Passage. Part 74

And now that it was out, Kit would say-what? "You left her to drown?" or, "I am so sorry,"

or, "You don't know what you're saying. You're half out of your mind with grief?

None of the above. She said, "How do you know? That you were really in the White Star office?"

"I know. It was a real place," he said, and knew he sounded just like Mr. Mandrake's nutcases, swearing they'd seen Jesus, but Kit only nodded.

"Joanna said it felt real," she said, "not like a dream. She said it was a very convincing hallucination."

She was offering him a way out, just like, "It wasn't your fault," and, "There's a reason for everything," only this one was even better: it was only acetylcholine and random synapses and confabulation. He had conjured the White Star office out of Joanna's NDE accounts and the movie, created a unifying image out of panic and grief and temporal-lobe stimulation.

It almost worked. Except that Joanna, dying, had called out to him for help: "SOS. SOS." "No thanks," he said and handed her back the book.

And now she would say, "You owe it to Joanna to continue your research. It's what she would have wanted."

But she didn't. She said, "Okay," and put the book in her bag and then walked over to his desk and wrote on a pad. "Here's my phone number if you decide you need it."

She walked to the door, opened it, and then turned around. "I don't know who else to tell this to," she said. "Joanna saved my life. My uncle... living with someone...," she stopped and tried again.

"I was going under, and she got me to go out, she convinced me to use Eldercare, she invited me to Dish Night. She told me," she took a ragged breath, "she wished she could die saving somebody's life.

And she did. She saved mine."

She left then, but the head of the board came, to remind him of the Coping with Post-Trauma Stress Workshop, and Nurse Hawley with Practical Mourning Management, and an elderly volunteer with a copy of the Book of Mormon. And on Tuesday, Eileen and two other nurses from three-west, to take him to the funeral. "We won't take no for an answer," they said. "It's not good to be alone at a time like this."

He supposed Tish had put them up to it, but although he had finally slept, he still felt bone-tired and unable to concentrate, unable to think of an excuse they would accept. And maybe this was a good idea, he thought, climbing into the cramped Geo. He wasn't sure he was in any shape to drive.

"I still can't believe she's dead," one of the nurses said as soon as they had pulled out of theparking lot.

"At least she didn't suffer," the other one said. "What was she doing down in the ER, anyway?"

"Have you thought about grief counseling, Richard?" Eileen asked.

"I've got a great book you should read," the first nurse volunteered. "It's called The Grief Workbook, and it's got all these neat depression exercises."

There was a crowd at the church, mostly people from the hospital, looking odd out of their lab coats and scrubs. He saw Mr. Wojakowski and Mrs. Troudtheim. Joanna's sister stood by the door of the narthex, flanked by two little girls. He wondered if Maisie would be there, and then remembered that her mother relentlessly shielded her from "negative experiences."

"Look, there's the cute policeman who took all of our statements," one of the nurses said, pointing to a tall black man in a dark gray suit.

"I don't see Tish anywhere," the other one said, craning her neck.

"She isn't coming," the nurse said. "She said she hates funerals."

"So do I," the other one said.

"It isn't a funeral," Eileen said. "It's a memorial service."

"What's the difference?" the first nurse asked.

"There's no body. The family's having a private graveside service later."

But when they came into the sanctuary, there was a bronze casket at the front, with half of its lid raised and a blanket of white mums and carnations on the other half. "We don't have to file past and look at her, do we?" the shorter nurse asked.

"Well, I'm not," Eileen said and slid into a pew. The other two nurses sat down next to her.

Richard stood a moment looking at the casket, his fists clenched, and then walked up the aisle. When he got to the casket, he stood there a long moment, afraid to look down, afraid Joanna's terror and her panic might be reflected in her face, but there was no sign of it.

She lay with her head on an ivory satin pillow, her hair arranged around her head in unfamiliar curls. The dress she was wearing was unfamiliar, too, high-necked, with lace ruffles, and around her neck was a silver cross. Her white hands lay folded across her chest, hiding the slashed aorta, the Y incision.

A gray-haired woman had come up beside him. "Doesn't she look natural?" she said. Natural.

The mortician had set her gla.s.ses high on the bridge of her nose, and put rouge on her white cheeks, dark red lipstick on her bloodless lips. Joanna had never worn lipstick that color in her life. In her life.

"She looks so peaceful," the gray-haired woman said, and he looked earnestly into Joanna's face? hoping it was true, but it wasn't. Her ashen, made-up face held no expression at all.He continued to stand there, looking blindly down at her, and after a minute Eileen came up and led him back to the pew. He sat down. The nurse who had recommended Ten Steps reached across Eileen and handed him a pamphlet. It was t.i.tled "Four Tips for Getting Through the Funeral." The organist began playing.

