The Tesla Gate (5 page)

Should I bring his attention to it or should I cleverly distract him out of the room while I clean up the mess? I didn't know what the hell to do. My shock and horror intoxicated my judgment, causing me to stare stupidly at the spectacle. Seth noticed my distraction before I could pull myself together. He looked down at the mess on the floor and then looked back to me in panic-stricken horror. He squealed like a terrified rabbit and jumped across the tabletop, streaming milk and Chocolate Berries behind him.

CHAPTER 6

The Boss

“To be an ideal guest, stay at home.”

—E. W. Howe

The icy, disquieting feeling running through me as I observed this spectacle was melted away in an instant by fatherly compassion. The terrified shrieks of my boy broke down all apprehension. I reached out and grabbed him around the waste and pulled him toward me. I fought through the initial shock of his gelatinous cold “flesh” and pulled him back as he kicked and struggled in terror. As I pulled him up and embraced him, he initially felt as if I was hugging a semi-frozen bag of ice cream, but, as I hung on, something incredible happened.

Seth embraced my torso like a small bear climbing a tree, hanging on for dear life and wailing inconsolably. The cold of his touch was almost unbearable at first then a feeling came over me that I had never experienced before, something impossible. Simultaneously, I felt the intense cold meld with an incredible feeling of warmth. As I patted Seth's back I noticed this phenomenon more prominently as my hand went warm-cold with every pat. I slowly looked down, preparing myself for what I would see, not wanting to upset him further. What I saw didn't so much as terrify or repulse me as I couldn't escape the feeling like something inappropriately intimate was occurring. Of course there wasn't, and who is to say what is appropriate in circumstances such as these?

The areas where I felt the strange intermingling of cold and warmth were parts of Seth's body that were slowly sinking into mine. A knee, an elbow, the toes of a Spiderman tennis shoe, his chin were all protruding about an inch into my stomach, chest, hip and shoulder respectively. As I took note of this, another sensation caught my attention. I had the strange feeling of snowflakes falling on my shoulder and then turning into shooting warmth radiating from my shoulder all the way down to my feet. It took me a moment to comprehend this feeling and then it dawned on me as completely as the lavender light streaming in from the kitchen window. It was Seth's tears. They were passing through me just like I had seen them disappear into his bedspread earlier. I felt the sensation subside as Seth's crying slowed a little.

“It's okay, buddy,” I said rubbing his back, feeling the strange mix of cold and warmth as my hand inadvertently penetrated his back. “I'll clean it up, it's okay.”

“What's wrong with me?” he asked weakly as he pulled his head back as if to look at me, but instead buried his eyes behind his forearm to hide his sadness. I had the strange thought that considering everything I had just seen, Seth could possibly still see me through his arm. I wasn't sure and was rather doubtful; even though objects could pass through him and vice versa, I could not see through him. Well, there was the instance where the
Star Wars
figure sunk through his hand, but it was fairly close to the surface before it became visible.

“Nothing's wrong with you, buddy,” I told him. “There's something wrong with the world.” I pointed at the strange light out the window. “That's what is affecting you, but I promise we'll make it all better.”

He seemed to relax and even smiled a little after my promise. I'm surprised any of my promises carry any weight with him anymore. I didn't even believe the one I had just made. How could I? I had no idea what the hell was going on other than the reported story that the dead had become visible today, a scenario I'm not even sure I fully accept and probably would dismiss out of hand as tabloid foolery if not for the presence of my son.

I was just about to set him down on the edge of the table opposite his spilled meal when the phone rang. It startled me, causing me to flinch. I was afraid this would have an adverse effect on the mood, but it was just the opposite. Seth giggled at my reaction and commented impatiently.

“It's just the phone, Daddy.”

I smiled and lovingly brushed my hand over his forehead, ignoring the cold.

He smiled. “You better get it! It might be Pubasher Kerrin House!”

