Back The Revelations
Chapters (37)
  1. Cover
  2. MONDAY
  3. TUESDAY
  4. WEDNESDAY
  5. THURSDAY
  6. FRIDAY
  7. SATURDAY
  8. SUNDAY
  9. MONDAY
  10. TUESDAY
  11. WEDNESDAY
  12. THURSDAY
  13. FRIDAY
  14. SATURDAY
  15. SUNDAY
  16. MONDAY
  17. TUESDAY
  18. WEDNESDAY
  19. THURSDAY
  20. FRIDAY
  21. SATURDAY
  22. SUNDAY
  23. MONDAY
  24. TUESDAY
  25. WEDNESDAY
  26. THURSDAY
  27. FRIDAY
  28. SATURDAY
  29. SUNDAY
  30. MONDAY
  31. TUESDAY
  32. WEDNESDAY
  33. THURSDAY
  34. FRIDAY
  35. SATURDAY
  36. SUNDAY
  37. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

He had called the number on the letter last week, unsure if it was a lifeline or a temptation back into a world that had almost destroyed him. A professional voice had introduced itself as the director of a new scholarship program that was being assembled at New York University, the first of its kind. Eight positions in a research program on the neuroscientific basis of consciousness. Kierk had applied for the so-called Francis Crick Scholarship over a year ago for a potential postdoctoral position, before he knew he’d be abandoning his PhD, his research career, everything. But apparently the obscure workings of the government funders had kept the schedule and viability of the program in doubt until the last minute, and everyone was now rushing to put the program together. The director had said that Kierk was one of their top choices, even despite having never technically finished his PhD, and had offered Kierk a seventy-thousand-dollar stipend, dropped the names of the famous researchers who would be leading the program, and told Kierk that this, right here, was the opportunity of a lifetime. And most importantly, it was a chance to pursue consciousness again. Kierk had said no. Last time the pursuit had all but broken him, and the only solution had been to cut himself off from it completely.

Now, standing on that stretch of road outside of San Diego, his car with its crumpled hood a few miles away, everything worth anything in this ragged backpack, his clothes spotted with blood, listening to the operator’s voice, hating himself for his stubbornness and pride, Kierk is praying that same voice will pick up and be his deliverance. When it does, he can barely croak his hello. But soon he’s yelling into the receiver as cars whizz by. “I said: you told me last week you didn’t have a replacement, right?”

“Oh, well, yes, that’s right. We’re working on—”

“I accept.”

“What?”

“I accept the position. I officially accept. I’m coming to New York. There’s an apartment, right, you said so last week?”

“The program starts in two days!”