Free The Dream Machine: Book 6, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed) by Evan Ronan Page B

means?” I asked.
    Zane nodded, like I’d asked a good question. I wasn’t sure I had.
    “The Japanese got a jumpstart on us with this initiative. Ten years ago they were recording dreams, if you can believe it.”
    “So how’d they do it?”
    “Cheating, in a sense.” Zane drew a picture of a cross on the whiteboard, an arrow to the brain, and above them both, a box with wires. “ Before the patients fell asleep, the Japanese scientists showed the patients images while the fMRI measured their brain activity. So when they dreamed later and the same areas of the brain lit up, they knew what the patients were dreaming about.”
    “You’ve improved on the process.”
    Zane gave me one of those slow-nods.
    “How?”
    “It’s very technical.”
    “Put it in laymen’s terms.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Can’t or won’t?”
    “Both.” Zane inflated his cheeks like a puffer fish. “I don’t care if you have clearance. I have a legitimate proprietary concern here, McCloskey.”
    I love it when people call me by my last name. Takes me right back to the playground during recess.
    “Come on, you know what Manetti and I are up against.”
    “ Might be up against.”
    I rolled my head back. “According to Manetti, Alison is eight for eight this hurricane season.”
    Zane shook his head. “Most of those are unconfirmed. She kept a dream journal before she came here and only recorded some of those. For the rest, the only proof we have is her parents remembering her mentioning them in passing.”
    Interesting. “Well, she predicted the mall shootout last week. So I’m going to assume these dreams are legit until proven otherwise.”
    “That’s wonderful for you. As a scientist, I can’t assume anything.”
    I gave him that slow-burn stare. “Fine, Zane. You want to hold out? That’s your call. But let me be abundantly clear: if this horrible shit goes down, people die, a woman gets raped, and I find out you were holding back on me, there is going to be an accounting.”
    Zane said nothing. His round, soft, jowly face tried to stiffen but the effect was about as intimidating as a word search puzzle.
    “If that will be all, I have to get back to w—”
    “Glad we have an understanding,” I said. “So first things first: how can somebody tamper with the dream machine?”
    He shook his head. Once to the right, once to the left. “Impossible.”
    “As a scientist, you should know better than to say that.”
    “Highly improbable,” he corrected.
    “Why?”
    “No one can fool a functional MRI. That diagnostic test measures real, live brain activity—”
    “But the test subjects know that. So couldn’t they—”
    “The patients don’t see the MRI results, nor are they permitted to see their recorded dreams.”
    Great. Just one more thing to butt heads with Zane about. I needed to show the recordings to Alison.
    Zane was still talking. “Even if the patient saw the MRI results, the recording, or even both, there is no way for them to fake dream .”
    “It’s called day dreaming.” I smirked. “How can your equipment tell the difference?”
    He smirked right back, like I was an idiot. “You don’t think we thought of that?”
    “I don’t know what you thought of and didn’t think of. I’m just trying to solve two big fucking problems here.”
    “Their brain activity is monitored. We know when they’re dreaming versus awake. When a patient approaches within ten percent of wakeful brain activity, we mark and exclude any subsequent results.”
    “But someone could beat that.”
    “Impossible.”
    I decided to throw the next pitch at his head. “Why is White here?”
    He expertly dodged the proverbial bean. “I don’t see why that’s relevant.”
    “Neither do I. Yet.” I folded my arms. “So tell me about him.”
    “We are studying him for a variety of reasons. First, his memory is excellent. Photographic, in fact. That is valuable…to many people. Second, neuroimaging studies have