03: Getting Sufficient Sleep

In solitude and when fatigued, one is
after all inclined to take oneself for a prophet.

Albert Camus

“You realize,” Dan said, rolling over and yelling into the silence enveloping him, “I’ll never fall asleep as long as y’all keep yapping at me!”

A few moments laterreflecting that the clinic’s support staff were relaxing more than he wasa voice responded via the speaker from the observation room. “Uh, no one said anything.”

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Alison noted, her voice clear over the intercom, where she was also observing.

“This is typical,” he clarified, in a more subtle, dignified response. “For some reason, the voices intensify just before falling asleep, but once I do, the rules seem to change. While I can see the spirits on the far side, and actively engage with them, speaking isn’t an option, so it’s silent there. Which is actually a welcome reprieve from the daily deluge they dump on me here.”

When the speaker cut off, Dan again closed his eyes, titling his head back. “Thanks,” he said to no one is particular. “That’s much better!”

It wasn’t long before Simon, the sleep technician monitoring Dan’s vitals tapped the monitor before him. As Alison leaned over, he indicated several dials.

“His brain waves are already smoothing, indicating he’s asleep. As he promised, he drops off quickly. See,” he pointed out another dial. “His heart rate is falling significantly. If we hadn’t disabled it, an alarm would sound, ensuring we could respond in time to save his life.”

“Don’t worry,” she soothed. “He’s used to this. He’ll be okay, but it’s vital we record his baseline sleep patterns, so we can determine what’s normal and what’s a worrisome decline.”

“His heartbeat is still dangerously low,” he warned, tapping the heart monitor in frustration.

“Give it time,” she cautioned, not breathing as she bit her lip, studying the dials. There was a single blipafter a momentary delayand they released their collective breaths. “See, I told you.”

“You did, but it’s still agonizing watching someone’s heart cease for so long,” he reflected.

“But notice his new rate. It’s incredibly slow, but consistent. It indicates he’s no longer on this mortal plane and his body is on ‘subsistence mode’, subconsciously keeping him alive and functional while he’s not using it.”

“Good luck sleeping with him,” he advised, studying her while still monitoring his vitals. “Between the shouting, the heart stoppage and then his coma-like state, it’ll likely be a nerve-wracking evening.”

“Yeah, his ex warned us. Why do you think we’re interested in documenting his sleep patterns? We’re already considering separate bedrooms, though I fear it will be worse hiding in another room. At least, if we’re there we can feel him, while we’d worry incessantly somewhere else.”

“I’d love to see a brain scan, but according to our limited tools, there doesn’t appear to be much activity.”

“No, there wouldn’t be, as he’s already crossed over. I’m still unsure when it occurs. He said it takes time to cross between worlds. I thought his heart slowed once he did, but it doesn’t seem to leave enough time. I’m guessing the cross-over happens immediately, which is when his heartbeat stops and only resumes once he’s safely across.”

“I must say, having watched people struggle to asleep for years, this is fascinating. I thought I’d seen everything, but this is completely new. It demonstrates there’s a lot to learn.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I suspect our Dan is a one-of-a-kind exception which proves the rule, rather than a common aberration. Still, we should notify the various hospitals that we’re interested in monitoring their near-death post ops. I’m sure he could ease their minds assuming he doesn’t disclose his own trialsbut it could highlight whether there’s any commonality between them. If so, it might be worth studying.”

“How about I apply for my doctorate, for when he uncovers additional subjects for me to document. Because I can smell a PhD from this!”

“That is what ‘dead to the world’ means, as I seriously doubt we could wake him if anything did occur. He claims the spirits will warn him of an imminent danger.”

“I hate suggesting it, but we may want to test that. We’ll either need a way to determine when he truly doesn’t respond or identify whether he will come back during an emergency. Not knowing could be more dangerous than taking chances without determining how risky it is!”

“I suspect you’re right, but this is merely the first step in a lengthy journey. Baby steps, Simon. We’re learning a little at a time.”

“So, what about your other half?” he pressed. “You keep referencing her, but never said anything.”

“Laura’s fine,” she assured him. “She was eager to be here, for obvious reasons, but realizing I was orchestrating everything, I was afraid she’d distract me at a necessary juncture.”

“I don’t know, he seems stable enough at the moment. Hell, you could both tap dance on his chest and he’d never notice.”

“I wonder...” she surmised, her eyes afire with delightful mischief.

“Nope,” Simon said, grinning devilishly and tapping another dial. “There’s not enough blood flow. While it’s able to isolate and retain oxygen for a surprisingly long time, I doubt it’d support it. But, given how often dead bodies sport spontaneous erections, my advice could easily be misguided.”

“Don’t worry, I’d rather not be recorded raiding the cookie jar before he’s even granted us verbal consent. I’m curious, but not stupid!”

“Good to know,” he teased. “At least you draw the line somewhere!”

