Chapter 7: Chapter Chapter VI: Second Sun

It is late, and Bev has a chance to talk to the boys. Blain, our oldest, answers the phone and asks her how she is doing.

“I’m OK, son. What are your brothers doing?”

“Worrying about Dad.”

She tries to console Blain as best she can.

“Everything will be fine.”

Bev is trembling and trying to hold back the tears. She’d been on the phone for a few seconds and can tell her emotions are about to erupt.

“Blain, I need to get off the phone. I just wanted to check in.”

She can hear Blain’s sniffles; he is also trying not to cry.

At twelve, he’s old enough to be aware things aren’t quite right. Not able to hold them back any longer, the floodgates are wide open and asks what she does not want to hear. “Mom, tell me the truth! Is he dead?”

Bev makes every effort to calm herself and her son and replies, “No, Blain honey, your dad is sleeping.”

These are the only words Bev can gather the strength to say.

In an attempt to take his mind off his father for a moment, she asks, “Does Jake want to talk to me?”

She can hear the aftermath of Blain’s sobbing.

He wipes his tears and calms down somewhat.

“He’s outside playing.”

“That’s OK, let him play. Is Pat around?”

Blain doesn’t say a word and hands the phone over to Pat.

“Hi, Pat, it’s Mommy. How’s my little man this morning?”

“Good, Mommy. I had a dream about Daddy last night!”

Somewhat shaken, she asks, “What happened in the dream, sweetie?”

“Daddy told me he was coming back!”

Bev covers the receiver of the phone and takes some deep breaths, trying to stop herself from crying.

She continues to listen and asks him, “What else did Daddy say?”

“He said he played golf with God and Jesus and angry man.”

“He said that? What else, sweetie?”

“I can’t . Daddy said… let me think.” Pat shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, Mommy.”

Bev smiles, amused at his dream.

“Try to remember, honey.”

“Oh yeah, I . He said to lighten up your grip! Daddy told me you almost broke his hand!”

Bev inhales sharply as she recalls what happened in the room when I grabbed her hand.

“I gotta go, Mommy. Me and Jake are building a fort!”

Pat slams the phone down and hangs it up—not in anger, but in the way little kids do.

She doesn’t have a chance to say goodbye to Blain and utters into a silent phone, “I’ll see you soon.”

She places her phone in her purse and contemplates the conversation with Pat. Bev is more confused than ever, but now confusion has competition—Insanity! She calls Kent to let him know what Pat said to her. He listens intently not saying a word. Bev rambles on about how no one, especially Pat, could have known about the hand squeeze except herself.

Kent interrupts.

“Bev, I also had a dream about Tony. It was weird.”

Now, Bev is doing all the listening.

“Bev, it was like your everyday, run-of-the-mill conversation with him. To be honest, it was very peaceful. This may sound silly, but I swear I could smell vanilla.”

“What did he say, I mean, what did Tony say in the dream?”

“He was his usual, everyday self. He mentioned something about being God’s messenger.”

Bev had been very still; sitting and listening, but after what Kent said, she springs to her feet.

“Tony! God’s messenger? Kent that’s laughable! Why would pick Tony, for crying out loud?”

Bev is recovering at the thought of me the prophet and adds, “Please forgive me Kent, and I don’t wish any ill-will, but why didn’t they you pick you instead? You used to be a preacher! You’re kind of holy. What about Billy Graham or the Pope, or even Bill Clinton!”

Both of them are talking like this was a real conversation with a living, breathing person—me. Bev again tries to reassure herself it’s her imagination running wild, and now it seems Kent has been invited in this madness as well.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I really think it’s Tony.”

“Kent, one at a time—both of us can’t go loco all at once.”

It has been several hours, and Bev composes herself enough to call the house. Cindy answers the phone.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been busy all day long. Are the boys alright?”

“Yeah, they’re quiet for now. I made dinner and put it in the oven. I’ll set the table for you and the boys.”

“No, but thanks anyway. I’m not very hungry; just take care of them.”

“They want to wait for you. Bev, you need to eat and take it easy when you get to the house.”

“I’ll do my best. Let the boys know I’ll be there soon.”

After all the events of the day, and an hour later, Bev got home. The plan is to clean up, feed the boys, and go to bed. When she arrives, Cindy meets her at the door.

Cindy has been with the kids since the beginning of this whole ordeal. She has had to make excuse after excuse for every question from the boys.

