Lightfoot, on the other hand, looked like hell. He was sweating profusely, his pale yellow Armani shirt blossoming with dark stains. He used the small break between glowing muscle groups to take discreet swigs of iced tea. He had the group relaxing their stomachs now, and the iced tea bottle was nearly empty. D.D. didn’t think the healer was going to make it. Did one call for a time-out, a brief intermission, in the midst of meditation? Or did that ruin the moment, like checking your police pager in the middle of sex?

Now, as she watched, he grimaced. Rubbed his chest. Grimaced again. A muscle in his left shoulder did a funny little dance, then relaxed again. Lightfoot took another drink, squeezed his eyes shut, and seemed to settle in.

“Focus on the light,” he intoned. “The warm glow of light, of love. Feel it expand your rib cage, filling your lungs. Then push it up. Push it into the chambers of your heart. Love is in your heart. Love is pulsing through your veins, pushing out the negativity, filling your limbs with a great weightlessness. Light is love. Love is light. You are flooded with it. You feel it beating in your chest. You feel it pulsing beneath your skin. Your arms want to rise on their own. They are alight with love, weightless with joy.”

Sure enough, around the room, several pairs of arms began to rise up. Not Danielle’s, D.D. noticed. And not Karen’s. The nurse manager had abandoned the meditation. She was studying Lightfoot instead.

“Warmth,” he intoned. “Love. Light. Heat. Joy. I release all judgments. I understand I am responsible for all corporal actions and I forgive myself for my sins. I forgive others. I am a being of light. I call upon that light. I call upon the love in this room—” A sudden spasm crossed his face, peeling his lips back from his teeth. Lightfoot caught the grimace, soldiered on. “I seek the love of my friends, companions, coworkers—” His voice broke off again. Both shoulders twitched, his left arm bouncing up from his knee. Then his eyes popped up, and he winced sharply, abandoning all pretense as he brought up a hand to shield his face from the overhead lights.

The break in rhythm caught the attention of others. Danielle opened her eyes. Greg, too. They eyed Lightfoot uncertainly.

Karen was already on her feet, returning her wire-rimmed glasses to her face. “Andrew?” she asked as a fresh spasm shook his body.

D.D. pushed away from the wall, starting to understand that this was no longer business as usual.

Lightfoot raised his head toward the ceiling, shut his eyes, and bore down, as if fighting some kind of internal war.