“Besides, Laura is wrestling with some other issues and was afraid of revealing something at an inappropriate time.”

“We’re conversing over what’s essentially a dead body,” he reminded her. “Aside from the improper black humor, he’s unlikely to ever know what she revealed.”

“True,” she conceded. “But I suspect she needs time to prepare how she’ll ask him about her discoveries.”

He turned, considering her. “Do you know yet?”

“No. As I said, she’s still processing the information but mentioned something about dinner tomorrow. So, let’s focus on keeping him alive until then, then she can confront him over it.”

“Sounds good to me,” he conceded. “Though at this rate, you’ll need to text me how it turns out!”

Without warning, Dan sat up, without rubbing his eyes, and turned towards the observation room. “Uh, guys. I’m done, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to head out for my usual morning run.”

“Do you usually wake so soon?” Simon asked via the intercom after a few moments delay, clearly unused to arising so early himself.

“Yeah, don’t ask why, but despite what I encounter each night, I start each morning refreshed.” He threw the covers off and swiveled, waiting to remove the electrodes before dressing. “So, how did I sleep?”

“Uh ... once your heartrate normalized, you entered and remained in a REM state the rest of the morning. Which is why I’m surprised you’re awake. It normally takes longer to regain consciousness.”

“I’m not typical.”

“You certainly aren’t,” Alison said, exiting the observation room, steading herself in transit. “I’m sorry, but it takes me more time to wake up.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Unable to sleep, I’d periodically check your monitors. Even once the numbers stabilized, I still kept waking. But it doesn’t mean I’m clear-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Give me a moment,” Simon said. “I just deactivated the monitoring. “We brewed a pot last night. It’ll take a second to nuke it and bring out coffee while I remove your electrodes.”

“Don’t bother,” she husked, brushing his hands away and unbuttoning Dan’s pajamas herself. “I’m familiar with the procedure. Review the records to ensure there’s no surprises until the coffee’s warm, as I doubt Dan will wait long.”

“I’ve got to say, Mr. Engals, you keep your word. These are the weirdest readings I’ve even observed. When you’re ready to reveal your story, call me, because this would make a groundbreaking dissertation!”

“I’m surprised we’re back at Vitale’s, as I figured I’d already overplayed my hand.” Dan led the way to the now familiar establishment. He held the door for his companions, and despite the line awaiting a table, he approached the maître ‘d, who immediately recognized him. “I prefer coming when there isn’t a crowd, as I dislike the unnecessary attention. But since you insisted, I made a reservation, so he could notify his family, who love cornering me. They’ll adore you both, but they can be a bit ... overwhelming!”

“Is one of them Dana?” Laura pressed, generating a weary grin.

“Yes, she is, but rather than spoil the surprise, I’ll let you judge for yourself when you meet her. There’s nothing to worry about, but she can be a tad overly effervescent!”

“Now there’s a description you don’t hear every day,” Alison noted, taking in the differences between the formerly empty quiet and currently bustling full restaurant. It had a completely different feel: no less cozy, but a separate vibe than she anticipated.

“Welcome Monsieur Engals, your table awaits, though your other dinner companions haven’t yet arrived.”

“No problems, Lionel, though if you could bring us a bottle of wine, we’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, presenting them with menus as they sat at Dan’s usual secluded table nestled in a back corner of the restaurant. Though still visible to nearly everyone around them, it afforded more privacy from prying eyes or curious ears.

Rather than perusing the menu, Alison set it aside and considered Dan. “So, could you kindly explain this overly diffusive attitude? In case you haven’t noticed, you’re extraordinary. I’m guessing many people are aware of what you’re accomplishing, so it’s disingenuous pretending you’re just an average Joe, because you’re as far from that as you can get.”

Dan closed his eyes, tilted his head back and took several deep breaths. “No, I recognize the attention I generate. Why do you think I prefer speaking sotto voce? It’s to defuse skeptics. Braggards brag. They’re grandiose, continually shouting, but someone talking softly forces everyone to listen attentively. It minimizes the accusations, so when I deliver whatever revelations I receive, they’re confused enough I can typically slip away before they begin demanding answers. It’s how I cope!

“But more than that, my effusive nature is at the core of my inner conflicts.” He glanced around before continuing, guaranteeing no one was near enough to overhear, though he didn’t raise his voice enough for it to be an issue.

“This is not who I am! I am not the person who seeks out lost spirits, purposely engaging them. A man is defined by what he does, how the thinks and what he believes. I’m none of those things. In fact, these abilities have flushed my personality aside, debris cast ashore by a tremendous tsunami, only to be trashed by the survivors.” He waved, indicating the other patrons. “Do you think any of these people know what I once did for a living, or even care I’m unable to continue? No, all they value is my ability to converse with the dead.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Laura chided. “Surely, no more than one or two, at the most, has any idea of what you’ve done in that regard.”