“They have been interrogating me all day long. I told them Tony is getting more tests done. That’s the best I could come up with. I think Blain knows; he’s been unusually quiet.”

Cindy reaches for Bev, holding both of her hands.

“He wants answers, Bev. Sooner or later you have to explain it to him.”

“I’ll talk to him. Thanks for everything, Cindy.”

They embrace and say their goodbyes.

The dinner scene is sad and somber, and little is said. Jake plays with his peas, rolling them around the plate like miniature soccer balls.

Still fidgeting with his food, and not looking up, asks, “Mom, when is Dad coming home?”

In an attempt to hold back any emotion, Bev assures them I’ll be home soon.

After Bev’s failed assurance, Blain excuses himself. He gets out of his chair and pushes it underneath the table.

He takes a glance at his brothers, then “zeros in” on Bev and quietly says, “He’s not coming home.”

Blain runs off to the living room, then stops, turns and yells, “Ever!”

Bev is speechless. Jake follows his older brother, leaving her and Pat alone at the dinner table. He put his tiny hand on hers.

“Mommy, don’t worry. Daddy will be back; he promised.”

Bev, using her other hand, embraces his. She anguishes at the thought of having to tell them the truth. After a few minutes later, the other boys make their way to their bedrooms.

“Mom, can I have some ”

Smiling at him, she says, “Yes honey, you can have some bussert.”

She brings him some milk and a cookie. Bev and Pat chat a little more. Again, he assures her I am OK, and will be coming home soon. It’s past his bedtime, and he is getting drowsy.

He mumbles as he tries to stay awake, “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

She picks him up and heads up the nearby flight of stairs. With Pat still cradled in her arms, she peeks in on the other two still awake.

“You boys go to sleep now.”

After checking on them, she tucks Pat in his bed and kisses him good night. When all three boys finally fall asleep, she decides to take one of those long, hot bubble baths with candles and the whole nine yards. Bev pours herself a glass of wine, then settles into the tub, then takes a long, slow sip of wine contemplating the dreams Kent and Pat had. She concludes the dreams had been more like visions and not dreams at all. With the combination of a hot bath, wine and exhaustion, she nods off.

Startled, she sinks into the water and wakes up.

Still in the tub, she covers herself, looks around and whispers, “Tony?”

There’s no answer. Shaken and rattled, Bev climbs out of the tub, dries off, puts on her nightie, pours another glass of wine, and lights a cigarette. We had a party at the house several months ago, and one of our guests left a pack of Marlboros behind. Bev hasn’t smoked since college, but this seemed like an opportune time to start again. She checks in on the boys one last time before crawling into bed and lies there for a couple of hours staring at the empty space beside her. She grabs my pillow and holds it close to her face and takes in a big whiff. The faint scent of Aqua Velva is all that remains, but enough to remind her of me.

She’s exhausted but afraid to let herself sleep. As many times before, she begins to cry. Bev is contemplating how so many tears could be produced by a single human being before there are no more left to cry. After hours of reminding herself what Pat and Kent had been illusions and nothing more, but concludes what she heard in the tub was a delusion! At peace with her rationale, she falls asleep. No delusion this time. Now it is Bev’s turn to dream.

Her eyes suddenly open. She’s standing in the middle of a vast green meadow surrounded by gently rolling hills. There would be silence if it weren’t for the sound of lapping water in the pond a few feet away and the song of a welcoming bird circling above. A faint fragrance of vanilla is filling her nostrils, just like Kent said. The cool, still evening air settles on her skin.

Bev looks around at the empty meadow.

“Tony, is that you? Where are you?”

Bev, aware this is a dream, is taking the experience in stride. She notices a peacefulness to this place. Taking things in stride has not been her usual behavior as of late.

“I’m all ears.”

She begins to drift around in circles like a ballerina, playfully tugging on her nightie.

“Pat gave me your message.”

Bev recalls something Kent told her, then she giggles.

“Kent said something about you being God’s messenger.”

“Yes, it is. But Tony, you’re practically a heathen, for Christ’s sake.”

She can’t see me, but in a panic, I begin to look around.

Now she’s panicked and covers her mouth, and silently says, “Sorry.”

We wait for a moment to make sure we weren’t going to be struck by lightning.

Relieved, I say, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Bev sits on a nearby log admiring the scenery. She interrupts her sitting when she walks over to a nearby pond.