Publisher's Clearing House was the running joke around our home whenever the phone rang or the mailman came –
It might be Publisher's Clearing House!
I don't think we had entered the sweepstakes in years, or at least I hadn't. Ann had a regular subscription to three different “chick magazines,” so maybe we had.

I winked at Seth then walked across the kitchen to the cordless phone on the counter. I gave the caller ID a perfunctory glance and saw that it was not the Prize Committee; it was my boss, Don Lewis. Don was my boss but it was really a title he held in name only. I reported to him, but in actuality we worked as a partnership at PortaPad, Inc.; we were the two best mobile home salesmen in the state. We were also best friends. He was there for me when Ann and Seth were killed and told me to take as much time off from work as I needed. Don is a great guy, but like most of us, he has his faults. One of which happens to be letting whatever he's thinking spill out like a verbal geyser.

“Take all the time you need,” he told me shortly after the funeral. “Grief is a tricky thing and can eat away at you if you don't work through it. I remembered when my dad died I locked myself in my room…” Don was cut off by his wife.

“God bless you Thomas, we are here if you need anything. Come on Don, it's time to go.”

Don normally called my cell phone so this was unusual for him to call the landline. It didn't surprise me though; in fact, I was expecting it. I hadn't charged my cell phone in days and had no intention of doing so in the near future. I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I just put my ringer on silent and placed my cell in my dresser drawer to die a slow death of battery starvation. An annoying thought crossed my mind just before picking up the receiver: I should have unplugged that as well. I think the only reason I didn't is the fact that my self-imposed communication embargo would have surely brought visitors to my door, and
that
was the last thing I wanted.

“Hello,” I said.

“Tommy! Can you believe this crap on the radio today? Ghosts appearing? What a hoot, eh?” Don said with the same lack of verbal filtration between his brain and his mouth. I understand his excitement, I really do.

“Have you seen any spooks on your block? I mean who you gonna call, right?” he asked with a disbelieving smile in his voice.

“What do you think, Don? I haven't listened to the radio in a little while. What is the official report?”

Don chuckled softly and took a deep breath like he was about to relay a very amusing story.

“Well…” he began, as if coming to the punch line of a joke. “They say old honest Abe is out and about in Washington, D.C., along with a few other dead presidents, and I ain't talking about cash!” He brayed with laughter at his cleverness and went on. “They also say that ghosts are showing up in people's homes and businesses, claiming they have been there all along but we just couldn't see them.” He sputtered laughter again, but this time I thought I detected something underneath his good humor and amusement. It was like hearing the faint sound of distant thunder on a gloriously sunny day; he was scared.

“Have you seen any?” I asked him.

He laughed again … there was the distant thunder, a little more prominent this time.

“It's just a big joke!” he snorted. “Dead people walking around? Please.”

I know he failed to connect the dots in his head of how the event occurring today could possibly affect me considering my recent loss. I don't think he wanted to believe what he was hearing, so he was hiding under a façade of humor. I had never known Don to act this way, but then today was definitely unique circumstances.

I took a deep breath and looked up to see Seth sitting at the top of the stairs watching me. He had another toy in his hand, I couldn't tell what at this distance, and he smiled patiently at me. I was going to keep my mouth shut. I didn't want the attention and I was almost certain that any unwelcome gawkers would upset Seth immensely. I was going to remain quiet until Don spoke again, this time the fear was unmistakable.

“Gina … you know, my wife.”

“Yes, I know Gina,” I replied patiently.

There was a long pause and then heavy breathing, like he had just run up a few flights of stairs. He started to speak then his voice choked off like someone had just knocked the wind out of him. After another long pause I heard him swallow hard before he spoke.

“Gina called me at work about an hour ago and told me…” he took a couple of deep breaths and then changed his tone to incredulous disbelief, but the fear was still present in his voice like underlying feedback on a microphone. “I can't even believe I'm saying this!”