Kit came in, leading a tall, graying man. Vielle was with them. They sat down several rows ahead. "Who's getting married?" the man said, and Kit bent toward him, whispering, and no wonder she hadn't been shocked by what he'd told her. She witnessed horrors every day.

And the funeral was one of them. A soloist sang, "On Jordan's Banks I Stand," and then the minister preached a sermon on the necessity of being saved "while there is yet time, for none knows the day or the hour when we will suddenly come face to face with G.o.d's judgment.

"As it says in the Holy Scriptures," he intoned, "when that judgment comes, those who have confessed their sins and taken Jesus Christ as their personal savior shall enter life eternal, but those who have not accepted Him shall go away into everlasting punishment. Now, will you please turn to Hymn 458 in your hymnals?"

Hymn 458 was "Nearer, My G.o.d, to Thee." I can't stand this, Richard thought, looking wildly around for a way out, but there was a whole row of people on either side.

The minister brought down his hands in a broad gesture. "You may be seated. And now, Joanna's colleague and dear friend would like to say a few words about her life," he said and nodded at Mandrake. Mandrake stood up, holding a sheaf of papers, and started for the front. As he came near the casket, he turned to smile comfortingly at Joanna's sister.

And if Richard had needed any proof that Joanna wasn't there, that she was oceans, years away, trapped on the t.i.tanic, this was it.

Because if she'd been there, even though she was dead, she would never have lain there pa.s.sively on the shirred satin, eyes closed, hands composed, with Mandrake coming. She would have been out of the casket and sprinting for the choir loft, making a dash for the side door, saying the way she had that first day, "If I talk to him I'm liable to kill him."

She didn't move. Mandrake went up to the casket, looked down at her, still with that disgusting smile, and bent to kiss her forehead. Richard must have made a sound, must have made a move to stand up, because Eileen reached over and put a hand on his arm, grasping it firmly, holding him down.

Mandrake walked to the pulpit and then stood there, his hands on the sides of the pulpit, smiling oilily at the congregation. "I was Joanna Lander's friend," he said, "perhaps her best friend."

Richard looked ahead at Vielle. Kit had her hand clasped firmly in Vielle's.

"I say that," Mandrake said, "because I not only worked with her, as many of you did, but because I shared a common goal with her, a common pa.s.sion. Both of us had devoted our lives to discovering the mystery of Death, a mystery that is a mystery to her no longer." He smiled gently in the direction of the casket. "Of course we all have our faults. Joanna was always in a hurry."Yeah, trying to get away from you.

"She was also sometimes too skeptical," he said, and chuckled as if it were an amusing shortcoming. "Skepticism is an excellent quality..."

How would you know?

"But Joanna often carried it to extremes and refused to believe the evidence that was so plainly before her, evidence that Death was not the end." He smiled at the congregation. "You may have read my book, The Light at the End of the Tunnel."

"I don't believe it," Eileen muttered next to him. "He's plugging his book at a funeral."

"If you've read it, you know that Death need hold no fears, that even though dying may seem painful, terrifying, to those of us left behind, it is not. For our loved ones await us, and an Angel of Light. We know that from the mouths of those who have seen that light, seen those loved ones, from the message they have brought back from the Other Side."

He cast a sickly smile in the direction of the casket. "Joanna didn't believe that. She was a skeptic-she believed near-death experiences were hallucinations, caused by endorphins or lack of oxygen," he waved them away with his hand. "Which is why her testimony, the testimony of a skeptic, is so compelling."

He paused dramatically. "I heard Joanna's last words. She spoke them to me only moments before her death, as she was on her way down to that fateful encounter. Joanna was heading down a hallway to the elevator that would take her down to the emergency room. And do you know what she did?" He paused expectantly.

She looked frantically around for a stairway, Richard thought, for a way out.

"I'll tell you what she did," Mandrake said. "She stopped me and said, 'Mr. Mandrake, I wanted to tell you, you were right about the near-death experience. It was a message from the Other Side.' "

" 'You have seen what lies on the Other Side then?' I asked her, and I could see the answer in her face, radiant with joy. She was a skeptic no longer. 'You were right, Mr. Mandrake,' she said. 'It was a message from the Other Side.' What more proof do we need of the afterlife that awaits us?

Joanna herself has told us, with her last breath, her last words."

Her last words, Richard thought. "Why do people in movies always say things like 'The murderer is... Bang!' " Joanna had said at Dish Night. "You'd think, if they had something that important to communicate, they'd say it first."

"Joanna used her last words to send a message from the Other Side," Mr. Mandrake said.

"How can we fail to heed that message? I for one intend to as I complete my new book, Messages from the Other Side."