“Can I walk on it?”

With a snicker, I say, Then I mumble, “Did you say something, Tony?”

Before Bev takes another step, I mention a towel hanging in a tree nearby just in case. She takes a few steps back away from the pond.

“I believe I’ll pass.”

A little frustrated, Bev turns and asks, “Why can’t I see you? I can hear you like you are right beside me.”

She’s seen enough and has an idea, but queries as to exactly where “here” is.

She picks up a small stick, turns to the pond, and tosses it into the water. She stands there, gazing at a setting sun. For the first time since this all began, she is at peace.

“I miss you, Tony.”

She continues to stare out into space and then lets out a sigh.

“I wish I could hold you.”

A second later, I say, “Bev, turn around.”

I’m allowed to show myself for the visit. And predictably, she runs in my direction and nearly tackles me.

“Tony, I’ve been so worried about you! I love you so much!”

She’s all over me like a wild woman!

“Bev, calm down!”

She keeps kissing and hugging me. Then we lose our balance and fall to the ground. We’re rolling around on the ground like slithering snakes in heat! She’s trying to be romantic, and I’m attempting to escape!

“Bev, settle down! They don’t allow that kind of stuff up here.”

I gently push her away, and she finally settles down. We get up from the ground and brush ourselves off. Bev regains some form of dignity; then both of us sit on the log. I peek all around. I look like a bobble-head doll, looking up and down, side to side, and everywhere in between to see if anyone is watching.

In a whisper, I say, “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

She wraps her arms around me again, and I try to wiggle free. “Stop it! If you can contain yourself for a minute, I’ll explain what I know.”

I tell her as much I can since I’ve not seen Heaven in person. Want to go visit a distant planet? Done. Enjoy swimming with the dolphins? No problem. Personally, I like golf and played eighteen with Him today and shot a thirty under!

“Bev, you’ll never believe this. Today I got five back-to-back holes in one. So many birdies and eagles I lost count. I got one bogey on purpose to break the monotony!”

Ignoring my success on the course, she exclaims, “He what? He plays golf?”

“All the time. And He’s pretty good.”

“Golly Gee Wilikers, He should be.”

“He also likes poker but doesn’t consider it, as they say around here, ‘part of those worldly things.’ God calls it a game of skill and cunning. He really likes . I was told He and Mother Teresa are regulars every Friday night at the lodge.”

“The lodge?”

“Yeah, the lodge. What’s wrong with that?”

“I didn’t expect to hear about a lodge in Heaven.”

“Why not? They’re not barbarians. Heaven has all sorts of neat stuff. Heaven is what you want it to be, within reason you understand.”

“I realize this is meant to be Heaven or at least somewhere around here, but how did you manage to send me those messages?”

“Pretty neat, don’t you think? They must have one hell of a phone bill!”

Upon catching myself using the word “H-E-double-hockey-sticks,” I quickly apologize.

“Sorry Lord.”

A voice thunders from above, “Don’t let it happen again.”

Then He laughs.

A little spooked, she asks, “Was that… Him?”

“Yes sirree Bob! That’s Him: The Big Boss. The Man Upstairs. The Head Cheese. The Big Kahuna. The—”

Then she covers my mouth.

“All right, Tony, you made your point.”

I move her hand away and say, “Around here we call him Frank.”

She shakes her head in disbelief and raises both arms in the air.

“You’ve got to be kidding! Isn’t that a little beneath Him? After all, He is… well, you know.”

“Bev, get a grip. God is what He is, and who He is, but like I said, around here He’s just Frank. It’s His way of getting people closer and to have a more personal relationship without all the formality.”

“I see.”

She is somewhat convinced of the explanation and begins to feel more comfortable.

“Seems rather lackadaisical around here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know Tony—let’s kick it off with golf, poker, lodges, and then move all the way up the ladder to Frank!”

“Don’t take me wrong, He demands and expects respect. He’d still rather we do it the usual way during prayer. You know, dear God or dear Lord, rather than dear Frank.”

“Where is He? I mean, is here?”

“Bev, God is omnipresent. That’s why we need to be a little more careful—He’s everywhere.”

I took His suggestion and looked it up.

“It’s about the only word in the dictionary almost exclusively dedicated to God.”

“One thing is for sure; you’ve stretched your vocabulary since you got here.”

