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  The chill in the air and what she was about to face made her shiver when she looked up at the imposing multistoried brick front of the hospital. The size of the place had always intimidated her; but as she looked at it now, she couldn’t help but think a death sentence was waiting for her inside. Nate walked over to her, took hold of her hand, and squeezed it.

  “Don’t worry. You’re gonna be fine,” he said, but she wondered if he meant it. As they crossed the street and walked through the wide revolving doors of the hospital’s front entrance, Kiera wished she could believe him.

  After getting directions from a Middle Eastern woman at the front information desk, they took the elevator up to the third floor. They wandered around a while until they found the exam room where she was supposed to report.

  “Well,” Kiera said as she tried to swallow the dry lump in her throat. “Here goes.”

  2

  “Your blood pressure’s a bit elevated, but that’s to be expected.”

  The nurse giving Kiera her preliminary examination before the CAT scan was young and rather plain. Kiera was so nervous she forgot the woman’s name as soon as she told her, and she was so close, Kiera couldn’t read the name badge on her hospital shirt. The nurse asked a series of questions—if Kiera was pregnant, if she was allergic to any medications, if she had recently had any head or heart surgery, if she had any metal objects implanted in her body, and if she wore permanent eyeliner.

  “How’s your appetite been?”

  “Fine.”

  “And you’ve been sleeping well?”

  Kiera almost said sure, but she stopped herself. She hadn’t been sleeping well at all. For the past two weeks, she’d had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. And night after night, the anxiety dreams were much more vivid than usual. In the morning, she could never remember many of the details, but they left her feeling unsettled throughout the day.

  “All right, then,” the nurse said, but Kiera was certain Nurse What’s-Her-Name didn’t believe her. After a few more routine questions, she asked Kiera to step behind a screen and change into a hospital gown, removing all of her jewelry and any other metal objects that might interfere with the scan.

  Wearing the hospital gown made Kiera feel self-conscious and vulnerable. Maybe that was the point. What was going to happen to her was definitely out of her control. She got even more nervous when the technician—a young man with long, sandy hair and bright blue eyes—entered the room and introduced himself simply as Paul. He was friendly enough, but he was all business as he directed her to lie down on her back on the examination table. The large white donut-shaped metal ring at the head of the table intimidated Kiera, and she felt an impulse to get up and run out of there.

  “Looks like something out of Star Wars,” Kiera said with a nervous laugh.

  Paul barely reacted and, for an instant, she wished Nate was here with her instead of in the waiting room across the corridor.

  Moving stiffly and feeling clumsier than usual, Kiera climbed up onto the table and shifted around so she was lying on her back. Paul helped her get into position so her head was resting comfortably on the U-shaped, padded headrest.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “Nothing but,” Kiera said with a weak smile. She folded her hands across her chest, but Paul asked her to place them at her sides. The examination table was almost too narrow for her to do that comfortably, and Kiera wondered how long she could hold this position without getting antsy. Probably less than one minute.

  “Would you like some music while we do this?” Paul asked.

  “No. I think I’ll be fine,” Kiera said, but she didn’t feel at all confident when she looked at the arc of bright white machinery that encircled her.

  “I’d recommend it,” Paul said. “How about something classical just to soothe you?”

  “Sure . . . fine. Whatever you say.”

  “If at any time during the procedure you start to feel uncomfortable or claustrophobic, there’s a microphone close by, so don’t hesitate to speak up.’Kay?”

  Kiera nodded, although the headrest restricted her movement. The table hummed as Paul moved her into position. When he shifted her a little too far forward, a bright beam of light at the top of the arc stabbed her eyes. She panicked, thinking the sudden brightness would trigger a migraine, but she blinked away the afterimage and told herself to take a breath and stay calm.

  Yeah, like I’m cool and calm . . . Just relax and go with it . . . It’s entirely out of your hands now.

  She felt like a slab of meat and, knowing there was nothing she could do about it, she closed her eyes and settled down, praying for it to be over.

  Paul left the room and entered the observation booth. “All right, Mrs. Davis.” His amplified voice sounded loud and tinny through the speaker next to her head. “Just relax. Try not to move. It’ll all be done before you know it.”

  With her eyes closed, Kiera lost any sense of time as the table started to shift forward, moving inch by inch. It made faint clicking sounds, and the scanner whirred and clicked with no discernable pattern as it moved all around her, getting different angles. Although she told herself it was just her imagination, she was sure she could feel the heat of the light and X-rays burning into her.

  “How you doing in there?” Paul’s amplified voice asked.

  “Fine,” Kiera replied, but the truth was, she was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. She wished Paul hadn’t mentioned it and struggled to keep her eyes closed and take shallow, even breaths, but her panic was getting stronger by the second. Even with the classical music playing softly, the sound of the machinery was loud enough almost to drown it out. Gears and cogs clicked and whirred as the table kept moving her slowly farther into the metallic cylinder. She was disoriented and was convinced the table was tipping her headfirst into the machine. Her throat was dry, but she was cautious not to move too much. She barely swallowed.

