Connie Willis - Passage

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, pulling out a length of yarn thoughtfully. “The doctor had her on pretty heavy medication. And I can’t see my mother in a long dress. She hated draggy skirts. People sometimes see what they want to see.”

But I’ll bet you don’t, Joanna thought, and asked her what times she had available.

“She’s the most promising subject yet,” she told Richard after Mrs. Troudtheim had crammed the afghan back in her tote bag and departed. “She reminds me of my relatives in Kansas, tough and kind and realistic, the type who can survive anything and probably have. I think she’ll be perfect for the project. I was especially impressed with her observational skills.”

“Except that she’s obviously color-blind. Did you see that afghan?” Richard asked, shuddering.

“You obviously have never been to Kansas,” Joanna said. “That one wasn’t half bad.”

“Whatever you say,” Richard said.

Joanna grinned. “I say she’ll make an excellent subject.”

“I’d settle for just a subject.”

Me, too, Joanna thought, relieved that she had finally found someone she could okay. She looked at the schedule. Mr. Sage was next, and then Mr. Pearsall, but not until one-thirty. If Mr. Sage’s interview didn’t take too long, she should be able to get down to see Mrs. Woollam. There wouldn’t be time for a full interview, but she could at least run down and meet her, get her to sign a waiver, and set up an interview for this afternoon. If Mr. Sage wasn’t long-winded.

He wasn’t. In fact, she had trouble getting anything out of him. Mr. Sage gave brief, bitten-off answers to everything she asked, which worried Joanna a little. She wondered how forthcoming he would be about what he’d seen in the NDE. But he wasn’t a psychic, or overly interested in death. And he had the best answer yet for why he had volunteered for the project: “My wife made me.”

“What’s your opinion of near-death experiences?” Joanna asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never thought much about them.” Good, Joanna thought, and asked him about his schedule.

“He was awfully silent,” Richard fretted after he’d left.

“He’ll be fine. People vary in their descriptive powers.” She stood up. “Richard, I’m going to go—” she began, and her pager went off.

She had already gotten in trouble with Vielle today by not answering it—she’d better at least see who it was. She called the operator, who gave her Maisie’s number. “She said it’s an emergency and you need to call her immediately. I, for one, would appreciate it if you did,” the operator said. “She’s been calling all morning, pestering me to page you on the intercom.”

“Okay,” Joanna laughed, and did.

“You have to come down right now!” an agitated Maisie said. “Ms. Sutterly found out about the crewman on the Hindenburg like you wanted, and you have to come down so I can tell you.”

“I can’t right now, Maisie,” Joanna said. “I have an appointment—”

“But I’m going home, and if you don’t come right away it’ll be too late! I’ll already be gone!”

She sounded genuinely upset. “Okay, I’ll be right down,” Joanna said. “I can only stay a couple of minutes,” she added, though there was no chance she’d get away in time to go see Mrs. Woollam. She’d have to wait till this afternoon.

“I’m going down to tell Maisie good-bye,” she said to Richard. “She’s going home.”

“What about the interview with Mr. Pearsall?”

“If I’m not back when he gets here, page me,” she said, waving her pager at him to show him she had it, and ran down to fifth and over to the walkway, but it was blocked with a sawhorse and more yellow tape.

“They’re laying new tile,” a lab tech heading the other way said. “Are you trying to get to the west wing? You have to either take the elevator up to seventh or down to the third-floor walkway.”

Joanna started back toward the elevators and saw Mr. Mandrake coming toward her. There was nowhere to go, no stairway she could duck into, not even an open door, and, anyway, he had already seen her. “Hello, Mr. Mandrake,” she said, trying not to look like a cornered rabbit.

“I’m glad I ran in to you,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“This isn’t a good time,” Joanna said, looking pointedly at her watch. “I have an appointment.”

“With an NDE patient?” he asked, instantly interested.

“No,” Joanna said, grateful that at least he hadn’t caught her going in to see Mrs. Woollam. Or Maisie. “A meeting, and I’m late already.”

“This will only take a moment,” he said, planting himself in front of her. “I have two matters I need to speak with you about. First, Mrs. Davenport informed me you haven’t been back to take down the rest of her NDE. She has remembered additional details about the manner of her return. The Angel of Light—”

“—gave her a telegram telling her she had to return. I know,” Joanna said. “She already told me about it.”

“No, no, she’s remembered a great deal more. The telegram was only the beginning. The Angel told her she was to be a messenger, and as He raised His shining hand…” Mr. Mandrake raised his hand in a sweeping gesture to illustrate, “…the mysteries of life and death were revealed to her, and she understood All. She’s very anxious to share the knowledge she was given with you.”

I’ll bet, Joanna thought.

“When you hear what she has learned, there will be no doubt in your mind that Mrs. Davenport has truly brought back news from the Other Side.”

“Mr. Mandrake—”

“The second thing I wanted to talk to you about was, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but there is a new researcher here at the hospital whose intent is to undermine the credibility of our near-death research. His name is Dr. Wright. He claims to be able to reproduce the NAE in the laboratory through the administration of drugs. Of course that’s impossible. The NAE is a spiritual reality, not a drug hallucination, but people are gullible. They may well believe his claims, particularly when he cloaks them in the trappings of technology and science.”

“I have to go,” Joanna said and started toward the elevator, but Mr. Mandrake went right along with her.

“I’m very concerned about the effect of this so-called research on our studies. I tried to communicate my concerns to him, but he was extremely unresponsive. He has a partner, or so I understand, although I haven’t met him, and I’m hoping he will be more cooperative. That’s where you come in.”

“Come in?” Joanna said, reaching the elevator. She pushed the button.

“I haven’t been able to discover who this partner is. I want you to find out.”

The elevator pinged its arrival. Joanna waited for the door to open. “I already know.”

“You do?” he said, clearly surprised. “Who is it? Who’s his new partner?”

Joanna stepped in the elevator, pressed the “door-close” button, and waited till it was already sliding shut. “I am,” she said.

She almost wished she could have seen the look on his face before the door closed, but then she wouldn’t have gotten away. You had no business doing that, she thought, going up to seventh and across to the west wing. Now he’ll never give you any peace. But he and his network of spies would have found out soon anyway, and if she hadn’t told him, he would have accused her of intentionally deceiving him. Now, of course, he would accuse her of being gullible. Her, gullible!

She cut through CICU and took the service elevator down to Peds. Maisie was sitting on the side of her bed, dressed in a pink jumper with butterfly-shaped pockets. Which she must detest, Joanna thought. “You rang, kiddo?” Joanna said, and then saw Maisie’s mother was in the room, busily stuffing Maisie’s robe and slippers in a plastic hospital carry bag.