I ignore her jab and continue to explain everything I know up to this point, including God also has a real knack for making you feel special. He hangs out with everyone if they want to.

“The things that go on in Heaven,”—then glaring at her— “Like His omnipresence is never in question or doubt. Things just are. He is always present, whenever, wherever.”

I continue and say, “While mortal, the way to communicate with Him is through prayer. Frank told me He wished every once in a while, we should be less formal and just talk to Him like you would a friend. In Heaven, He’s only a chat away if you want too. You never need an appointment to visit with the Almighty. All you need to do is show up, and He is always there.”

Bev asks, “Don’t they have Bible studies or something like that?”

“Nope. Frank figures you must’ve covered all the bases, which is part of how you got to Heaven in the first place.”

A few moments pass when an unexpected visitor shows up.

“What’s going on? I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say ‘hi’ to Bev.”

Jesus squeezes in between the two of us still seated on the log. He uses his knuckles and taps her on the head.

“Guess what, Bev? You’re on the VIP list. Just thought you should know.”

“What list?”

“You know;

It’s the one for folks who have done extraordinary things with their lives, like your work at the hospital, etcetera, etcetera. Why, Bev, you’re practically a saint!”

Overhearing the conversation, I let out a big “Ha!”

Jesus moves in close to Bev and whispers, “Between you, me and the fence post,”— then pointing in my direction— “you should be on it just for marrying that rascal.”

“You’re probably right. Can I see it?”

Jesus is momentarily distracted and asks, “See what?”

“The list!”

“Not really. You’ll get the chance when — well, you know.... how can I say this...?” Jesus scratches his head.

“What is that word...oh, yeah — when you expire.”

“I think I’ll wait for now.”

Jesus quietly says, “That’s probably best,”— then He moves in close again— “for now.”

He sits back up and continues.

“While we’re on the subject, wanna hear the best part when you arrive?”

Bev is still a bit intimidated with her surroundings, and with the addition of the “expire” comment, she nervously asks, “What?”

“Come on, Bev, guess. Oh, never mind. The neat part is you get to spend all of eternity with the one you were married to as a mortal! Is that peachy or what?”

Throwing her intimidation out the window, she glares at Him with her famous “look” and smugly replies, “Is there a choice, or is it the only option?”

He turns toward me also in a whisper, nudges me and says, “I like her. What a sense of humor.”

Then He slaps me on the back.

“You’re a lucky man, Tony!”

Jesus hops up from the log, dusts a few specks of bark from his Bermudas, and adjusts His ball cap.

“I have to scram. I’m playing a quick round with Dad. Do you want to join us?” Then with a hint of sarcasm says, “That’s if you have the time.”

I glance at a watchless wrist.

“Count me in,” then in an instant, He snaps his fingers.

“Rats! I almost forgot; its bingo night. The will never let me hear the end of it if I’m not the caller tonight. We could get in a quick round though. See you later, Tony.”

Jesus turns to Bev, and with a cheeky grin says, “I’ll see you in about fifty-seven years.”

After the “fifty-seven years” comment, she starts counting on her fingers and is doing math in her head. She stands up and bows her head.

“Have a blessed evening, my Lord.”

“Lighten up, Bev, we’re not as formal as you think. My friends call me Chad.”

The look I gave God earlier at hearing his chosen name was weak compared to the one Bev gives to Jesus. She is rarely speechless about anything; this was the exception which includes a dumbstruck expression on her face.

Jesus noticing her lack of words, asks, “Are you OK, Bev?”

She utters a reluctant, “I’m alright.”

“Marvelous! But, Bev, if you aren’t comfortable calling me Chad, my personal favorite is King of Kings. But it would be silly if every time you ran into me, you said, ‘Hello, King of Kings,’ so Chad is swell by me. Or if you prefer, you could call me—”

I interrupt Him, lean over and ask, “Don’t you need to be somewhere, Mr. King of Kings?”

I’ve been around long enough to know there’s an amount of informality around here, even when talking to Jesus.

Shocked at my lack of reverence, Bev punches me in the arm.

“Tony!”

“Chill out, Bev. You’re right, Tony, I’ve got a busy day. See you on the golf course.”

Jesus waves as He leaves and Bev waves back. But as if in a “trance,” her wave lasts long after His departure.

“Snap out of it, Bev, He’s gone.”

Bev and I pick up the conversation where we left off.

