by Anise Eden
I smiled to hide my bewilderment. “Thanks, I will.”
There was another long silence before Skeet continued, “Is research something that interests you?”
“Yes, actually.”
Skeet pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. “In that case, if you’re ever interested, I’d welcome your participation in research studies here.”
Something inside of me became very still, like a gazelle scenting a lion on the open plains. “You mean as a researcher, or a subject?”
Skeet chuckled. “Well, unless you’re looking to change jobs and come to work for me, it would have to be as a subject.”
“Oh, of course,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “Well, I’m not interested in switching jobs.”
“You let me know if you change your mind about that,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “In the meanwhile, though, as a subject, there would be no risk or cost to you of any kind, and no sacrifice but your time. And it would be rewarding—and not just monetarily, although we always compensate our participants generously. You’d have the satisfaction of knowing that you were contributing to science.”
I glanced over at Braz, wondering if he was awake and listening to Skeet’s pitch. “What kind of research do you do?”
Skeet began to sound like a smooth salesman reading out of a brochure. “Our focus at NIMH is twofold: optimizing the mental health of sensitives, and investigating ways in which paranormal gifts can be used to treat ailments in non-sensitives. We have a wide variety of projects going on at any given time. I oversee the studies involving empaths, which is my personal area of interest—”
Some inner impulse pushed me to interrupt. “Why?”
His mouth half-open, Skeet looked at me as though trying to decide whether I was being rude. Eventually his expression relaxed. “I’m glad you asked,” he said warmly. “As a researcher, I’ve always been fascinated by the question of what motivates people. Through a long and unconventional journey, this interest led me to my work with people with your gift. The ability to actually experience what it’s like to be another person gives you a depth of knowledge about others that can’t be gained in any other way. Telepaths can read thoughts, but so much of our true selves exist outside of the realm of thought. To a skilled reader, auras provide a good deal of information, but in limited categories. Even the spirits with whom the mediums communicate only share information in bits and pieces. And precognition can tell us some things about the future, but usually those visions only capture a single, potential point in time, and they’re often cloaked in the mysteries of metaphor.”
As he continued, Skeet slid forward to the edge of his seat, his whole body charged with energy. “Only empaths have the ability to truly know what it’s like to be someone else—in your case, on the emotional plane, where the roots of our motivations live. It’s a unique gift, Cate, made all the more powerful by your clinical training as a therapist. You have the potential to heal many people whom healing might otherwise elude. And that’s just one of the many possible uses for your abilities.”
Ben had been teaching me about being an empath, but so far his emphasis had been on protecting me from the costs. It was strange to hear someone speak about my gift in such grandiose terms, and the way he weighed the various paranormal gifts with such cool pragmatism made me a bit uncomfortable. I glanced over at Braz again. Based on their friendship alone, I decided to give Skeet the benefit of the doubt.
“That sounds fascinating,” I said truthfully. “But since I’ve only been with the MacGregors for a week, I know relatively little about all of this. What kind of studies do you do with empaths?”
“We started years ago with basic research, trying to discover what exactly empaths do, and learning more about how your gifts work. Although we’ve learned a lot, those studies are ongoing. But we’ve also started to branch out a bit, to explore the possibilities and limits. Currently we’re experimenting with reversing the polarity, in a sense.”
“Meaning…?”
“It’s about directing energy outward instead of only absorbing or receiving it,” he said, eyes shining with excitement. “Because you have multiple gifts, you would be eligible to participate in either of our two current studies. The first is looking into whether empaths can project emotions into other people.”
Intuitively, that idea struck me as coercive. I couldn’t help grimacing. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“There are any number of potential applications, including helping people with impaired emotional intelligence to develop greater empathy,” Skeet said. “But if you aren’t interested in that study, we have another one on psychic portals. I understand that opening portals is something you can do. We’re trying to find out whether it’s possible for empaths to open portals to people with whom they’ve never had contact.”
I had only opened portals to people with whom I had relationships of mutual trust. If the first study seemed coercive, the second sounded horribly intrusive. “I don’t understand,” I said carefully. “What would be the purpose of that kind of research?”
Skeet tilted his head and looked thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “Again, at this point, we’re operating from a standpoint of scientific curiosity, trying to put together as broad a knowledge base as possible. But if portals can be opened remotely, then we might have the potential to gain crucial information about people who are stranded, in shock, or—as in Braz’s case—unable to communicate due to some injury. We could help soldiers in the field, for example.”
“Oh,” I said softly, chastising myself having such a knee-jerk negative reaction. I supposed there could be ethical questions, but Skeet’s ideas about how the research could be applied seemed altruistic, not to mention quite creative.
He must have noticed my initial expression of distaste, however. Smiling to himself, Skeet took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Rest assured that these are all double-blind studies with fully informed participants. If you were to become involved, you’d see that everything we do is above board and in the service of moving mental health care forward. We have to answer to the American taxpayers, after all.”
“Of course; I apologize,” I said, offering a conciliatory smile. “But isn’t it sort of kept quiet that NIMH has a paranormal division?”
