“But the question is: if someone is in as deep a coma as your Henri, for example, far beyond sleeping and dreaming, then as far as modern medicine is concerned, he’s unable to dream because the brain won’t allow him to do so in his condition. But what does that say about returnees’ accounts? Do you see? If people in comas are unable to dream or receive any stimuli from their surroundings, then where were they? What are returnees talking about if it is neither reality nor dream?”

Before I can really process what it might mean if comatose patients’ experiences weren’t dreams but . . . well, what? . . . the loudspeakers crackle again. Dr. Saul has obviously forgotten to switch off the microphone because, without warning, he says, “Well, Fozzie, I’d be amazed if we receive any sign of life from Skinner before we retire.”

Nurse Marion waves a warning and strides rapidly toward the doctor, but he doesn’t notice her and continues, unaware that we are unintentionally listening in. “Whatever the boy’s beliefs, this man is not going to recover. If the twenty-four-hour electroencephalogram doesn’t register anything, we should consider persuading Mrs. Tomlin to interrupt the treatment and remove the ventilator and the feeding catheter.”

Dr. Foss replies, “Yes. Simply extending life isn’t valuable on its own. You have to be able to live properly.”

The boyish confidence drains from Sam’s face. He heaves himself out of his chair like an old man.

“They’re wrong,” he whispers. With clenched fists and wild eyes, he turns to face me. “They’re wrong, Eddie! You mustn’t do it. My father’s alive. He’s here.”

Nurse Marion flings open the door of the cubicle with the monitors. Dr. Saul glances up in surprise and realizes that we must have overheard him. I see a flash of shame in his blue eyes. He glances at Sam and hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Samuel.”

Sam rushes into the MRI room as his father is removed from the tube.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he blurts out. “I know you’re here. Did you hear them say they were going to switch you off? Well, I won’t let them. Don’t be scared—I’m here and I know you are too.”

But Henri just lies there the same as ever, a face with no twinkle in its eye, a beating heart, and an uninhabited body. Nobody knows where he is—including himself, probably. Nurse Marion seems neither a fanatic nor religious, and I see Sam, whose synesthetic sensory powers can penetrate skin and the boundaries of the visible world. What if the two of them are right, and I’m deliberately blocking out their knowledge?

I think of my father, and to be on the safe side, I say his full name out loud. “Edward Tomlin.” They say that the dead can touch you when you speak their names.