“It's okay, Don,” I said calmly. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Nothing had ever acted as an adequate filter between Don's mind and mouth, but the fear of whatever he was trying to tell me seemed to be working like a charm.

“Gina called an hour ago … she said my dad was waiting for me in my study.” His dad had passed away two years ago. I know because I was a pall bearer at the funeral, not to mention I was reminded of the fact two weeks ago when Don tried to comfort my grieving by telling the story of how he locked himself in his room after his father died. In Don terminology, his room was synonymous with his office.

“Are you going home?” I asked.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Don?”

There was another long silence and then Don exhaled loudly and spoke faintly.

“Would it be okay if I came and talked to you first?”

“You know I don't mind Don, but there is one thing you need to know before you do.” I said.

“What?”

I closed my eyes and contemplated my response for a few moments. I had not intended to say anything on the subject but considering what Don had just told me, it might be appropriate.

“You need to know that Seth is here.”

There was another long pause and then two words spoken with a hoarseness that made them barely audible.

“My … God …”

“Are you okay with that?” I asked.

“Is he, is he solid, can he walk through walls, can he fly, is he …?” Don said before I cut him off.

“He's fine, Don. Just let me do the talking when you come, okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, breathless.

I looked up and saw Seth was still sitting on the top of the stairs watching, a worried frown now creased his small face. I gave him a reassuring wink but before I could ask Don when he would be by, I saw a silvery flash outside my living room window. I looked out and saw Don's silver Camaro screeching to a halt in my driveway.

I looked back up at Seth but before I could say a word, he saw the look of exasperation on my face. He turned and retreated up the stairs, a moment later I heard the door to his room slam shut.

I met Don at the front door before he could ring the bell, knock, barge in or whatever he intended to do. His countenance did not match the jovial person I had just spoken to on the phone. My friend's fear was no longer the rumbling of a distant storm; his face was awash in a tempest of nervous excitement and terror.

“W-w-w-here is he?” Don stammered.

I was distracted momentarily by the atmosphere outside. This was the first time I had even opened a door or a window since the event began, and I quickly discovered that the mysterious lavender light was only half of the spectacle. It was hard to describe, but the air seemed to be alive; it pulsated and undulated like an electric charged breeze. It was not a visible sensation but a tactile one, felt by every square inch of my body. It was not unpleasant at all, more like being in a relaxing spa of warm electricity.

Don was about to push by me into the house when I came to my senses. I gently grabbed him by the upper arm and bade that he take a seat on the sofa. He looked at me with wild-eyed excitement, and then reluctantly sat down.

“Were you being serious with me?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Yes, but if I bring him down you have to promise me you won't say a word. You know how your mouth can outrun your brain,” I said with a friendly grin.

He shook his head in the affirmative and gave me a half-smile.

“I know … I promise.”

I looked at him sternly for a few moments. He seemed to calm somewhat and then repeated his vow.

“I promise.”

“Wait here,” I said, then turned and slowly ascended the stairs.

I reached Seth's door and knocked lightly. No answer. I tried the knob and the door swung open effortlessly. I stepped into the room.

“Seth, buddy,” I began, but then stopped in my tracks; he was nowhere to be seen.

I walked over to the closet door and called his name, no answer. I opened the door, no Seth. I turned in mounting panic, scanning the room wildly, and then my eyes fell on the bed. I walked up beside the bed, taking care not to tread on the Anakin Skywalker figure lying on the floor.

“Seth?”

No answer.

I got to my hands and knees and peered under the bed. No Seth. My heart was racing with panic now, I was frightened for the safety of my deceased son, but the irony was lost on me as I set out to inspect the rest of the upstairs rooms. After a quick and thorough search, a block of ice slid into my stomach, reminding me of the pain that was still fresh after just two weeks. Seth was gone.

CHAPTER 7

Boundless Limitations

“Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.” 