The corners of Skeet’s mouth curled tightly upwards. “I meant that we’re accountable to the government agencies that fund our work. But yes, you’re right; the existence of the paranormal division is something we like to keep quiet. We work in obscurity not because we want to, but because our stakeholders feel that most voters would not as open-minded as you are, and might see our work as a waste of money.” He spoke the last words as though they tasted disgusting.
“Oh, I see.” I figured he was probably right about that last part; most people probably would object if they knew a portion of their hard-earned paychecks was going towards the study of parapsychology. “So who are your stakeholders?”
Skeet visibly tensed for the merest second before he sat back in his chair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, trying to appear casual. “Unfortunately, I can’t divulge specifics, but I can tell you that there are several—most of them government, some private. A broad funding base is what allows us to pay our participants so well.”
“I’m sure that’s appreciated.” So Skeet had both government and private funding for research that could be used for good—but could also be used to coerce and intrude on people. I wondered if he had any safeguards in place to ensure that the latter didn’t occur. “I’m embarrassed to say that I’m not very familiar with the life cycle of a research project. How much say do your stakeholders have in what research is done or how the results are applied?”
“You do have a keen interest in research, don’t you?” But I sensed in that moment that he wished my interest wasn’t quite so keen. “In your role, you wouldn’t have to worry about any of those details,” he said in a charming, self-deprecating manner that
I was sure had hooked many a research subject. “However, as a respected member of the MacGregor Group and someone with a desire to learn, were you to join our studies, I would certainly be happy to try to shed some more light—perhaps over lunch?”
“That’s very kind of you.” I was tempted to open up my empathic senses and reach into Skeet a little bit, to find out what his true motivations were. But some instinct warned me off, making me feel that it would be unwise. One glance at Braz reminded me that it was neither the time nor the place to indulge my curiosity. I decided instead to shift the subject to a question that had been rattling around in my mind ever since our briefing that first day. “I’ve been wondering, how did you and Braz meet?”
Skeet’s face fell for a second—I assumed because his sales pitch hadn’t succeeded in securing the “yes” he was looking for—but he recovered quickly. “It was at a conference in Brussels many years ago. We’ve corresponded ever since—at first, just about our mutual research interests, but over time we became friends. As you know, he came here to work with the National Cancer Institute, but because we’re friends and his primary field is mental health, I offered to facilitate his stay here.” Skeet looked down, removed his glasses, and began cleaning them with the edge of his lab coat. “I’m sure he regrets coming, now.”
I reached out and took Braz’s hand. I wondered whether he was sorry that he wouldn’t be able to complete his work.
As though he’d read my mind, Skeet said, “I’ve spoken to his colleagues at the NCI, and we’re all determined to ensure that his research will be finished and published.” As he spoke, his gaze again fell on Braz, and I saw that his eyes had misted over.
I tried to think of something comforting to say. “I’m sure that would mean a lot—”
But I was interrupted by a knock at the door. Ben came in first, followed by Kai and Asa. Then a man wearing a doctor’s white coat and carrying a clipboard entered. He was tall and broad, the silvery-white of his short cropped hair and beard contrasting with the deep brown of his skin. His eyes went immediately to Braz. I stood up so that we could switch places.
“Oh hi, Matt,” Skeet said. “Cate, this is Dr. Matt Washington, Braz’s physician.”
I shook his hand and noticed that while his eyes were kind, the doctor’s expression was stony. “Cate,” he asked, “you’re the one who Braz told that he wants to be taken off life support, correct?”
I nodded.
“I don’t have any objection,” Dr. Washington said. “Even the machines can’t keep him going for much longer. Fortunately, he signed an advanced directive, so we can accommodate him.”
“Wait a minute,” I whispered in alarm, “you’re going to do this now?”
Dr. Washington nodded as Kai and Asa went to their usual spots to begin the trance. “If that’s what he wants. We’ll ask him.”
Ben positioned himself behind me and slipped his arms around my waist. “Are you okay?” he whispered softly into my ear.
I swallowed hard. “I just… I wasn’t expecting it so soon,” I whispered back, letting my head fall back against his chest. As Ben’s arms tightened around me, I breathed in his scent and closed my eyes, willing myself to maintain my composure.
After several minutes, Kai asked Asa, “To whom am I speaking?”
“I will miss you, my Greek goddess,” Asa said, his voice deep and with a hint of mirth. Asa’s mind had stepped aside, and Braz was once again among us.
“I’ll miss you too, although I have no idea why,” Kai teased. “As you requested, the gang’s all here.”
“Hi, Braz,” Dr. Washington said, taking the chair next to the bed. “You know Kai and Asa are here, but so is Skeet, along with Ben and Cate. Is that all right?”
“Of course. All of the people I would love to be with me right now.”
Dr. Washington cleared his throat. “Cate tells me that you want to be taken off life support.”
“Yes, Matt. As you said, we both know I don’t have long anyway. The closer I get to death, the more impatient I become to see my Pedra. She’s here, isn’t she, Kai?”