She tries to get herself back together, then says, “You know, Tony, between you and your new pals, you’re making everyone at the hospital crazy. Paul is about ready to shoot you in the head and end all of this. And the boys on the top floor are giving Kent a ton of grief. How long is this going to last? Pat said you were coming back. Are you?”

“That’s the word. When the third sun sets, and after the second sun rises, it is then I shall return.”

Humored, she says, “When did you start talking like that?”

Not humored, I say, “Like what?”

“When the third sun sets—blah, blah, blah.”

“Be careful, Bev, I’m sure I’ve got some kind of power. I could you or something.”

Bev replies, “Do you have any clue what smite means?”

“Now you’ve gone and done it, woman!”

I jump up from the log, and like a traveling evangelist, raise both arms in the air, shaking them and profess, “You have been smited!”

“What’s supposed to happen now that I’ve been smited?”

I sit back down next to her and say, “I’m not too sure how it works.”

“Well, I don’t feel any different.”

“Better look in a mirror and check out the huge mole on your forehead!”

Bev begins to frantically feel around for it.

“I’m kidding, Bev,” I said laughing.

Relieved at the confirmation of my inability to cast a spell on her, she says, “I didn’t realize they let jerks in here.”

Once again ignoring her, I say, “Hey Bev, I have to catch up with the gang. You heard Chad; we’re getting in one more round before I go to a Barry Manilow tribute concert.”

Since I’m only sort of a guest, I don’t have to go, but the do. I explain to Bev squeakers are folks who almost didn’t make it in. Jesus, who is in charge of admissions, is a prankster. It’s either the concert or an Amway seminar. Most choose Barry.

“You need to go now.”

“Why? The time seemed so short.”

“You just need to. Our boys will be waking up soon.”

Being the romantic, I sometimes can be, pick up a small twig and place it over her ear like a flower.

Still standing in front of her, I cradle her face with my hands and say, “I promised Pat, and now I’m promising you, I will be back.”

I kiss her on top of the head and walk away. As I am leaving, I turn back to her.

“I ran into your dad at the lodge. I’m not sure what he was talking about, but the next time he sees you, he’d like his ten cents back.”

When Bev was a little girl, she’d always bum spare change from her dad. Earlier in the day, and just a few hours before her father died, she asked him for a dime. She has kept it in her jewelry box ever since.

“I’ll be sure to remember. Tell Dad I said hello.”

She lowers her head, and I notice a grin and a small tear. I turn back once again.

“Bev, I love you and always will.”

I blow her a kiss, turn, and wave from behind.

“See ya.”

Bev’s eyes suddenly close, and when she opens them, she’s back in bed.

She collects her thoughts and says aloud, “I am losing my damn mind.”

Once again, she tries to rationalize her dream. She begins to mumble to herself. “OK, Bev, you’re a smart gal— figure it out.”

She contemplates her words for a few moments and is convinced her dream was more than an illusion, and this time confidently not a delusion. It seemed so real. The sights and sounds were much more than any dream she’d ever had. Those things we talked about, and my “coming back after the third sun sets” business causes her to have a moment of pause, but still confused. Whatever it was, Bev now has a calmness she hasn’t felt for a while.

As Bev is becoming more awake, she feels something poking her in the head, and combs through her hair with her fingers and discovers a small twig. Her confusion now becomes comfort as and removes it. She gently rolls the little twig with her fingers then places it on her nightstand next to her jewelry box. For now, Bev is fully at rest and falls back to sleep.

It is early in the morning, almost two and a half days after I was pronounced dead when the phone rings— it’s Kent.

“Bev, hurry down to the hospital… now! They’re moving Tony again.”

Bev arrives at the hospital in record time and meets up with Kent. I was still in the morgue where they’ve been keeping me, and she hardly notices I am there.

“What’s going on, Kent?”

“The boy’s upstairs are growing weary of everything that’s been going on. We have tried our best to keep this quiet, and frankly, the jig is up. The board found out we have been hiding and moving Tony all over the place. They think we’re all wacko! My job is on the line Bev, and for what? All for this fantasy,”— pointing to me— “that Tony is going to somehow snap-out of whatever he’s going through and waltz out of the hospital.”

Bev asks, “What about your dream?”

“The hell with the dream! You’re right Bev, they were illusions and delusions and nothing more! We want this to work out so bad that our minds are playing tricks on all of us.”

