The Tesla Gate (16 page)

I took the final swig from my glass and sat it on the table in front of me, staring at the milky film coating the inside of the glass. I could feel the flame in my gut again, trying to rebel against the lactic acid onslaught. I might save myself a lot of worry and aggravation if I could just accept and appreciate the way things are instead of constantly asking why. Maybe I am not meant to know, or maybe I am just incapable of comprehending. Maybe it's both.

I got up and washed my glass in the sink then set it out to dry. I pushed the questions and the worry to the back of my mind as best I could and focused on tomorrow. Seth and I would be resuming our trip in the morning, and that made me happy; that soothed my stomach better than anything. I got in bed and slept relatively peacefully, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. It had nothing to do with Seth, of that much I was certain, but it was something close. I awoke to the distant sound of someone sobbing. I couldn't tell if it was outside our window or somewhere in the house. I sat up and listened. I heard it again, this time I could tell it was the unhappy sobs of a woman. Could it be Miss Chenowith? I swung my legs over the side of the bed and quietly slid to the floor. I looked at Seth and Jackson. They were still resting peacefully. I silently dressed and tiptoed to the door. I listened intently, and when I heard the crying again, I could tell it was coming from just down the hall, maybe the kitchen or the crystal ball room.

I opened the door as carefully as I could; every muscle in my body was stiff with anticipation as I tried to move without being heard. Now that the door was open and I was in the hallway, the sobs were much more pronounced and I could tell they were not coming from the kitchen, but the room with the crystal ball and radio.

It dawned on me how silly I was being and I instantly felt like some kind of perverted voyeur. Why was I trying to sneak up on sweet Miss Chenowith in her own home? If she was upset I either needed to give her privacy or attempt to comfort her. I decided that since I was this far committed, I should see if I can help her. She had probably heard me opening the bedroom door, anyway.

I walked past the kitchen and entered the doorway to the room where Miss Chenowith was sitting at the table with the crystal ball, her back to the window. Her head was buried in her hands as she continued to weep copiously. As I slowly approached and my eyes became accustomed to the morning light streaming in through the window, my guts twisted like someone wringing a towel and my heart leapt into my throat. I was in complete and utter shock.

Miss Chenowith heard my clumsy footfalls and she lifted her head and looked at me. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and wearing the same hairstyle as always, but she was different. Her predictable clothing and pale complexion were enhanced by a silvery glow. A stream of silver tears rushed down her cheeks and disappeared through the tabletop, not leaving a spot.

“What has happened to me?” she pleaded.

I could not give her an answer, I was still paralyzed from the shock, but I knew. I knew that Miss Chenowith had passed in the night, but like every other person that had passed during the storm, she had no choice, no free will to pass on or to stay. She was stuck. Miss Chenowith was now an Impal.

CHAPTER 18

Mother's Love

“In death—no! Even in the grave all is not lost.
Else there is no immortality for man.”

—Edgar Allan Poe

It seemed like it took me an eternity to unhinge my jaws and mutter a response. My answer was as inadequate as my ability to stand up at the moment, and I grabbed the chair across from her and tumbled into it.

“My God,” was the only thing I could say at the moment.

Miss Chenowith looked at me pleadingly, tears still cascading down her cheeks and passing through the tabletop like it wasn't there. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, I managed to speak, albeit stupidly.

“Are you okay?”

That idiotic question forced her head back into the palms of her hands. She moaned pathetically as her shoulders heaved up and down with uncontrollable sobbing. Of course she wasn't okay. She had died, for God's sake. She was now stuck here like everyone else who had died since this phenomenon started. I had a feeling that this made it worse, made it much more stressful on the poor people as they left their physical lives. They had no choice to move on or to stay. They were stuck here, and nothing had really changed for them other than their physical body had been discarded and they … I trailed off as another thought popped into my head like a macabre road sign. Miss Chenowith was here, but her body was where … upstairs? That seemed the most logical place, and it was something that had to be dealt with and dealt with soon, but not now. The most pressing matter was to help Miss Chenowith cope with this new development, to try and put her at ease somehow.

I quickly decided the best way to handle this is not to be apologetic or sympathetic but be upbeat. That is what I had done with Seth. Of course, Seth had chosen to stay, and he had spent a couple of weeks … where? I hadn't really thought about it before, other than imagining how hard it must have been on the little guy because he was able to see and hear me but I had no idea he was there. I guess you would call it “between.” I took a deep breath and spoke softly.

“Miss Chenowith,” I said, “you look very beautiful this morning.”

She stopped crying abruptly and her head shot up from out of her hands like a Jack in the box. She looked at me incredulously as if I had just asked for her hand in marriage.

“What did you say?” she asked between latent sniffles.

“I said, you look beautiful. Nothing has changed for you; in fact, it may be better.”

