was perfectly clear. I even told you what page the article was on.”
Not a star. The
Star
, the tabloid newspaper. “What was the article about?” Richard asked.
“Foxx! He’s gone nutcase and announced he’s proved there’s life after death. Wait a minute, I’ve got it here, let me read it to you . . . ” There was a thunking sound as he dropped the phone, and a rattle of paper. “ ‘Dr. R. John Foxx, a respected scientist in the field of near-death research, said, “When I began my research into near-death experiences, I was convinced they were hallucinations caused by oxygen deprivation, but after exhaustive research, I’ve concluded they are a preview of the afterlife. Heaven is real. God is real. I have spoken to Him.” ’ ”
“Oh, my God,” Richard murmured.
“He’s leaving medicine to open the Eternal Life Institute,” Davis said. “So, my question is, is this something that happens to everybody who does NDE research? I mean, first Seagal claims he’s located the soul in the temporal lobe and has photos of it leaving the body, and now Foxx.”
“Seagal was always crazy,” Richard said.
“But Foxx wasn’t,” Davis said. “What if it’s some kind of virus that infects everybody who studies NDEs and makes them go wacko? How do I know you won’t suddenly announce that a picture of the Virgin Mary appeared to you on the RIPT scan screen?”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
“Well, if you do,” Davis said, “call me first, before you call the
Star.
I’ve always wanted to be that friend they interview, the one who says, ‘No, I never noticed anything unusual about him. He was always quiet, well mannered, something of a loner.’ Speaking of which, any babes on the horizon?”
“No,” Richard said, thinking of Joanna. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Whatever the cut-off “A—” in her message had meant, it wasn’t acceptance. She’d probably read the
Star
and decided working with anybody on near-death research was too risky. It was too bad. He had really looked forward to working with her. I should have offered her something more substantial than an energy bar, he thought.
“No cute little nurses, huh?” Davis said. “That’s because you’re in the wrong specialty. I got ’em lined up out the door.” Knowing Davis, he probably did. “Of course, there’s another explanation.”
“For having women lined up out the door?” Richard said.
“No,”
Davis said, “for everybody associated with NDE research suddenly becoming true believers. Maybe it’s all true, the tunnel and heaven and the soul, and there really
is
an afterlife.” He began humming again, the same weird nontune as he had hummed on the answering machine.
“What
is
that ungodly sound supposed to be?
The Twilight Zone?
”
Davis snorted. “It’s the theme from
The X-Files.
It’s a possibility, you know. The NDEers are right, and when we die we end up surrounded by Precious Moments figurines. In which case, I for one am not going.”
“Me neither,” Richard said, laughing.
“And I’d appreciate you calling and warning me so I can get started on immortality research right away.”
“I will,” Richard promised. There was a knock on the door.Richard looked up eagerly. “Gotta go,” he said, hung up, and hurried across the lab to open the door.
“Ah, Dr. Wright,” Mr. Mandrake said, coming into the lab, “I was hoping you’d be here. We didn’t have a chance to talk yesterday.”
Richard resisted the impulse to look wildly around for an exit. “I’m afraid now isn’t a good time—”
Mr. Mandrake walked over to the RIPT scan. “Is this what you hope to capture the NAE with?” he asked, peering underneath its arch-shaped dome. “You won’t be able to, you know. The NAE can’t be photographed.”
Like ghosts? Richard thought. And UFOs?
“Any number of researchers have already tried to find a physical cause that can explain the NAE, you know,” he said.
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