" 'You're doing it wrong,' " she had said. " 'Important words first.' " " 'Tell Richard... SOS.' "

"Joanna had only a few minutes to live," Mandrake said, "and how did she choose to spend it?By sharing her vision of the afterlife with us."

"She didn't think it was the t.i.tanic," Kit had said. "She said she wished she could die saving somebody's life."

Mandrake must have finished. The organ was playing "Shall We Gather at the River?" and people were starting to file out. Richard followed them into the aisle, and then stood there, staring at Joanna's casket.

"I don't think that was what she was trying to tell you," Vielle had said. "I think she was trying to tell you something good."

People filed out past him, talking about the flowers, the solo, the casket. "She can't be gone,"

Nina sobbed to a gangly resident, "I can't believe it."

"I can't believe it about fox, can you?" Davis's message on the answering machine had said.

"Warn me before it hits the star," and Richard hadn't understood the message at all. "She kept saying, 'Water,' " Vielle had said. "She was really saying, 'Walter.' "

The minister laid a hand on his arm. "Do you wish to say good-bye to the departed?" he whispered. "They're about to close the casket." Richard looked up the aisle. Two men in black suits stood by the casket, hands folded in front of them.

"There'll be a luncheon in the fellowship hall downstairs," the minister said. "We hope you'll stay."

He gave Richard's arm a gentle squeeze and walked up the aisle, nodding to the men as he went.

They began moving the spray of flowers.

"The best plan would be to decide in advance what you wanted your last words to be and then memorize them, so you'd be ready," Joanna had said.

The two men lowered the casket lid.

"Whatever it was must've been important," Mr. Wojakowski had said. "She was in such a hurry to tell you, she almost ran me down."

"Are you all right?" Eileen said, coming rapidly up the aisle to him.

The men fastened the casket lid shut and began shifting the blanket of flowers so it lay in the center.

"Look, we're all going to go over to Santeramo's and get a pizza," Eileen said, taking his arm and leading him out of the sanctuary and over to the other two nurses. "Why don't you come with us?"

"No," he said, looking around for Kit and Vielle. He couldn't see them.

"It'd do you good," the nurse who had given him the pamphlet said. "It'd get your mind off it."

"You need to eat something," the other nurse said."I need to get back to the hospital. Vielle's giving me a ride back," he said firmly and set out through the crowd to find her and Kit.

The minister and Joanna's sister were standing with Mandrake. "-just acknowledging there's an afterlife isn't enough," Joanna's sister was saying stubbornly to Mandrake. "You have to confess your sins before you can be saved."

He couldn't see Vielle anywhere, or Kit. They must have left, or else gone downstairs to the fellowship hall. He started across to the bas.e.m.e.nt steps and ran into Mr. Wojakowski, holding forth to a circle of elderly ladies. "Hiya, Doc," he said. "Sad, sad thing. I've seen a lot of funerals. On the Yorktown, they-"

"When you saw Joanna, that last day," Richard said, "did she say what she wanted to tell me?"

"Nope. She was in too big a hurry. She didn't even hear me the first coupla times I yelled at her.

'Did somebody call battle stations?' I asked her. At Midway, they'd call battle stations, and boy, did everybody scramble for their tin hats, 'cause they knew in about five minutes all h.e.l.l'd be breaking loose. They'd run up those gangways so fast they didn't even take time to put on their pants, scared as rabbits-"

"Joanna was scared?" Richard asked. "She seemed frightened, upset?"

"Joanna? h.e.l.l, no. She looked like my bunkmate Frankie Cocelli used to look during a battle.

Little skinny guy, looked like you could snap him in two, but not afraid of anything. 'Let me at 'em!'

he'd shout when the sirens went, and go tearing off like he couldn't wait to get shot at. Did, too. Did I ever tell you how he got it? This j.a.p Zero-?"

"And that's how Joanna looked?" Richard persisted. "Eager? Excited?"

"Yeah. She said she had to go find you, that she had something important to tell you."

"But she didn't say what?"

"Nope. So anyway, this Zero-"

Richard spotted Vielle, just inside the door. "Excuse me," he said and edged his way through the crowd to her. "I've been looking for you," he said.

"I was outside with Kit. She had to take her uncle home," Vielle said. "He kept asking her who'd died, over and over." She shook her head. "Poor man. Or maybe he's the lucky one. At least he won't remember this funeral."

"I need to talk to you," Richard said. "I need to know exactly what Joanna said to you in the ER.".

"If you're worried about what Mandrake said, forget it. He's lying," Vielle said. "Joanna never voluntarily said two words to him in her life, let alone that NDEs were a message from the Other Side.""I know that," he said impatiently. "I need to know what she said to you."

"There's no point in torturing yourself over-"

"The exact words. It's important."

She looked curiously at him. "Did something happen?"