She looked at me like I had a tentacle growing out of each ear. Before she could retort, I explained how Seth could do things like push through a solid object or jump and tumble without being hurt.

“He enjoys everything he did before,” I said, choosing my phrasing very carefully. I didn't want to say something stupid like before he died or before he passed on. “He still loves his favorite foods!” I interjected when I reminded her of squenching.

She paused and stared at her hands thoughtfully. Miss Chenowith reached out and touched her crystal ball. She watched with fascination as her fingers slowly penetrated the glassy surface. Without warning, she jerked her fingers back as if she had been bitten. She stretched out her hand and inspected the surface like she was admiring a new manicure, then smiled awkwardly.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” she said as she carefully pushed her other hand through the top of the table. She jerked it back with the same panicked reaction, and then rubbed her hands together like someone trying to get warm or trying to determine if they were really solid.

“You know, I can sit here and not go through the chair or the floor, but if I try to push through something I can,” she frowned and rubbed the last vestiges of silvery tears from her eyes. “Now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry,” she said as a small trace of happiness seemed to creep across her face.

“Let me cook for you this morning,” I insisted. “I'll be right back!”

She flinched as I bolted up from the table and headed for the door, but an idea had occurred to me, one that was sure to help Miss Chenowith more than I ever could. I went to wake up Seth.

Seth was already awake and playing in the floor with Jackson. I tried to explain the situation to him as delicately as I could. After all, he is only six-years-old, and I don't think he really has a full grasp of what has happened in his own situation. I basically told him that Miss Chenowith was like him now. He looked at me blankly like he didn't fully understand, then I told him that he needed to teach Miss Chenowith about squenching. His face brightened and he hopped to his feet. He was more than happy to be helpful. He trotted down the hallway to where Miss Chenowith was sitting, but not before stopping by the kitchen and grabbing a large handful of cookies. I guessed that the large quantity must be for training purposes.

Before starting breakfast, I made the phone call I was dreading. I called 911 and explained the situation. Thank God that cell phones still worked. I had expected to get hung up on or have a cop sent out to arrest me for misuse of an emergency number, but it seemed routine to the operator.

“Yes sir, we've had a few of these calls in the last few days,” she said. “I'll send an ambulance out shortly to collect the body; you can make arrangements with them on where you want it taken.”

I started to thank her and hang up when a thought occurred to me.

“One more thing … could you have the ambulance driver call me before they arrive? I don't want any unpleasantness when they … well … take her out.”

“Sure thing, hun,” she said, with her professional tone giving way to one of Southern grace. “I was going to suggest that to them myself. It just seems only right.” She paused and said, “I'm sorry for your change, I know that sounds strange but that's what we've been telling folks in your situation because, well, it's not really a loss is it?”

As bizarre as it sounded, that did seem like a more accurate description to me.

“Thank you,” I said and hung up the phone.

I started breakfast and was just in the middle of scrambling the eggs when it occurred to me that I probably needed to call Miss Chenowith's sister, Rose from the motel. I pondered it for a moment and then decided I would let Miss Chenowith make that determination. After all, it was just a change and not a loss.

A few moments later, Seth came trotting down the hallway and headed for the back door. As he passed the door to the kitchen he looked in at me with a jubilant, toothy grin.

“Where are you going, buddy?”

He didn't break stride as he continued for the door.

“It's a s'prise!” he called, as I heard the door creak open and then shut.

I paused, a little curious, and then I figured that he was probably going out back to properly squench the cookies he had been training with. The problem was that Jackson or Miss Chenowith was not with him. I grabbed a paper towel to wipe egg white residue from my fingertips and casually peered through the door at Miss Chenowith. She was still seated at the table but had scooted her chair back slightly. Jackson was curled in her lap and his eyes closed contentedly as she stroked his head. Miss Chenowith was smiling; that was good to see.

I was just about to dish the eggs out of the pan when I heard the back door open again. Something was strange. Instead of the dull pitter-pat of Seth's feet, I heard two sets of feet coming down the hall. I turned around to see Seth beaming at me in the doorway. Someone was standing in the shadows behind him.

“Daddy, I would like you to meet my friend,” he said in a hushed voice.

I knew who it was before he said anything more. I think I had suspected, at least since last night, anyway. His “friend” had been hiding in the shed, and Seth had been sneaking him food. He ran away after the storm started and he was very hungry. I didn't know whether to be angry because we had spent so much time looking for this person, not to mention Miss Chenowith being worried out of her mind, or to be proud because Seth had been kind enough to take food to this person. The hungry boy at Seth's school came to mind, causing my anger and frustration to fade away. Still, he should have told me.

“This is Shasta. He lives here with Miss Chenowith. He's been hidin' because he was scared.”

A black boy, a few inches taller than Seth, stepped out of the shadows and extended his hand.

