#flatliners 1990

Nelson shrugged off his overcoat and removed a pair of glasses from the breast-pocket of his dress shirt. Once he'd slipped the glasses on, he swiveled his seat to face Michael.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Michael. What about the ad caught your eye?” He sipped his coffee. Black, no sugar. Nelson gazed at him over the rim of the cup. Those pale blue eyes, familiar even behind the glass lenses, crinkled at the corners. He was smiling, loose and easy. 

God, even his voice. Not as sinister, or seductive, in tone, but…

“Do I have something in my teeth?” Nelson laughed, and flashed his teeth at Michael. “Or a stain on my shirt?” David’s laugh, but lacking that cruel edge of mockery. Awkward, and a little shy.  

Michael pulled a napkin from the nearest dispenser and began unfolding and refolding it, watching the repetitive motions of his own hands. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to stare. You just… remind me of someone. Enough that it’s freaking me out.”

His brow furrowed, and he pushed his coffee aside. “I’m sorry to hear that, Michael. Bringing back bad memories?”

A slow half-smile, almost more a smirk, lit upon Michael’s face. He glanced up, for just a second. “Well, not all bad.”

Nelson brought his hand up to his mouth, thoughtfully stroking his upper and lower lip between two fingers. Michael clocked the gesture and figured there was a good chance Nelson smoked. 

“I’m studying to become a medical doctor. Or maybe work in medical research. But I like to believe what we call reality, the scientific method has yet to puzzle all the way through. And maybe never will. They do say we all have a doppelganger, somewhere out there.”

“Do they?” Michael startled at the cold cynicism in his voice. Reminded himself he needn’t get so defensive.

He knew little about Nelson, but the man deserved as clean a slate as Michael could give him, given the uncanny resemblance. Their similarities seemed superficial, at best, so far. Apart from their shared love of heavy outerwear, and possibly tobacco.  

“But, I was asking…” 

Sure enough, Nelson patted himself down until he found his pack of cigarettes. But he hadn't gotten more than a drag or two in, before Laverne returned.

Shouldering a tray loaded down with a staggering array of plates, she set down one of each item, in front of them both. “Two breakfast specials, gentlemen. Let me know if you need anything else. And I do mean anything.” Her hips swayed as she turned away to check on the other patrons. 

“Ah, our food!" Nelson stubbed out his smoke in one of the diner's glass ashtrays. "Don’t worry. I won’t be insulted if you can’t eat it all. But try a little of everything, at least. The pancakes, especially. I think you’ll like it here, Michael.” 

Forkful of hashbrowns poised halfway to his mouth, Michael dropped the utensil. It clattered against the plate. “What did you just say?” 

“It’s a great find, as mom and pop diners go. Coffee’s good, too. And they never skimp on topping off your cup, no matter how long you stay. You ask, and then you get. Although Laverne keeps such a close eye, you often don’t even have to ask.” 

The muscles in Michael’s legs tensed. He braced his palms upon the countertop, and shifted a bit off his seat, poised to flee. “Look, maybe this wasn’t such a…”

 “Please, at least hear me out, about what exactly the experiment entails. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll even pay you the interviewing hourly rate, for meeting with me, if you like. It’s the least I can do. Considering your distress. Please.”

Michael let out a long, slow breath and sat back down.

“Alright, I’m listening.”

“Their hash browns taste even better with a bit of ketchup. Would you like some?” He raised a hand to flag down Laverne. 

“I’m good.” Again, Michael dug in, nonetheless eyeing Nelson warily. His gaze flickered briefly down to Nelson’s mouth. Blushing, he hoped the other man failed to notice. 

“I’m hoping to explore what happens to the mind, once the body, and the brain, are temporarily inactive. That may sound dangerous, but I assure you, I’ll be standing by the entire time, with a whole team of highly-trained assistants. I’m visiting a licensed anesthesiologist I know in the area. He’ll be there, among others.” 

Michael lay his fork down, hunger momentarily forgotten, even as his stomach growled in protest. “‘Temporarily inactive?’ What does that even mean? What aren’t you saying?”  

“Well, first, you’d be anesthetized. Sodium pentothal injection, and some deep breaths of nitrous oxide. Using a refrigerated blanket, we’d carefully lower your body temperature to precisely eighty-six degrees. Then, my means of defibrillator, charged to two hundred joules, your heart would stop."

"My...?" Michael's jaw dropped.

"We’d remove the nitrous oxide mask, and wait for the EEG to flatline. But you’d only stay in that limbo state for thirty seconds, before we warmed you back up to ninety-six degrees. At that temp, we’d administer an adrenaline shot, and restart the heart, again with the defibrillator.” 

 “My heart would… You want to kill me? Intentionally?” The nerves throughout Michael’s body sang, as his fight/flight/freeze response activated yet again. Maybe not so different from David, after all. 

“Michael, please, keep your voice down. And no, the idea isn’t to… you’d be without a heartbeat, for only a brief time. Long enough to experience whatever lies beyond all of this…” Nelson gestured broadly at their surroundings.

Michael cast his gaze around the diner, in awe at Nelson's audacity.

“But over soon enough that we could easily bring you back, to tell the tale. And don’t forget, you’d be ten thousand dollars richer. Plus the pay for follow-up questions, weekly.”

“You’d be there? Start to finish?” Michael surprised himself, as the words escaped his lips. Surely, this was insane. But maybe it could help? Closure. Learning what might have become of David. Assuming he’d still possessed a soul.

Or, there would be nothing, and even that would comfort Michael. Knowing David’s suffering ended, the moment he'd died.

“I promise. You’d be under my care, all the while, along with, as I said, a team of experts. Hand-chosen by myself, or Dr. Ripley. I’ve known Dr. Ripley since childhood. We met… well… I trust him and his judgment, implicitly.” 

Nelson reached out and rubbed the space between Michael’s shoulder blades, over his leather jacket. Without thought, Michael leaned into his touch. 

The slow circular motions of Nelson's hand paused, as if Michael's reaction surprised him, then continued.

He owed it to David, after sending him… wherever he was, now. If anywhere. And he was more than a little curious about this new acquaintance. Maybe Nelson was sent to Michael for a reason. 

Or perhaps that was wishful thinking.

Dare he admit it, even just to himself, a blossoming crush?

The tremor in his voice belied the confidence he tried injecting into his reply. “Alright.” He cleared his throat, and tried again. “I’ll do it. When do we begin?” 

Nelson patted him on the back. “Good man.” 

A rolling flush heated Michael’s face. David’s praise had affected him the same way, on those precious and rare occasions he'd received it.