He lowers his head and covers his eyes. Kent is a strong man, and Bev has never seen him like this. He begins to sniffle, and she reaches into her purse for a tissue and hands it to him.

“Bev, I’m as upset as you are. I can’t think straight right now.”

She removes another tissue from her purse and dabs a few droplets coming from his eyes.

“Kent, I understand, do whatever you need to do.” She reaches for his hand. “I had a dream too.”

Kent dries his eyes and is reignited about her dream.

“Was it him?”

Quite collected, she replies, “Yes, Kent, it was Tony. There’s a lot more going on than either one of us can comprehend, including those fool’s upstairs. I know everything is going to work out the way it’s supposed to.”

Bev is pulling one her famous guilt trips on Kent, and for good reason. She is more convinced than ever something miraculous is in play.

As an aide prepares to move me from the morgue to the autopsy lab, Kent’s phone vibrates. He opens it, sees a new message and reads it to himself:

Kent flips it shut and begins looking around appearing anxious and overwhelmed, then motions for the aide to leave the room. Nervously, he clasps both hands, then quickly rubs them together and says he has to go to his office.

Noticing his puzzled look and remaining calm, Bev curiously asks, “Who was that, Kent?”

He ignores her and continues toward the door and exits the morgue leaving Bev and me behind.

It is not in Bev’s nature to leave questions unanswered and caught up with Kent already standing at his desk with his phone to his ear. It was obvious he was having a chat with the morgue supervisor, and Bev heard the last few seconds of the conversation.

“I don’t give one iota what the chairman said! You work for me, not him! If you move Tony one inch from where he is, I’ll fire you and anyone that looks like you!”

Kent slams down the phone and turns toward Bev.

In a curt tone, Kent asks, “What is it, Bev? I’m busy.”

He goes around to the other side of his desk and reaches for a pen and a notepad. “I have to go.”

Bev moves a guest chair out of her pathway to get to him and grabs his arm.

Anxiously, she asks, “Who was the message from?”

Again, he ignores her. Calm and collected gets tossed out the window when Bev shouts, “Dammit Kent, what’s the message!”

He manages to escape her grip and continues to make his way to the door.

Bev nearly trips over his coffee table and lunges at him from behind and falls to the floor. As she’s crawling around, grabs his coat sleeve and swings him around with so much force, it almost knocks him to the floor with her!

“I’m begging you, Kent, please talk to me! Was it Tony?”

Kent reaches down and helps her up with Bev still firmly grasping his coat sleeve. He glances at her hand still holding tight on his coat and says nothing until she releases him. She finally releases her grip, and when she does, he adjusts his coat and snugs up his loosened tie.

“You could have made a name for yourself as a wrestler. Thanks for the tissue. I’m going to meet with Paul and see if we can buy more time. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Kent pets Bev on the shoulder like a little puppy dog before leaving the room.

“You’re right Bev. I also believe something miraculous is in play.”

He leaves his office with no interruptions this time. Bev returns to the morgue and takes a few short steps over to the gurney.

She stands beside my body and with a look of curiosity asks, “What are you up to now, Tony?”

Kent gets to Paul’s office and barges in, slamming the door behind him.

Foregoing any morning greetings, Kent demands, “Paul, I want you to do another EEG.”

“Kent, are you kidding me? How dead does he need to be? I’m telling you— there isn’t any brain activity! Have you heard the word going around? The brass is about to toss you out on the street.”

Kent responds, “I can deal with the consequences.”

Paul exclaims, “Oh, really? What about the ones going with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kent, they’re going to fire anyone involved with this mess, including me. I don’t know about you, but I have a pension at stake.”

With both fists, Kent pounds on his desk so hard, a lamp falls to the floor and breaks.

Kent yells, “I don’t care! Just do it! I’ll take the heat!”

Paul kneels down and picks up the pieces of a now shattered lamp.

“Fine, but I’m getting tired of this. You’re the one who has to explain it to the board, not me.”

Both knees still on the floor, Paul throws his arms in the air in frustration. “Keeping him around is costing the hospital thousands, and for what? Because you and Bev continue to have this false hope that Tony will somehow rise from the dead and go home.”

Paul begins to sweep up more remnants of the lamp with his hands.

“You owe me ten bucks for the light.”

Paul continues to pick up the remaining pieces of the lamp and cut his finger on a shard of glass.