—Albert Einstein

As I descended the stairs, I suspect my face looked very similar to Don's when he arrived; no … it was definitely worse. This was my child; I can't have lost him again, not this fast. I ran through the kitchen and out the door to the yard beyond Seth's window. I paid no attention to the unusual changes outside; my mind was focused on a singular purpose. My panic rose exponentially because he was nowhere to be seen in the yard.

“Seth! Seth!” I called and hopped up on the cedar picket fence surrounding our backyard. After scanning the perimeter I determined he was nowhere in sight, hopping down from the fence I was startled to see Don standing a few feet from me.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Seth is gone!” I muttered breathlessly and darted past him and back into the house. I hadn't seen Seth come back downstairs, but searching the ground floor was the only option left to me. I had just searched the dining room when a shriek and a crash resounded from the kitchen. I entered the kitchen to see Don lying flat on his back and breathing heavily. He had slipped in Seth's cereal, which I had not had the opportunity to clean up yet.

“Are you all right?” I shouted.

He gave a sputtering cough and raised his thumb to indicate he was all right. Don began to slowly pull himself up using the counter and one of the kitchen chairs for leverage.

“Your housekeeping leaves a lot to be desired,” he said as he plopped down in the chair, massaging his sore back and head. He pulled a couple of soggy Chocolate Berries from his sandy blond hair and flicked them onto the table with a look of distaste, like he had just removed bird poop.

“I'm sorry … Seth did that. I haven't had a chance to clean it up yet,” I said as I grabbed a towel from the counter and handed it to Don. He looked at me skeptically. I could see that his belief that my dead son had returned was starting to wane quickly.

“Is he gone?” Don asked evenly as he toweled milk and Chocolate Berries off the back of his white golf shirt. There was going to be a big brown stain down his back unless he washed it soon.

“Yes,” I replied between shouts for my son.

I was just about to ask Don for his help in the search when I spotted Seth through the partially opened door to the laundry room. He was hiding on the far side of the washing machine, in a three-foot space between the heavy duty Kenmore and the wall. When our eyes met, he frowned sheepishly, shook his head emphatically, and ducked back into his hidey hole. He was scared, embarrassed, and no telling what else he was feeling. I was not going to make him come out and perform like some freak for my boss's amusement. Don always meant well, but his tact left a lot to be desired. I was just about to suggest we go search the garage so Seth could sneak back to his room when Don's phone rang.

“Hello?”

The caller ID was just visible to me as he held the phone to his ear; it was his wife.

I stood and watched his face melt into a sallow ashen mask as he listened to the one-sided dialogue on the other end of the line. At first, it was easy to tell that a woman, probably Gina, was speaking to him, in a rather scolding manner, causing a look of annoyance on his face. It was when the timbre of the voice turned to a masculine, husky drawl that all color drained from Don's face. Gina was no longer on the line, and based on what Don had told me earlier, I guessed it was his dad. I had only met the man once before he passed, so the voice was not that familiar, but Don's face was like a macabre caller ID as he listened to the deep voice he thought he would never hear again. Even at my distance several feet away, the voice was loud enough that I could hear the same tinny vibration as Seth's.

After several long moments, Don rasped a single word like it was his final death throes.

“Okay.”

He dropped his arm holding the phone slowly to his side and took a deep rattling breath, then turned slowly to face me.

“I've got to go,” he croaked.

“Was that your dad?” I asked.

Don didn't answer, he looked at me for several long moments with the flaccid expression of one who has just seen a ghost or, in this case perhaps, talked to one.

“I hope you find Seth,” he said hoarsely as he started toward the door. The skepticism in his voice that was so prevalent a few minutes ago had been replaced by terrified sincerity.

“Thanks, I'm sure I will,” I said, confident, looking over my shoulder in time to see Seth ducking back into his hidey hole.

