Triggers

Eric was holding her hand and feeling her forehead. The tunnel was constricting even more, and there were colored forms running past her peripheral vision. People. Faces. An old man. An even older woman. A little girl.

Events. Snowboarding. Riding a dirt bike. Scuba diving. None of which she’d ever done…

And—thank God!—the pain was abating, fading, dissipating. The images were being replaced by a pure, bright, brilliant light, absolutely white, brighter than the sun but not at all uncomfortable to look at.

Her pulse was fading in her ears now. Everything except the light was fading.

“Jan!” Eric, sounding a million miles away. “Jan!”

The light was so enticing, but…

“Jan!”

But she wanted to be with Eric. She struggled mightily to open her eyes—and finally succeeded. She was indeed in his living room, looking up at the stippled plaster of the ceiling. “Eric…”she said, but her voice sounded faint to her.

He loomed in and held up his key fob, which had an LED light on it. He pointed it first into her left eye, then her right; the bright light she’d seen at the end of the tunnel hadn’t hurt at all, but this did.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice raw.

“We’ve got to take you to the hospital, find out what’s wrong with you.”

“I’m fine,” she said again and closed her eyes, part of her hoping the pure white light and the calming euphoria would come back.

Reporters were still camped out in front of Luther Terry Memorial Hospital when Eric and Jan tried to enter. Eric kept his head down, and they’d almost made it to the staff entrance when a female journalist called out, “Wait! Wait! You’re Eric Redekop, aren’t you?”

“I’ve got no comment,” Eric said. He cupped Jan’s elbow and propelled her toward the doorway.

“What was it like performing surgery on the president?” called the same reporter, and, “Any update on Jerrison’s condition?” shouted another.

Eric and Jan kept walking, but then another reporter called out, “Dr. Redekop, what about these memory linkages? They say you were affected.”

“And that woman!” called another reporter, pointing now at Jan. “Is that who you’re linked to? What’s it like?”

Eric pushed the door open, and they entered the building.

“Jesus,” said Jan.

“It’ll be okay,” Eric said. He led them to the elevator, and they headed up to Singh’s lab on three. When they got there, they found Singh in his room, working at his computer. Susan Dawson was also there, sitting with her face in her hands.

“Dr. Redekop,” Singh said. “And Nurse Falconi. I thought you both had today off.”

Eric saw Susan look up. She appeared devastated over something. Jan took a step backward and her eyes went wide. “Oh my God,” Jan said softly.

“What?” said Eric and Singh simultaneously.

“It’s you,” Jan said, looking at Susan.

Eric knew that Jan had been interviewed by Professor Singh, not Agent Dawson; there was no particular reason she should recognize Susan.

“Yes?” Susan said.

“You’re the one who killed me.”

“Pardon?” said Singh.

“I mean, who killed Josh.”

Susan put her head back in her hands.

“Jan collapsed,” Eric said. “She was having some sort of horrible memory.”

“You were reading Josh Latimer,” Singh said to Jan, “and, yes, you’re right, Mr. Latimer is no longer with us.”

“Because she blew him away,” Jan said softly, looking at Susan. “But it felt like I was the one dying.”

“Can you recall Mr. Latimer’s memories now?” asked Singh.

Jan nodded meekly.

“Are you sure? Umm, did he have any pets as a child?”

“Benny,” she said at once. “An iguana.”

“And the name of the street he lived on when he was ten?”

“Fenwick Avenue.”

“Fascinating,” said Singh. “He’s dead, but you can still access his memories.”

“I guess,” said Jan.

Singh frowned again. “Then I wonder…”

“Yes?”

“Does he have any new memories?”

Eric crossed his arms in front of his chest. “He’s dead, Mr. Singh.”

“Yes, I know, but, well, if she can still access his memories from before, they must be somewhere, no? And so it’s worth asking—”

“Asking what?” said Eric. “Whether she can recall angels?”

“It’s worth a try,” said Singh. “Or if not angels, maybe…well, I don’t know what.”

Janis made a long-faced frown, as though this was the most bizarre idea she’d ever heard. But she closed her eyes—indeed, scrunched them tightly shut in concentration. “Okay,” she said after a moment, “I’m thinking about angels. Nothing. Heaven, clouds. Nothing. And—um, my God, Josh tried to kill somebody, didn’t he?”

Ranjip nodded.

“All right, then,” said Janis. “Given that, I’m thinking of fire and brimstone. Well, not brimstone; I don’t know what that is.”

“Sulfur,” said Ranjip.

“Okay,” said Janis. “But it’s not bringing anything to mind.”

“This is bullshit,” said Eric.

“Perhaps,” said Singh. “But—”

“He’s dead,” said Eric. “He’s gone. And Jan felt him die. We should be worried about her, not him.”