Tunnel Vision by Gary Braver

Author:Gary Braver
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Miracles, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Psychological, Coma, Patients, Suspense, Thrillers, fiction, Neuroscientists
ISBN: 9781429977326
Publisher: Forge Books
Published: 2011-06-21T06:00:00+00:00

41

Bruce dropped off Zack at the lab around seven that next Tuesday, and Sarah met him at the entrance and walked him to the lab office. “Where did you find that guy?”

“Bruce?”

“Yeah. Not exactly Hoke Colburn.”

“Who’s Hoke Colburn?”

“Morgan Freeman in Driving Miss Daisy. He’s got the personality of asphalt.”

Sarah laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Also, see if you can arrange a bona fide tunnel.”

“We’ll work on that, too.”

“My luck, I’ll end up in the Ted Williams with no money and a maniacal toll collector.”

“You’re in good spirits,” she said.

“For a guy who’s going to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” she said. “And thanks again for Friday night. I had a good time.”

“Enough to do it again?”

“Sure.”

She opened the door to the MRI room, where Drs. Luria, Stern, and Cates greeted him. He then changed and got up on the gurney, where Sarah and Cates hooked him up to the monitors and IV. He could feel his heart pounding in anticipation. As Sarah adjusted a connection, he whispered, “In case I don’t come back, you’re gorgeous.”

“You are, too,” she said. “See you soon.”

Zack smiled and passed out.

His first awareness was of moving through a tunnel toward light. No, not a tunnel. A hole above him with a dim slice of light glowing through the opening. And the walls were made of sand, and he was pushing his way upward. But he had no idea who he was or where he was. A dull, filmy moon hung overhead, and he was covered with sand and chilled to the bone and burning from stings of things needling into his flesh. His mouth was numb and his fingers stiff, as if his blood had turned to wax.

He pulled himself out of the hole and began to shuffle across the sand toward the water, guided by some raw instinct. His feet were bare and half-numb to the rocks and shells, too distracted by the chilled air.

“Hey, sport, want to hit a few?”

He stopped and looked behind him, and coming toward him across the sun-warmed sandbar was his dad, with a bright yellow bat and bucket of whiffle balls. On the beach sat his mom in a lounge chair, with Jake on a blanket with the kid from the next-door rental.

Instantly, the world was sunny and good. “Sure.”

His dad was five feet ten, but he looked twice as tall standing before him on the flats, his big hard body glistening from sunscreen and his gold crucifix winking at him from the chain around his neck.

“What about Jake? He can play field.”

“He said he’d rather get some sun.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yeah, but he’s not the baseball type. But you are, sport. And you’re a hitter, right?”

“Right.”

With the bat, his dad scratched a home plate in the sand, then moved some feet away and drew the pitcher’s mound. When Zack said he was ready, his father made an underhand pitch. Zack swung mightily but missed. “That’s okay. You’ll get it.” His dad made three more pitches, and each time he missed.

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