I felt sorry for Don, I truly did. I understood the emotional turmoil and confusion he was about to endure, meeting a loved one who had just ‘returned from the grave', but for him it was worse. He and his father had never had the best relationship in the world. In fact, it had been bad. From what Don had shared with me, his father was ex-military, a Marine. He was a good man but a strict disciplinarian of a father. I suspect this may have been a positive thing for Don, knowing his propensity for sloppiness, but according to Don, his father is what caused it.

He called it the “Barkley Syndrome” after former pro basketball star Charles Barkley. After years of fitness training, when Barkley finally retired he let himself go and became a rather rotund former basketball star. The logic to Don's analogy was that when he was finally out of his father's “bounce a quarter on the bed sheets, white-glove-inspected” house he let himself go out of rebellion, and quite frankly because he was tired of the stringency.

I think his real problem was the fact that he had made a number of candid and unkind remarks about his dad whenever I visited his home the last couple of years. I am certain that the negativity I heard was a small sampling of what had been discussed behind closed doors. Had his dad been there listening the last couple of years?

I guess Don was about to find that out. He had come to see me for a number of reasons – doubt, curiosity, and fear among them, but most likely he was procrastinating from facing his old man once again. It had been bad enough facing him in the flesh but now … I suspect there are a lot of people going through their own individual Hell of impromptu reunions today with the dearly departed.

“Just remember, he is still your dad,” I said as I held the front door open for him. That was the best I could offer. Even though I was 95-percent sure that Seth was Seth, that 5-percent still nagged at me. I mean, how certain about anything are we really?

Don nodded imperceptibly and headed down the sidewalk like a man walking to his execution. He slumped into his Camaro and grinded the gears as he shifted into reverse and then grinded them again as he lurched forward into first gear and slowly disappeared around the corner.

Dusk was settling across the neighborhood, giving the outdoors a surreal quality. The blackness of night seemed to have been replaced by the uncanny lavender glow. It was not like the darkness was illuminated by this extra-terrestrial light, it was like it had been replaced. The air shone eerily like a large black-light painting, undulating in almost imperceptible waves.

It was late spring and an otherwise cool and pleasant evening. That's what made it so darn strange that there were no people out. No people in the yards, no kids playing, and no traffic … it was as if everyone had vanished. The only thing dispelling that perception was that most of the homes had lights on and blinds drawn; moving shadows could be seen passing about inside some of the windows. People were there, they just seemed to be heeding the warnings to stay indoors.

Turning around, I saw Seth had cautiously crept from his hiding place and was watching me hopefully from the laundry room door. I stepped back inside then firmly closed and locked the door.

“Is he gone?” Seth asked, apprehensive.

“Yes he is. Why did you do that, buddy? You had me worried sick.”

“I didn't want him to see me,” Seth said with a sadness that was deeper than any I had ever seen in him.

I suspected I knew the answer but I asked anyway.

“Why not?”

He pointed at the mess of cereal now smeared across the kitchen floor. A tangled knot of frustration and love formed in my gut. I loved Seth dearly and would defend him to the end of time, but I also knew he was right. The people who still occupied the world of the living would look at him as a freak, a novelty, something to ogle, but also something to fear. He would be nothing more to them than an attraction at a funhouse or a zoo.

Seth would be the amputee, the paraplegic, the burn victim, or deformed person who constantly finds himself the subject of unkind voyeurism, making him the outcast or the punch line. The world is cruel, damn cruel, to those that are different. I knew he could never live a normal life, but is that what he's doing? I buried him just two weeks ago, and now I'm talking about a normal life? How could he have any chance of normalcy if his own dad had doubts? I had to do something and do something quickly; we couldn't just sit around in the house and hope for the best.

That was not good for Seth, and as far as I knew this “storm” might pass by morning, returning things to normal, putting Seth back into his impalpable state and pouring salt on the fresh wound in my heart. Dread rose in me so quickly that my breath hitched. I could feel every blood vessel course with panic when I realized the probable truth – I could lose him again. The obvious solution popped into my head like a light flicking on, but I decided I would ease into it first with Seth, to make sure he was still comfortable with the idea and to try to get him in a little better mood. I sat down on the sofa and started the conversation by changing the subject.