Kai looked at a spot near the headboard to Braz’s left. “Yes, her spirit has joined us.”
“Good. I thought I saw her in my mind’s eye. At least now I know I’m only dying, not going crazy!” Asa’s laugh was robust, and the sound brought a few weak smiles to the room. Then his tone grew serious. “Amada—Cate—did you tell the captain what I wanted, my dying wish?”
“I did.”
“And what did he say?”
I noticed that Braz hadn’t mentioned Jennifer by name, perhaps because Pedra’s spirit was in the room. I tried to be equally circumspect. “He said their goal is the same as yours.”
“I am glad to hear that. Well, then, we have done all we can do. Benjamin, have you any more questions for me before I catch my train?”
“No, you’ve answered plenty,” Ben said. “Thank you for all of your help. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for you. We’ll do our best from here.”
“Very well, but I have another dying wish. Please take good care of my friend Cate. She is very precious, but she needs someone to keep her tethered to the earth, or she may fly away.”
Keep me tethered? I wanted to object, but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to start an argument with a man who was about to die.
Ben moved his hands to my shoulders as though to keep me from levitating. “Don’t worry, Braz. There will be no flying away on my watch.”
“Good. All of you, thank you for everything you’ve done,” he continued. “This is not something I asked for, to be sure, but the whole experience has been full of miracles. You have my love and gratitude, and I promise to watch over you from the other side—after Pedra and I have had sufficient time to catch up, that is.” It was disconcerting to see such a salacious wink channeled through Asa.
“Thank you, Braz,” Skeet said, “for all you’ve contributed, and for your friendship. I’ll personally see to it that your research project gets completed.”
“That is very generous of you. I appreciate it, my friend. But Pedra is looking at her watch. Matt, I think it’s time for me to go.”
I looked over at Kai, who nodded. Apparently Pedra actually was looking at her watch, although why one could possibly need a watch in the afterlife, I had no idea.
“Very well, then,” Dr. Washington said. “Braz, given how medically compromised you are, it’s likely that you will pass on as soon as I take you off life support. I just need you to tell me when you’re ready.”
There were a few moments of silence. Then Asa sighed heavily, wearing an expression of profound contentment. “I am ready.”
“Understood.” The room became quiet except for the soft beep of the heart monitor. Kai proceeded to bring Asa out of his trance, murmuring in his ear and using his fingers to tap various places on Asa’s body: forehead, sternum, wrists. Then Dr. Washington walked around to the various machines, turning knobs and flipping switches.
I kept remembering my mother’s last moments of life. It felt wrong to me that no one was touching Braz, comforting him. I slipped out of Ben’s embrace and walked over to the side of the bed. I took Braz’s hand, even though I knew he couldn’t feel it. “Godspeed,” I whispered as the beeps grew further and further apart.
The air was so thick with emotion that my throat began to close up. Finally, the heart monitor fell into one long, continuous beep, and we knew that Braz was gone.
At the same moment, like a hand puppet from which the hand had just been removed, I collapsed. Ben caught me under the arms as, of their own accord, my eyes closed.
I heard a flurry of activity and alarmed voices.
“Did she faint?”
“Is she all right?”
“Cate, wake up.”
I tried to open my eyes, to speak, but my body wouldn’t obey my commands. Instead, it remained completely limp. I felt Ben slide his arms under my knees and shoulders. He lifted me up and held me
against his chest, and all at once, I realized that having Ben close to me was all I wanted, all I needed. I breathed him in, felt his body against mine—and fell under a heavy curtain of sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Ow! Something sharp pricked my fingertip, but I didn’t flinch. I found that I couldn’t pull my hand away, even when the next jabs came. Ow, ow! I thought the words, but couldn’t say them. Goddammit, what is going on?
“Still no response.” It was Dr. Washington’s voice, speaking over the sound of the Tibetan singing bowls. “We won’t know for certain what’s going on until Asa is ready.”
“Any minute now,” I heard Kai say.
How embarrassing. I had fainted—and at such a sacred moment as Braz’s death. A hot flush warmed my face, but for some reason, I couldn’t open my eyes. Or speak. Or move.
I wondered if I was experiencing sleep paralysis. I had gone through that once before, after a long, sleepless week of final exams in college. It happened as I was waking up one morning, and it was a bizarre feeling: I was conscious and aware but completely unable to move. It had probably only lasted seconds or minutes, but it felt like hours. Wake up wake up wake up! I ordered myself, concentrating hard on moving. Still nothing.
So it was a particularly stubborn sleep paralysis—but I couldn’t have slept through that sharp poking thing. I must be awake. Open, I told my eyelids. Something—anything—move! But it was as though my body was staging a rebellion against my brain.
Suddenly, I had the sensation of no longer being alone in my own skull. Another consciousness was crowding in next to mine.
“Until Asa’s ready,” Dr. Washington had said, and there was the ringing of the Tibetan singing bowls. Had Kai put Asa into my head with me? I tried again—this time desperately—to force some part of my body to move. Absolutely nothing happened.
I heard Kai’s voice. “To whom am I speaking?”
