First Person Peculiar by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online

me state, rather than guess, that you’re here to see the remarkable, resurrected Helen.”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “She’s in Room 314,” announced Milt. “Shall we proceed? No sense doing this in relays.”
    We joined him and entered the elevator, which let us out a few seconds later. We walked down the white, antiseptic corridor to 314 and went into the room.
    “Good afternoon,” said the nurse. “I’ll go check on some of the other patients while you’re here.”
    “How is she?” I asked. “Will she live?”
    The nurse nodded.
    “Must be in serious condition,” said Patrick.
    “Not really, not for what she’s been through.”
    “But you look so grim.”
    The nurse shuffled uneasily. “She’s not what you expect.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Milt.
    “You’ll see,” the nurse said, and then she was gone.
    We walked over to the bed, Milt on the right side of it, Patrick on the left, me at the foot, and stared down at the women. She seemed fiftyish, but her horrible experience and her weakened condition could have aged her ten or twelve years. Her hair was a dirty gray, her skin wrinkled, and though the blanket covered her loosely, she looked to be about fifteen or twenty pounds overweight.
    She opened her eyes.
    “Good afternoon, Helen,” said Patrick, taking her hand and holding it gently.
    She stared at each of us in turn. I looked for softness, or perhaps gratitude, if not for our presence, then for the simple fact of being alive, but all I saw … well, I couldn’t be sure if it was annoyance or contempt.
    “How are you feeling, Helen?” asked Milt.
    “I just died. How do you think I feel?”
    “Grateful, perhaps?” I suggested. “A merciful God has allowed you to live again.”
    “What do you know about God?” she said.
    The question took me by surprise.
    “I am a minister,” I said. “If there’s any way I can help …”
    “And I am a rabbi,” said Milt, “and this gentleman across from me is a priest. No one knows your religion, so we came together to see if any or all of us could bring you spiritual comfort.”
    “I don’t need it as much as two of you do,” she said and gave a nasty smile.
    I frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, Helen.”
    “I remember everything that happened while I was dead, everything I saw and heard, and everything I learned.”
    “I’m sure you did,” said Milt soothingly.
    “I’m not lying and I’m not crazy! I was there ! I saw, and I remembered. Only one religion is true, and when I’m a little stronger, I’m going on television, to tell the people what I experienced. They deserve to know the truth, to know which religion is true and which ones are as phony as a three-dollar bill.” She set her jaw. “And no one is going to stop me.”
    “Delusional,” said Patrick sadly.
    Milt nodded his head. “Absolutely delusional.”
    I sighed deeply. “I agree.”
    “What you think doesn’t matter any more. I know . And I’m going to let everyone else know.”
    “Get some sleep,” said Milt, backing away and walking to the door.
    “We can call the nurse if you want,” added Patrick, also walking to the door.
    “I don’t need a nurse. God sent me back with a purpose. I plan to fulfill it.”
    “I’m glad to have met you, Helen,” I said, joining them at the door. “And I hope you regain your strength very soon.”
    Then we were out in the corridor and walking to the elevator.
    “What do you think?” asked Patrick with a worried expression on his face.
    “Crazy as a loon,” said Milt.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “She sounded pretty sure of herself.”
    “Delusional people always do,” replied Milt.
    “Let’s hope it doesn’t become a mass delusion,” said Patrick.
    I turned to him. “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t care what she thinks she knows. But what if she can convince others—like a television audience—that she’s right, that two of us have been living and teaching a