  The sound of the machinery got increasingly louder, especially whenever there was a pause or low passage in the music. Kiera tried to convince herself she was someplace else, and after a while she drifted into an unusual mental state. She felt completely dissociated from her body, even when Paul asked her again how she was doing, and she replied that everything was just fine.

  At some point, she realized that, even with her eyes closed, she was having an odd visual experience. It was almost as if—somehow—she was outside of her body, floating up near the ceiling and looking down at herself, lying immobile on the table.

  Am I dying . . . or already dead?

  She tensed when she recalled the illusion she’d had this morning, that her reflection in the mirror didn’t move when she did.

  It’s like that now.

  A rush of panic swept through her, making her body tingle . . . especially her hands and feet. Her eyes remained closed, but she had the distinct impression that she could see right through her eyelids. The thought occurred to her that it didn’t matter if her eyes were open or closed. In fact, it didn’t matter if she was awake or asleep or even if she was alive or dead . . . she would be seeing the same thing. Amazed, she stared into a dark, swirling vortex behind her eyelids. It was filled with subtly shifting lights and shadows that left blurry afterimages on her retina.

  “Still doing all right?”

  Paul’s voice seemed to be coming from an impossible distance. Kiera was so lost in the whirring sounds of the machinery and the jerky motion of the table that she didn’t know if she responded to him. She was adrift in a world of gauzy white light and shifting smudges of shadows.

  “Yeah . . . I’m all right,” she either said or thought. Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter.

  “That’s good,” came the faraway reply.

  Kiera tried not to react when she realized this had been a woman’s voice, not Paul’s.

  Did he leave? . . . Is someone else taking his place?

  She experienced a feeling of abandonment but told herself it didn’t matt
er.

  Nothing matters anymore.

  Still, something about the voice had a familiar resonance that she couldn’t quite place. She was still distantly aware of the table, sliding forward inch by inch, but she also had a sensation of floating . . . of falling.

  How much longer can this go on?

  She still wasn’t sure if she spoke out loud or simply thought it.

  “How much longer?” said the woman’s voice. “What are you talking about? It’s been going on all your life.”

  Kiera tried to respond. Her mind was a total blank as she struggled to figure out where and when she had heard that voice before. It sounded so familiar. Even though it was oddly distorted, it reminded her of her own voice and how foreign it sounded when she heard a recording of it.

  I mean this exam . . . How much longer will this exam be going on?

  “It will never end . . . It’s been going on ever since you were born,” the woman said. “You just didn’t know it.”

  Kiera didn’t miss the edge of threat in the woman’s voice.

  Can I stop it now? . . . Can we be done now?

  “It’s totally out of your hands. It’s out of my hands, too,” the woman said. “I don’t know what’s changed, but something has. Something’s shifted, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”

  As much as I want to find out what’s wrong with me, I’m also really scared . . . I’m afraid I might . . . die . . . I don’t want to die.

  “Neither do I,” said the unseen woman. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  You’re helping the doctor, aren’t you? You’re a technician who’s helping Paul.

  “Who’s Paul?” the woman said. “I don’t have any idea how I got here. I’m not even sure where here is.”

  As soon as the woman said that, a jolt of fear as strong as an electric shock hit Kiera. She willed her body to move but couldn’t. She was paralyzed. There was no way she could move. The thought that she might already be dead filled her with terror and despair. She imagined the white ring of the scanner expanding all around her until it became a swirling white tunnel of light that pulled her in.

  But I don’t want to die! Kiera said or thought as a feeling of immense sadness and loss swelled inside her. She struggled to open her eyes—if they aren’t already open!—but the whirling vortex of light and shadow surrounded her and held her down. Then, ever so slowly, a face resolved above her. At first, the light behind it made it impossible for her to see who it was, but she was certain it was a woman. A nimbus of light surrounded her head like a halo as the woman leaned over her.

  Am I dead? . . . Are you an angel?

  Kiera was amazed that she could think, much less speak through her panic.

  “Far from it,” the voice said, and Kiera realized she was looking at the woman she had been speaking to.

  The figure hovered above her, a solid, dark blotch against the glaring light. Her hair shimmered like a bright red halo, and her eyes glowed as if they had their own internal light. Gradually, the woman’s features resolved. Her face was perfectly expressionless; her skin had a ghostly pale radiance. Her eyes—as green as Kiera’s—widened with anticipation—or fear—as she looked down at Kiera.

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” the woman said. “I have no idea what’s going on, either.”

  Kiera noticed that the woman’s lips moved out of synch with her voice, but what she said filled the weirdly lit void like the rush of a storm wind.

  Kiera had the urge to reach up and touch the woman’s face, but her arms were frozen. She wanted to cry out for help. Maybe Paul was close by and would make this stop.

  Who are you? . . . What are you doing here?

  At the edge of hearing, Kiera became aware of a high-pitched whirring sound punctuated by a series of soft, irregular clicks. Her body was still moving forward, and she felt like she was falling backward. When she looked up, the face above her resolved more clearly, and she realized she was looking at herself. It was like gazing into a mirror, only the reflection—like the one that had unnerved her this morning—moved independently of her.

