Near Death by Glenn Cooper Page A

one way to know. Will you help me?”
    “Now?”
    “Yes.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “Be my guardian angel.”
    He left the bed and returned with the plastic tube and a pipette, sat back on the edge of the bed, and held the tube up for her inspection. It contained a small amount of clear liquid.
    “What is it?”
    “Maybe nothing; maybe something important—maybe what I’ve spent my life looking for.”
    She crabbed herself across the bed till she was sitting beside him and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. “Is it dangerous?”
    “I don’t know what to expect. There could be no effect, there could be potent pharmacology. I need you to watch over me. Will you do that?”
    She hesitated then nodded.
    “If I pass out, check my breathing and my pulse—I’ve taught you how to do that. If my respiratory rate goes below eight or above thirty, that’s bad. If my pulse goes below forty or above one fifty, that’s bad too. Call nine one one and tell them I’ve had an overdose. Tell them it was salvia. For God’s sake don’t tell anybody what I reallydid. If I vomit, keep my airway clear. If I’m scared, comfort me. That’s all.”
    “That’s a lot.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    She touched his face. “I know you’ve got to do what you think is right, Alex. I’m the one who holds onto you when you’re having nightmares. But …”
    He waited for her to finish.
    “… please don’t leave me.”
    He kissed her cheek. “I won’t.”
    He didn’t hesitate. With an expert hand he pipetted up a precise tenth of a milliliter of clear fluid, opened his mouth and let a cold drop of liquid slide under his tongue.

Eleven
    Alex called it the runway, the interval between taking a drug and starting the flight. When he talked to neophytes about mind-altering drugs, he told them the runway was the time to get physically and emotionally prepared, like a pilot waiting for takeoff. Be ready.
    Stay alert to your surroundings.
    Go through your safety checklist, like a pilot.
    Who was watching out for you? Were the windows closed? Was the door locked? Was a water bottle handy?
    For some drugs the runway was predictable: you knew how long you’d be waiting for liftoff. For LSD it could be an hour; for DMT maybe only a couple of minutes.
    For this one—his beautiful, pure 854.73—he had no idea of when or even
if
. It could be a false lead, nothing to do with near death experiences. Or it could be the genuine article but nevertheless a chemical that couldn’t be absorbed by mouth. He thought he’d be giving it the best shot by dripping it under his tongue. That way, the molecule might be absorbed directly through capillary-richmembranes, and if not, he’d get a second chance when he swallowed and the liquid passed into his stomach. If the experiment fizzled, he might have to try again by snorting the clear liquid into his nose, or worst case, he could inject it with all the hazards that might entail.
    He was past the point of guessing.
    Alex was comfortable, barefoot, breathing smoothly, lying supine on his bed, his head nestled into a soft satin pillow. His T-shirt was loose-fitting, soft from a hundred washes. He unbuttoned his jeans to unbind his waist. He removed the elastic from his ponytail and let his hair fall onto his shoulders.
    Jessie was lying on her side, facing him, her sleepiness quashed by the gravity of the task Alex had given her. The light was perfect: restful for him but bright enough should she need to spring to action, grab the phone, and drag him onto the floor for chest compressions, as he’d taught her.
    He reached over and put his hand on the contour of her waist. He gave her a little squeeze for reassurance; for thanks—for love.
    The street was quiet, no passing cars at this hour. The bedroom windows were half open, letting the crispcoldness of the night sanctify the room. He felt completely comfortable, at ease, pleasantly tingling.
    I’m ready for whatever comes
.
    It crept up on