"No. Would you like a cup?"
Sharon shook her head. "You must be starving. If you'd like, I'll have the commissary send something over. If you can hold out, I've ordered dinner to be delivered at seven. Jonathan should be here by then."
"I'll hold out, but I'd expected to talk to Jonathan before then. Do you know where I can reach him?"
"He'll be sleeping, Mr. Kendry." Sharon said with just the slightest trace of a frown. "Besides the obvious injuries, the plane crash damaged Jonathan's adrenal system. He won't slow down, and he won't take medication, but he's very prone to exhaustion. Being up all night will have taken its toll. He forces himself to get by on six or seven hours of sleep, but most men with his condition would sleep eleven or twelve out of every twenty-four."
"Pilgrim's quite a man."
The woman raised her eyebrows slightly. "He certainly is. I have a strong suspicion that he feels the same way about you."
"Did he tell you anything about my situation?"
Sharon's hair rippled like wheat-colored water as she again shook her head. "I've seen Dr. Ibber's file on you, of course, and I've read the transcript of your intake interview; I was supposed to carry out some preliminary psychological testing on you. But I expect that what I've seen is just the tip of the iceberg. Jonathan called me yesterday morning soon after you'd left. At least Jonathan thought you'd left. He said there'd been some trouble." She paused, smiled wryly. "Jonathan just casually mentioned in passing that he was sure you were a CIA agent, thought there was a good chance you'd sneak back, and he wanted a place for you to hide where only the three of us would know where you were."
"He didn't say anything else?"
"He told me I didn't want to know the rest, which meant that he didn't want me to know the rest."
"And you didn't ask?"
"No." "You seem to have an excellent working relationship," Veil said carefully.
"Yes, I'd say we do."
"Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if your relationship extends beyond that?"
"Yes, it would."
"Then I apologize, Doctor."
Sharon smiled, winked mischievously. "But I'll answer, anyway. Jonathan and I are just good friends." Suddenly the smile slipped from the woman's face; her eyes went slightly out of focus, and her tone became distant. "Jonathan's in love with a woman no other woman on earth can compete with."
"She must be some lady."
"Oh, that she is," Sharon said in the same curiously distant, flat tone. "She's Death."
Veil's first reaction was that the woman was making some kind of macabre joke—but if she was, her face gave no indication of it. Veil waited for her to say something else, but Sharon seemed lost in thought. The silence in the office grew awkward.
"Excuse me," he said at last, starting to retreat back into the storeroom. "You have work to do, and I've interrupted."
"Oh, no. Stay if you'd like, Mr. Kendry." The bright sheen in Sharon Solow's voice had returned as quickly as it had vanished, and her eyes were once again in focus. "You're probably curious about what I'm up to over on this mountain."
Veil leaned against the doorjamb, folded his arms across his chest and grinned. "More than a bit, Doctor."
"All right, let's start with the technology; aside from our hospital equipment, this computer is just about all the technology there is—and I don't really need this. Our work here just doesn't lend itself to machinery."
"It's subjective."
"Almost totally." Sharon nodded toward the papers, then the display screen. "Right now I'm collating the weekly anecdotal reports from some of our residents, whom I'm sure
Jonathan has told you are in various stages of terminal illness."
"Yes. Jonathan gave me some idea of what you're trying to do. If you'll pardon me for saying so, I'm not sure I see the point. It seems to me that you're like a film editor who works on nothing but final sequences."
"Indeed," Sharon replied in a firm voice, "but many films have been saved by the final sequence; those last frames can bring everything together and illuminate all that has gone before."
Veil thought about it, nodded. "All right."
"Then, of course, there's always the possibility that what we call death may not be an end at all—only a transition."
"And Lazarus People may have already made that transition and come back to tell about it?"
Sharon seemed vaguely surprised. "Jonathan obviously trusts you a great deal to talk about Lazarus People so soon."
"Why?"
"It's a sensitive subject because it has so many obvious religious overtones. We don't approach it from that angle at all, but Jonathan is always afraid that outsiders will think that the Institute is running some kind of elaborate ashram over here."
"I suppose he figured you'd eventually tell me about them, anyway. In any case, it seems to me that their reported out-of-body experiences could be nothing more than elaborate hallucinations triggered by trauma and shock."
"You're right, of course. But if they are hallucinations, they're remarkably consistent. Also, even though an out-of-body experience is the most dramatic characteristic of Lazarus People, there are others—all part of what we call the Lazarus Syndrome. For example, no matter how neurotic they may have been before, Lazarus People tend to emerge from their near-death experience with very integrated personalities. They begin to think in universal terms, and it's almost impossible to manipulate them with the words and symbols leaders use to manipulate so many of the rest of us. Lazarus People no longer fear death. On the contrary; even though they've become passionately life-affirming, they actually look forward to death. This duality in attitude is what we call the Lazarus Paradox."
"Impressive. Are there any other characteristics of these Lazarus People?"
"I'm not boring you?"
Veil smiled. "I'm really very interested in you and your work, Dr. Solow."
Sharon flushed slightly, but continued to meet Veil's gaze. "In that case, I'll have to tell you more about both. There seems to be generally heightened consciousness and sensitivity in all aspects of life. Lazarus People seem to recognize each other on sight, with nothing being said. It's positively uncanny."
"Mental telepathy?"
Sharon laughed and raised her eyebrows in mock distress. "Bite your tongue, Mr. Kendry. That is a term we never use around here. Please confine yourself to words like 'consciousness' and 'sensitivity.'"
"Agreed."
"Good," Sharon said, her tone becoming more serious. "In that case, I'll tell you about one of the eeriest characteristics of all. For want of a better term, we call it 'soul-catching.'"
"Which is?"
"Some Lazarus People—not all, by any means—seem to experience a premonition of extreme personal danger."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Let's suppose a Lazarus Person is about to be mugged on the street, or hit from behind in a barroom brawl. Some of these people report hearing a soft bell tone, a chiming sound, inside their heads a split second before the knife is drawn or the bottle swung. The Lazarus People who've experienced it swear that 'soul-catching' has saved their lives."
Suddenly Veil felt disoriented—short of breath, as if the woman's words had been a blow to the stomach. He had heard no chiming, but he had a distinct premonition of danger; the danger was not physical, and he did not believe it stemmed from the woman, but it was there nonetheless, coming from a source in the past, present, or future which he could not identify. He quickly looked away to hide his reaction.
"Mr. Kendry?" Sharon continued after a few seconds. "Are you all right?"
He slowly exhaled, then turned back and forced himself to smile. "Why don't you call me Veil?"
Sharon stared at him for a few moments, concern in her eyes. Veil continued to smile at her, and finally Sharon smiled back. "Very well—if you'll call me Sharon."