“Buddy, how did you get down here without me seeing you?”

His sad expression turned to a knowing grin as he looked up and pointed his finger.

I frowned and shook my head, clearly not understanding his inference.

“Through the ceiling!” he said with his trademark mischievous grin.

I swallowed hard as understanding dawned.

“You went through the ceiling?”

He shook his head and spoke with cocky kid confidence.

“It's pretty easy. It doesn't hurt or nothing … it kinda tickles.”

“Can you go through this chair?” I asked, pointing to the La-Z-Boy in front of me.

His chest puffed up with importance and he walked to the chair.

“Okay, watch!” he beckoned like an excited kid wanting to demonstrate his diving technique for the first time in the pool.

I stood up and crossed my arms to indicate I was paying complete attention and smiled supportively. He smiled back and positioned himself behind the chair with a look of intense concentration on his face. He swung his arms frontward and backward a couple of times and moved toward the chair. When he reached the back I didn't think he would be able to continue as he appeared to stop dead in his tracks, but then he slowly began to move forward like a person walking into a strong wind.

A few moments later he was fully submerged in the chair with only the top of his head sticking out of the back cushion. Slowly his arms emerged, then his face and torso, he was smiling triumphantly as he moved forward, still immersed from the waist down in the bottom of the recliner. He giggled as he raised his knees like he was high-stepping. His knees popping up out of the seat cushion like that reminded me of that game where gophers pop up out of holes as the player whacks them on the head with a hammer. A few moments later, he was free of the chair and grinning at me like he had just hit a home run to win the big game.

“Awesome!” I exclaimed with sincere pride. And I was proud of my boy, even if what I had just witnessed was beyond bizarre. I also felt as helpless as a man that cannot swim watching his son flounder in deep water. What could I do to help him? I did not know for sure but I suspected my idea might be a start. Now that I had gotten him in a little better spirits, no pun intended, I would lay out my plan. I knew the response it would get before I even opened my mouth. After all, it was the reason that Seth was here with me in the first place.

“Seth, buddy, how would you like to go to Washington, D.C., in the morning?”

“The Air Space Moozem in Washaton?” he beamed with excitement.

“Yes sir,” I smiled and took his small hand, hardly noticing the strange sensation of cold and warmth as he squeezed my hand.

He began to hop up and down with excitement. Each time he came down, his feet sank about three inches into the floor. Seth was positively giddy.

I didn't even think about telling Don. Honestly, I didn't really care if I told him. I was going to go regardless of what he said, and he had his own issues to handle.

“We'll leave first thing in the morning,” I told him. “I'll put my bag together tonight so we can just get up and go.”

I stopped and discreetly examined Seth as he continued to prance with childlike glee. Would I need to pack clothes for him? I didn't think so; his clothes and shoes seemed as much a part of him as his own skin. How was he even wearing clothes? I guess that was as much of a mystery as the very presence of him. Maybe the old expression “clothes make the man” is even more of a truism than we realize. I decided it best to let Seth take the lead; I would let him tell me what he needed.

“What would you like to pack, buddy?” I asked him. “Let's get everything you need ready tonight so we can get an early start in the morning.”

He excitedly bolted up the stairs, beckoning for me to follow. I followed after retrieving his Buzz Lightyear suitcase from the hall closet. Thank God it had not been donated along with his cereal bowl.

A few moments after opening the suitcase on his bed it was filled with three
Star Wars
figures, Seth's teddy bear, Luke, and a dozen or so assorted Spider-Man and Batman comics.

“Is that all you need?” I asked with a tone urging him to think about it. “Remember, we are going to be gone several days and you want to take everything you will need,” I added, putting special emphasis on need.