“I’m glad you think so, but I daresay, even fewer have any concept of who the hell I am: what I did, what I take pride in, and what I hope to accomplish. It’s the same with these spirits. They don’t give a damn about me personally! All they care about is conveying a message to someone or calling attention to something they think is essentialto them! Who I am doesn’t matter in the least, I’m merely a convenient patsy!

“I’m a passenger pigeon regularly migrating between the land of the still and the able. I’m of no importance to them, just something to capture, tie a note to, and send back, awaiting a response.”

Laura and Alison exchanged looks.

“Maybe tonight was a bad” Lauran began as Dan groaned, closing his eyes and grimacing. They turned, searching for the disruption as he stood.

“See, it never ends. I...” He looked past the two girls. “Pardon me for a moment.” They watched as he crossed the restaurant. They rose, tagging along as he approached a woman sitting with her family.

“Excuse me,” he began, his voice noticeably dropping until they could barely hear him, “you don’t know me but ... your mother’s wedding band is in a crevice behind her bed.”

“What?” she asked, as everyone at her table stared, hardly noticing the two women.

“Anna Bell Marks’s ring is hidden in a small notch in the wooden floor beneath the bedframe. That’s why you couldn’t find it. She says it’s still there and she wants you to have it.”

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in anything beyond this, but ... sometimes spirits leave me messages. If you’re uninterested, don’t concern yourself, but if you were looking, that’s where it is.”

“Under her bed?” she asked skeptically.

He tilted his head, as if listening to instructions. “Well, when facing the bed, it would be a foot from the right rear bedpost and about five inches from the wall. She knew you always wanted it, but it got disturbed when the family was packing her things.”

“In our house?”

“The guest bedroom, the third door on the left down the hall,” he specified. “It was carried in when they relocated Anna’s bed but was dislodged and kicked aside as they shuffled her belongings.” The table remained hostile, but the woman mulled it over.

“He gets this all the time,” Laura said, “but we can vouch for him. We met him completely by accident, yet he knew private details about our deceased relatives which not even our families would know.”

“Well, I am interested, so I’ll look,” the woman conceded.

“Oh, and if you don’t mind, I’d suggest the linguine rather than the five-layer lasagna you’re planning. It’s normally delicious, but the accompanying snap peas aren’t as fresh as they usually are.”

“Uh, ... thank you?”

“Sorry for disturbing you, but Anna was insistent as it matches her pearl necklace so well. Enjoy your meal, and we won’t bother you again.”

“Is Dan at it again?” Gio asked, approaching them from behind. “I know he can be a bit off-putting, but he’s legitimate. He assured my family I’d survive a coma when the doctors weren’t certain, and every word he said was the utmost truth. But please, let me comp you free deserts for the unexpected interruption, and I’ll look into the peas too.”

“Always riling folk, ain’t cha?” he asked as he accompanied them back to their table. “She’ll be thankful later, but her family seemed prepared to string you up. One of these days someone’s gonna lay you out, and I’ll be stuck cleaning up the mess!”

When they returned, the wine bottle was ready and three glasses poured. “Care to explain?” Laura asked, eyeing him warily as they sat. “I know there’s more to the story than what we saw.”

“No,” he acknowledged. “Her mother never reached out to me. Instead, I sought her out as a way of introducing myself. As you’ve seen, dropping those sorts of details tends to establish a certain level of trust.”

“So, what aren’t you telling us?” Gio asked.

“She was going to choke on her peas, and in her frail condition, it wouldn’t be pretty. They’re fine by the way, it just would’ve gone down wrong, so there’s no sense fixing anything. But it would put a real damper on everyone’s evening while someone’s applying the Heimlich.”

“So, no one living or dead specifically told you what would happen to her?” Laura pressed.

“Dan!” someone exclaimed, and everyone turned, her question forgotten. He and Gio broke into huge grins as two women approached, apparently mother and daughter, heading for him.

“Alda, Dana, how are you?” Dan opened his arms, welcoming them. Despite Gio standing nearby, both concentrated on him. “It’s been too long!”

“Hey, who’s to blame for that?” the young, black-haired Italian said, wrapping her arms around him, apparently with no intention of releasing him. “You know where to find us, but you’re always too busy!”

The girl was young, clearly college age, though it was difficult guessing given their movements and the dim lighting. She was thin, with a much more modest bosom than her mother. She was athletic, in shape, and appeared prepared to party. You could tell she’d eventually match her mother, however, she treated Dan like a long-lost brother.

“Dana Vitale?” Laura guessed.

“Sorry,” she said, backing up and releasing her hold on him. When Laura held her hand out, she eyed it suspiciously, a snake coiling and preparing to strike. She instead grinned, enveloping her in another hug. “Hey, we Vitale’s are Italian. We don’t shake hands, and since Dan’s officially one of us, it means you are too.” She pulled back. “You must be Laura?”