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was not fully functional, he thought.
    Many chemical reactions take place in the brain; when the body cools, a decline in mental processing occurs. Mark’s weakly functioning brain told him to sit; his cold legs were tired of walking. With his back against a wall, he eased down and sat on the floor, wrapping his arms around his bare legs that were tucked up against his chest. He shoved his hands up the sleeves of the coat on the opposite arms.
    As he sat there, a vision of his mother came to mind. She had died of colon cancer when he was still in high school. He remembered her warm embrace, always feeling safe and loved when she hugged him. Now he wondered if his father, an attorney, would be disappointed that he had been so careless entering the frozen lab without proper protection.
    His mind drifted back to the beaches of Santorini, the warm water and the sun drenched cliffs. The images were so vivid even though he had yet to travel to the Greek island. He had only seen photographs.
    Suddenly, the room went dark; there was no motion to keep the lights on. His thoughts shifted to nighttime in Santorini, the lapping of the waves, the warm Mediterranean breeze. He stopped shivering. Mark knew this was not a good thing. His body was giving up, no longer trying to stay warm. Death was near.
    Perhaps I will never make it to the island of the Thera volcano , he thought, and then his addled mind told him— you are already there . Momentarily, he believed the protective lie his brain was telling him. He felt very tired and wanted to curl up on the beach and sleep.
    Va guely, he remembered that as body temperature drops, unconsciousness could strike. He fought to stay awake, thinking he was shaking his head violently to stimulate his brain, when in reality, his head barely moved. In the cold darkness, his eyelids began to close. His last memory was of staring into blackness, struggling to stay awake, when in fact, his eyes were already shut.

Chapter Three
     
     
    Rivers shift, oceans fall, and mountains drift.
    — R.E.M., “Feeling Gravity’s Pull”
     
    Infirmary, FSU, May 1998
                 
    Mark heard noises, people talking. He struggled to open his eyes. As he did, rays of light painfully peppered his pupils like dozens of love bugs hitting a speeding car on a Florida road in May. Even squinting did little to quell the sting, adding to the discomfort of a head throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. It was like a terrible hangover without the benefit of a fun time the night before. Everything was a blur, his eyes unable to focus.
    Finally, h e made out the hourglass image of a slim female form bathed in white who appeared to be floating nearby. His pounding brain not fully functioning, he momentarily thought he might be in heaven, an angel next to him; never mind the agnosticism. He blurted out, “Where am I…in heaven?”
                  The angel, a nurse, lightly touched his face, laughed gently, and said softly, “Lucky for you, you’re still alive. You’re in the FSU Infirmary.”
    The infirmary was part of the teaching hospital on the Florida State campus.
    Now he remembered. He had been in the core lab when the door malfunctioned. Everything else was a fog of incomplete memories. Suddenly his body shivered as if recalling something his brain could not.
                  Slowly Mark’s eyes began to focus. He looked around, immediately noticing an IV in his left arm, which felt very warm.
                  As he struggled to sort out what all this meant, the nurse asked in a low voice, “Do you feel well enough to see a visitor?”
                  “I guess so,” Mark responded groggily.
                  The nurse turned, saying something he couldn’t understand. Another female approached him. Concentrating, Mark tried to improve his focus and he instantly recognized her. She was Sara Jo Miller, Dean Miller’s daughter—the woman he