Now in pain, bleeding, and not in a very pleasant mood, says, “Dammit to hell, Kent!” He gets off of his knees, stands up, and reaches for his handkerchief. Paul settles down but is still bleeding from his wound.

“Kent, they’re going to lock both of you up in a padded room and throw away the key.”

He wraps his finger, and in a frustrated, softer tone, mumbles, “You’re both fruitcakes.”

A steadier Kent replies, “Maybe we are.”

As Kent leaves Paul’s office, he receives another message:

Then says to himself, “You’re welcome Tony.”

Paul makes a phone call to one of the staff neurologists and orders an EEG and a CAT scan, and most important, in a last-ditch effort, a There are numerous nerve tracts located within parts of the brain, and the way to find them is with that type of scan. If they determine my brain has no activity afterward, then that’s it, and all hope is over with as far as they are concerned. This procedure has never been done to a dead patient; there hasn’t been a reason until now. For patients who are alive, it’s a risky procedure at best. Paul concludes, what the hell, if it will shut Kent and Bev up, it’ll be worth it.

They sneak me out of the morgue and take me back to the cath lab. Hospitals usually use two standard tests to determine brain death. The result of an EEG alone is enough to allow the machines to be turned off and for the hospital to send out its final bill.

They do the EEG and the CAT scan as ordered. To add more confusion to this medical mystery, the results of the EEG show no evidence of brain activity. On the other hand, the CAT scan doesn’t show proof of brain death either; at least not physical death. My brain appears alive with no apparent deterioration, which causes everyone to scratch their heads—again. Paul figures the third test will be a charm. As agreed, they make preparations for the procedure.

“Dandy, more procedures.”

Paul and Kent have their motives for this final procedure. Paul wants to prove I’m dead, and Kent wants to prove I am still alive. The scan is performed by inserting micro wires as the name suggests into the deepest parts of the brain with the hope of detecting any electrical activity an EEG might miss. Firing activity can be so fast, they are sometimes difficult to detect, and can be lost in the blink of an eye.

As they insert the micro wires, Kent receives another message:

.

Not aware he has an audience, replies, “Hilarious, Tony.”

Kent’s comment got a few curious looks.

Then, Paul whispers to the neurologist, “Have you got a set of keys to the rubber room?”

As before, the EEG is a miss. The CAT scan was inconclusive, and the deep brain scan detects nothing. The neurologist removes the micro-wires and patches me up.

The neurologist turns to Paul and says, “This doesn’t prove anything. We might not have been in the neighborhood of activity. You need to be pretty close, almost right on top of those little fellows for a good reading. While I’m here, do you want me to look somewhere else?”

Paul is somewhat reluctant and says, “No, we’ve seen enough.”

I’m thinking, “

The doctor removes the electrodes, bandages me up, and the team leaves the lab. Only Kent, Paul and I remain. Bev is still in the waiting room. As they are preparing to move me to a new hiding place, Paul shows a rare glimpse of compassion.

“Let’s put him in a regular room where he’ll be more comfortable.”

Paul stops himself, shakes his head, and says, “What on God’s green earth am I talking about?”

He throws his arms up in the air and says, “I’m starting to sound as crazy as you and Bev. Orderly, haul him back to the lab and plug his ass into something. I don’t care if it’s a damn !”

Paul wipes his sweated brow with his blood-stained handkerchief.

Paul is now more low-keyed turns to Kent and says, “As a doctor, I can’t argue with the obvious: no brain swelling, no rigor mortis, not a thing. His brain appears alive, but nothing is ticking.”

Paul walks over to me where I am lying. He grabs hold of the handrails on the gurney and stares right at me.

“It’s as if when we’re not watching, his body does a brief cycle. Blood flows and apparently there’s a gas exchange; oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. It’s like a game of peek-a-boo. It’s more like hide-and-seek. Maybe it’s a form of hibernation.”

As many times as before, Paul scratches his head.

“Like I said, it’s possible the monitoring equipment turns things off in his body. I just don’t know. I’m baffled.”

Paul turns back to Kent and raises his voice.

“I know one thing for sure, this has to end, and I do mean soon.”

They take me back to a patient room where Bev had been waiting. The stress of all the varying emotions is evident on her face. She’s trying to wrap her head around the thought at some level I’m still alive, but it appears this whole ordeal will take a medical miracle to resolve itself one way or the other. At this stage of the game, time is the enemy, and the clock keeps spinning away. Hope and faith are all she has— and both are waning.