other NDE elements?"

"She said he seemed to be reliving past events."

"The life review," Richard said. "I wonder-"

"Can we get going?" Tish asked. "I have an eye appointment."

Dentist appointment, Joanna corrected, going into the dressing room. She put on her hospital gown, went over to the examining table, got up on it, and lay down. Tish began placing the foam cus.h.i.+ons under her arms and legs. "Do you like Tommy Lee Jones?" she said, looking at Richard.

"He's got a new movie out I'm dying to see." She moved to Joanna's other side and began attaching the electrodes.

Richard came over. "You ready?" he asked Joanna. She nodded, hindered by the electrodes.

"I've adjusted the dosage, and I'm going to increase the time spent in non-REM sleep," he said. "We shall see what we shall see."

Which was what? Joanna wondered, watching Tish start the IV. "I loved him in Volcano," Tish said, taping it in place. "Did you see it?"

No, but at this rate, I might, Joanna thought. She could see the wall clock from where she lay, even though Richard had moved it. It said five to one. We need to take it down altogether, she thought.

"I loved that scene in the subway tunnel," Tish said, covering Joanna's eyes with the black mask and beginning to attach the electrodes. "Where they could see this light at the end, and they didn't know what it was, and then they realized it was molten lava, and it was heading right for them. And the part where the lava caught the guy and-"

At that point Tish mercifully put the headphones on her, and Joanna lay, waiting for Richard to come over and lift the earphone and ask her if she was ready.

Ready for what? she wondered. A fall of ash? Tommy Lee Jones? Vesuvius erupted at one o'clock, she thought, and was in the tunnel.

The pa.s.sage was silent, as if a loud sound had just stopped. The light shone, blinding gold, from the open door. If it's Vesuvius, just put your hand over your mouth and nose and run back into the tunnel, she told herself, starting toward the door. But it wasn't Vesuvius, or an oncoming train, or the walkway down on third, and she had known it from the moment she came through. It was the t.i.tanic, and through the open door she could see the woman in the white nightgown talking earnestly to the woman with the white gloves."I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Edith," the woman with the white gloves said.

"Go and find Mr. Briarley," the bearded man said to the steward. "He'll be able to tell us."

"Yes, sir," the steward said.

"We'll be in our cabin."

"Yes, sir," the steward said and started into the light.

Joanna tried to see where he was going, but the glare was too bright. She moved forward, trying to see, and then stopped. I need to cross the threshold, she thought, and felt the sense of dread again.

"A voice said, 'You are not allowed on this side,' " Ms. Grant had said, and Mr. Olivetti, "I knew if I went through that gate, I could never come back." What if, once out on the deck, she couldn't return? Or what if Vielle was right, and the NDE was some kind of death process that crossing the threshold set in motion?

It's not, Joanna thought. They're both wrong, and so is Mr. Mandrake. The NDE isn't a gateway to the Other Side. It's something else, and I have to find out what it is. But when she came up even with the door, she halted again and looked down at the floor. Light spilled onto it, and the line between the waxed wood of the pa.s.sageway and the unvarnished boards of the deck was sharply marked.

Joanna put her hand to her chest, as if to quiet her heart. " 'To die will be an awfully big adventure,' " she said and stepped across the threshold and out onto the deck.

25.

"Now we can cross the s.h.i.+fting sands."

-Last words of L. Frank Baum.

"Mr. Briarley will be able to explain things," the bearded man said to the women. None of them had turned to look at Joanna when she came out onto the deck. She wondered if they could see her.

"In the meantime," the bearded man said, "you ladies should go back inside where it's warmer."

The young woman nodded, clutching her coat to her. "It's so cold."

The steward had disappeared into the light. Joanna started through the group of people, trying to see where he had gone, past the young woman and a stout white-haired man in tweeds.

"What do they say is the trouble?" the stout man asked a taller man in a black overcoat asJoanna edged by him.

"What are you doing here?" the bearded man said loudly.

Joanna jumped and looked back at him, startled, but he wasn't talking to her. He was addressing a young man in a grubby-looking sweater and a soft cap.

"You shouldn't be here," the bearded man said sternly. "This area is restricted."

"Sorry," the young man said, looking around nervously. "I heard a noise and came over to investigate."

So did I, Joanna thought, and walked toward the light. As she got closer, she saw it was radiating from a lamp on the white-painted metal wall. One of the deck lights, Joanna thought, and it must still be very early. Toward the end, the lights had begun to dim and glow red because the engineers couldn't keep the dynamos going.

And then they went out, Joanna thought. But this light was rea.s.suringly bright, so bright she couldn't see anything through its radiance, even when she s.h.i.+elded her eyes. She would have to walk past it to be able to see anything.