“Howdy, Mista Penalton. Seth sho' spoke awfully fine of you!”

The description provided by Miss Chenowith was dead on. Well, maybe that is a poor choice of words, but her description was very accurate. Shasta wore a pair of gray trouser overalls with a white button down undershirt. He wore no shoes and his head seemed to be shaved. A chubby face that she had fondly described as “bubble gum” cheeks topped a slender body giving his head an oversized appearance. He had an unusually dark complexion that was clearly visible under the shiny translucent sheen.

He looks like an oversized bobblehead doll,
I thought but did not say. An amused grin came to my face and I did my best to channel it into a polite smile.

I extended my hand and shook his, experiencing the same cold and then warm sensation as my hand slowly sank into his.

“Thank you, Shasta,” I said. “There is someone who wants to see you very much,” I said as I nodded toward the door where Miss Chenowith sat.

“Yessa,” he said sheepishly then looked at Seth.

Seth gave him a reassuring smile, then took him by the hand and led him down the hall. A few moments later I winced from what I thought was screaming coming from the next room but as it turned out, it was cries of pure joy coming from Miss Chenowith.

“Oh, Shasta! Thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God …” she repeated over and over again.

The return of Shasta made things more tolerable for Miss Chenowith. In fact, it may be accurate to say it made things okay. She wouldn't let him out of her reach, let alone out of sight. She was as doting as a mother bear. I would have to say that this was the first real “mothering” that Shasta had enjoyed in well over 100 years, and the first time that Lizzie Chenowith had been a mother. That was sad, because from what I saw, she would have been a good one.

The 911 operator was as good as her word because the ambulance drivers called me ten minutes later. I served breakfast on the old wooden picnic table in Miss Chenowith's backyard while the paramedics respectfully retrieved the sweet lady's remains. No one ever knew they were there except for me.

After breakfast, which entailed some more squenching lessons from Seth, Miss Chenowith shocked me.

“You and Seth should get on the road. I don't need to hold you up any longer,” she said.

“Are you sure? Will you be okay?”

She smiled reassuringly at me.

“Yes, very much so. As strange as it may seem, I can't remember the last time I was as happy as I am today.”

“What about Rose, your sister?” I asked, doubtful.

She half-smiled and half-smirked.

“Oh, I can call her when I get ready,” she said, pretending to punch buttons on an invisible phone. “Actually, I can't wait to see the look on her face,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I have a few other calls to make before I trouble myself with that old biddy.”

I was dumbstruck at her transformation. In an hour's time she had gone from deep despair to mischievous exhilaration. Part of me wanted to question this rapid emotional metamorphosis, but another part of me was anxious to take her at her word and set back out on our trip. The latter part won out. Miss Chenowith and I exchanged phone numbers before we departed 30 minutes later.

She winked. “Going to the Air and Space Museum, eh? I might be able to help you. Let me make a call or two.”

I didn't follow up this comment because Miss Chenowith had turned her attention back to Shasta. I told her to call if she needed anything. Seth said his goodbyes to Shasta and presented him with the Hot Wheels car he had gotten in his Martian meal a few days before.

“Shasta doesn't have any toys,” Seth explained as he got in his seat and shut the door.

I smiled.

“I know son. I'm proud of you, but …” I said and paused as he looked at me like he was about to be scolded. “Promise me you won't keep any secrets from me going forward. You can tell me anything, okay, buddy?”

He nodded his head.

“Pomise,” he said, dropping the ‘r' as usual.

We waved goodbye and pulled away. I could see several neighbors gawking from the security of their yards. I honked and waved at them, shaming them back in their houses. Maybe that was rude of me, but I thought it was cruel spying on Miss Chenowith and Shasta. I wanted them to just leave her alone.

We had just pulled onto the entrance ramp to I-40 when I turned the radio back on. Seth pleaded for Radio Disney, but I needed to catch up on the news.

“Later,” I told him. “Daddy needs to listen to some boring talking first.”

He frowned and pulled out a Clone trooper action figure and began to pretend like the door was a great military fortress for the Galactic Republic. I smiled and found my favorite news station then carefully turned it up. I didn't like what I was hearing in the discussion.

“Do you believe it is constitutional, Dr. Winder?” the host asked.

It was Ray Winder again, the White House scientific advisor. Why were they asking him about legal concerns?

“We have legal experts reviewing it now, including a Federal judge. The consensus is that the current situation is appropriate justification for exercising the president's emergency powers.”

“But don't these people have rights?” the host pressed.

Another voice piped in, sending chills up my spine.

“It is for their own protection,” the man said. “Please keep in mind that it is yet to be decided how far constitutional rights extend. I mean, what would the Founding Fathers say about it?” The man finished with a laugh that was anything but humorous.