  Tears filled Kiera’s eyes, blurring her vision and turning everything into a dull, gauzy haze. Emotions she couldn’t even begin to identify welled up inside of her. She wanted to cry . . . and scream . . . and laugh. She wanted to close her eyes, if they weren’t already closed, so she could get away from this vision of herself before her, but somehow she knew this vision would never fade away.

  Are you . . . me? she asked, hearing the quaver in her voice.

  “What’d you say?” a man’s voice said. It took Kiera a second or two to realize Paul had spoken to her. She licked her lips and swallowed dryly, terribly aware of not having had anything to eat or drink in a very long time. It seemed like it had been days or weeks since she had felt liquid flowing down her parched throat. She couldn’t quite believe she had spoken loud enough for Paul or anyone else to hear her.

  “We’re just about done. How you holding up?”

  This was definitely Paul’s voice. Kiera blinked her eyes and looked around to see if the face—her face!—was still looming above her, but it was gone. All that remained was a hazy afterimage that floated before her eyes like a puff of smoke that was rapidly dissipating.

  Reality came back in slow, steady waves that lapped over her like a gentle tide. The confusion and fear she had experienced was rapidly fading. Even though stark memories of what she had seen and heard were seared into her brain, already they were slipping away like half-remembered fragments of dreams. No matter how hard she tried to hang on to them, they were slipping away.

  “I was . . . I saw . . .” she said, but her voice choked off, and she remained silent as she waited for the slow, inexorable movement of the examination table to stop. The machinery was still whining, louder now. Afraid of what she might see, she didn’t dare open her eyes.

  “Just about done . . . All right. Fini. You can open your eyes now.”

  Paul’s voice was clearer than it had ever been, and Kiera found it reassuring, but she still hesitated to open her eyes.

  What if that woman—the one who looked like me—is still here?

  The thought gradually lost some of its terror. It slowly ebbed away, leaving her with a terrible feeling of utter loss and sadness. She wished she could be someplace else as she waited for the machinery to finally stop making its clicking and buzzing noises. Then, after sucking in a deep breath and holding it for a moment, she opened her eyes . . .

  . . . and found herself looking up at the ceiling. Down by her feet, she could see the circular opening of the CAT scan, looking like a wide metallic mouth that had just disgorged her.

  “Don’t move. You’ll probably feel a little disoriented, after lying so still for so long. Let me help you off the table.”

  Feeling absolutely drained, Kiera did as she was told. Her muscles didn’t feel strong enough to support her, but with Paul’s help, she sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the table to the floor.

  “You did great,” Paul said, smiling at her. She no longer felt self-conscious about sitting there in a skimpy hospital gown. She was just glad the ordeal was over.

  “When do I get the results?” Her voice was shaky and sounded more like the voice of the woman she had imagined while she was inside the scanner than her own. She wanted to believe she had imagined it. There was no way anyone could have been inside there with her.

  “We’ll do a preliminary reading while you get dressed, and I’m sure the doctor will want to meet with you to review them.”

  Kiera wanted to ask if he had noticed anything unusual while the procedure was going on, but she decided not to. She also wanted to ask him if it was common for people to hallucinate or daydream while they were inside the scanner, but she decided to let it drop, too. The sound and her nervousness had contributed to make her imagine that woman. That was all. She was mostly anxious about what the results would show.

  3

>   “I have to be honest with you,” said Dr. Martindale, the neurosurgeon in charge of Kiera’s case. After studying the CAT scan on the light board, he, Nate, and Kiera were seated in one of the small, cluttered offices. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. There is definitely something on your prefrontal lobe that doesn’t belong there.”

  Kiera was stunned. She sat there, staring at him, barely able to think above the heavy thud of her pulse in her ears. Slowly, she took a breath and let it out as she slumped back in the chair.

  So that’s it . . . Her vision kept shifting in and out of focus as cold tingling sensations rushed across her body. I got the death sentence I’ve been dreading . . . It’s for real.

  “Judging by where the growth is located and how small it is, I’d say we were damned lucky to find it now rather than later.”

  “So it’s operable?” Nate asked, shooting a concerned glance at Kiera.

  “Absolutely,” Dr. Martindale said. “But first, we have to figure out what it is. For that, we’ll need to do a biopsy.”

  “A biopsy,” Kiera echoed.

  For the next ten minutes or so, Dr. Martindale explained the biopsy procedure in great detail. Not much of it stuck with Kiera, who was still too stunned by the news. All she could think was—This is it . . . I’m going to die . . .

  But one thing kept coming through. Dr. Martindale told her a number of times that, although the diagnosis was serious, it was by no means terminal. There was a better than average chance the growth was benign, and even if it wasn’t, they had most likely caught it early enough so it hadn’t metastasized.

  “It’s no wonder you’ve been having visual symptoms. The growth appears to be pressing against your left optic nerve. You said you’d been experiencing flashes of light, is that right?”

  Kiera had to force herself to pay attention. She shook her head and looked back and forth between the doctor and her husband, fighting the disorienting feeling that she had to be imagining all of this. It couldn’t be happening to her!