Wyatt hadn't had anything accepted for publication for over a decade. What's more, he'd been a victim of one of the crueler spectacles in academic research. Five years ago, still chafing under his dry spell, he'd finally received an invitation to present a paper at a national conference. He'd attended, proudly presented his latest work, and then sat down, ready for questions from the audience. But the moderator, legend had it, instead of inviting inquiries, had stood, pointed at Wyatt, and declared, "This man has demonstrated exactly the type of research we don't want."

Earl had anticipated that the chance of a comeback would kindle a glow in Wyatt's eye.

It didn't.

Instead he remained stone-faced and said, "If you insist, I've no choice."

Wyatt's attitude puzzled Earl. The man he knew had an ego the size of Antarctica, and the lure of any stage generally lit him up so brightly he could be his own spotlight. "Does that mean you accept?"

"I suppose I'll have to." He might have consented to have a leg amputated, for all the enthusiasm he showed.

Weird. But what the hell, as long as the situation with Jimmy seemed defused.

"Good! Then let's join the rest and enjoy the race."

"Wait! There's something else you need to hear."

Oh, God. Earl glanced at his watch, hoping Wyatt would get the message to keep this short. "I'm listening."

"The nurses tell me we've had patients complaining about near-death experiences."

"What?"

"You know. That out-of-body phenomenon, the thing Deloram wrote a paper about."

Now Earl felt really puzzled. "Peter, I don't understand the reason you're telling me this." His tone, he realized, sounded more cross than he intended, but patience had limits.

"We never got reports like that before, at least not so many. The first few months the nurses thought nothing of them. Then more patients continued to describe similar ordeals. Some, I'm told, were quite terrified. I swear it's that priest's fault. He's probably talking too much about God, heaven, and the afterlife, making his charges have nightmares about it."

Earl groaned inwardly, incredulous that Wyatt could remain so fixated on Jimmy. "Probably they're just vocalizing that kind of thing more, Peter," he said, trying to hide his exasperation, and started to walk back toward the crowd.

Wyatt followed behind. "Damn it, Garnet, it's not that simple-"

"Similar accounts have been in the media lately, thanks largely to Stewart's research," Earl cut in. If he could somehow trivialize the matter, Wyatt might drop it. "Could be that the phenomenon's been occurring with greater frequency than we knew, and patients, having seen the publicity, realize it's not just them. As a result, they feel open to talk about it now." In the distance he saw Michael wave impatiently, beckoning him to rejoin the ER crew. They were already pushing their bed into the coveted inside post position. Definitely time to ditch Wyatt. He walked faster. "Anyway, it's race time."

"But something's funny," Wyatt went on, easily picking up the pace. "Most of the people it's happened to weren't that near death yet. Oh, they're terminal, in pain, and not in good shape, but their vitals were still stable, not at all what I'd expect for a person who's seeing angels, tunnels, and bright lights."

So much for diplomacy. "Jesus, Peter. They're dying. Many of them will want to talk about that stuff. Patients always have, even atheists. It's human nature. But here isn't the place to discuss it."

"Hey!" Michael Popovitch shouted from the middle of the street thirty yards away. "We're ready to begin." He wore an industrial-strength scowl and sounded pissed.

Sheesh, what's eating him? Earl wondered. The rest of the team settled on give-it-a-break glances and tapped their watches, a far more gentle and appropriate rebuke. Michael should lighten up. "Relax! I'm coming," he shouted, and started to jog toward them.

Wyatt matched him stride for stride, clearly determined to continue their conversation.

Earl didn't intend to let him. "Look, Peter, obviously we'll have to talk about this another time. But I don't think you should make much out of it." He accelerated, pulling a few yards in front, and called over his shoulder, "Why not ask Stewart what he thinks? After all, he's the specialist in that kind of thing."

At the starting line Thomas, Susanne, and J.S. were starting to jostle good-naturedly with members of the Baby Bucket team, who'd tried to steal their spot.

"Earl Garnet," Janet yelled, eyeing him from her perch on the bed, "I'm pregnant with your baby. Chivalry demands you yield the post." She placed a hand to her forehead, adopting the melodramatic pose of a damsel in distress.

Earl laughed. He and Janet always lent their talents to the campy theatrics that were a highlight of these fund-raisers. "All's fair in love and war," he called back. "That's been my plan all along. You pregnant, us on the inside track."

"You're a scoundrel, Earl Garnet," she cried, to the delight of all.

He gave an appropriately wicked leer as he shouldered through a last-minute rush of other competitors who were late to take their positions.

Wyatt caught up to him. "The nurses already did that, a few days ago."

Piss off, damn it! Earl nearly screamed. But they were jammed together, and rather than risk angering him again, he tried to be civil through clenched teeth. "Already did what?"

"Asked Stewart Deloram to check out the accounts that our patients have been giving. I'm told he suggested the same explanations as you did, but agreed to interview the people who were still alive."

Overhead loudspeakers crackled to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, take your marks."

Cheers broke out around them.

Teams scrambled into position.

"Let's go, Dr. G.," J.S. hollered.

Susanne and Thomas joined in.

Someone blew charge on a trumpet.

But Wyatt remained so wrapped up in his crazy story, he didn't even react to the excitement swirling around them. He just leaned in toward Earl to make himself heard. "I don't know what happened. He burst into my office yesterday, mad as hell, and accused me of trying to set him up as a fraud, then stormed out."

Oh, brother, Earl thought. Not another feud. "Peter, I'm sick as hell of being asked to sort out these kind of kindergarten spats, especially the ones involving Stewart. Now both of you act like adults and sort it out yourselves." He'd ended up shouting far more loudly than necessary to be heard above the din around him.

The rolls of flesh in Wyatt's face shifted as he assumed an injured look. "But the man refuses to even talk with me now."

Earl waved him off in exasperation and joined the welcoming arms of his ER team- all except Michael's; he still seemed upset about something as well- and mounted the bed they would push to victory. At least that's how he lustily predicted the outcome during a crude exchange of triumphant gestures with Janet, and beyond her, the surgeons in Sean Carrington's Cutting Edge mob.

God, it felt delightful- the sanest moment of his morning, when he was responsible for nothing more than the safe passage of a bedpan filled with apple juice.