The Tesla Gate (6 page)

He nodded his head and then responded like he had just read my mind.

“Yep, I think so. I can't wear any of my clothes, they won't stay on me … I already tried. I guess I'll just wear this the whole trip,” he said with a quick spin like he was modeling for me. He paused as a serious expression washed over his face.

“Momma wouldn't let me wear the same clothes more than once. She would tell me she ain't raising no stinky boy.”

A lump welled up in my throat as I thought of Ann. I had heard her tell Seth that on more than one occasion. He had his comfortable favorites he liked to wear and wear often, but hey, don't we all? I fought back a tear as I reassured him.

“I don't think Momma would mind buddy. Besides, it's just you and me … a guy's trip,” I said with a wink.

Yes indeed, it was going to be a guy's trip and like most guys, I pack light. Just the necessities. Fifteen minutes later, both of our bags were packed and stacked neatly by the door. Seth climbed in bed with me. To my surprise, he informed me that he had slept quite a bit in the past two weeks. I don't know why he has to sleep, but at least that's one more thing we have in common. I was tempted to turn on the radio and get an update but I decided against it. What were the ‘experts' going to tell me? That this is going away in the morning and everything will be back the way it was? I didn't want to hear it. I would at least enjoy tonight, one quiet night with my son.

After a long period of conversation, mainly Seth telling me in great detail everything he wanted to see at the Smithsonian, he drifted off to sleep. I fought it as long as I could, fearing what the morning may bring. I wanted to relish every moment with Seth.

Rest was hard to come by as I lay awake watching him sleep. I was scared: scared to take my eyes off him, afraid that he could be gone at any moment. I was terrified of losing him again. I don't think I could take the pain.

As I considered my sleeping son, other possibilities began to float through my head. My parents had been gone now for almost 14 years. Did they stay? Did Ann's parents stay? My heart leapt with anticipation at the prospect. If they had, they were not here and their home on the other side of town was now occupied by a young family. Surely they would have called me if they had unexpected guests. Well, unless they had fled in terror. My dad, with his gruff exterior, had that impact on people even when he was alive.

As much as I would like to see my mom and dad again, I had to focus on Seth. They were adults and, if they were still here, they could find me. I put the thought out of my head with the promise to myself that I would drive by their house on the way out of town tomorrow. Sleep finally came, but it was anything but restful.

CHAPTER 8

Rattling Bridges

“A person may cause evil to others not only
by his action but by his inaction, and in either case he is
justly accountable to them for the injury.”

—John Stuart Mill

The President of the United States got no sleep that night, as most leaders around the world didn't. He and his political and military advisors, along with scientists from NASA, MIT, Stanford, and a few other assorted government agencies spent the evening in the White House situation room monitoring developments. The scientists agreed on one thing – they had no idea what the phenomenon was or why it was disrupting television and internet but not radio. They also had no idea as to why it had suddenly unveiled the dead.

The scientists were split down the middle about whether the storm produced an unknown energy that affected the human brain, causing hallucinations, or if it really did evoke a physical manifestation of the unseen spirit world. The scientists on the hallucination side of the debate crudely referred to the visions of the deceased as “brain farts.” The phrase that the scientists used describing the spirit side was one that fit perfectly and was much more refined term than its hallucinatory counterpart. It meant “not capable of being perceived by the senses.” They called them “the Impalpables,” or “Impals” for short.

The most important question batted about was whether or not this new form of energy caused adverse health effects. So far there was no evidence of that but it had been less than 24-hours since the storm entered Earth's atmosphere. There was no way as of yet to measure this unknown form of energy, so the only scientific method available was the tried and true technique – just wait and see.

There was one troubling development that had become apparent overnight, a development that the president's advisors had spent a great deal of time coaching exactly how to present to the media, a development that could easily lead to global unrest if not handled with the utmost care. Indeed it would be very important, but seemingly insignificant at first, like a single spark from a dangling tailpipe in the middle of a tender dry forest that later produced a blaze of unimaginable consequences.

Aside from the scientists, the military, and the presidential advisors, there was another present at this meeting. He was an individual who showed great distaste toward any nickname. He had seen and heard this kind of talk before, not only in his living days but in the years since as one president after another occupied the place he had called home for four years. They afforded him no more attention than they would the air in the room. But how could they? Hadn't he, by the very definition, been exactly what the despised nickname suggested? Impalpable.

Living may not be an appropriate term for the last 100 years or more, but he had existed a long time. He had existed long enough to know that he didn't care for some of the ideas and language coming from the room. He had heard it before, not only during the last great trial of his life as he struggled to keep a nation together but also since that time from the mouths and actions of a number of advisors and leaders occupying what should be an honored house.

If there was one thing he had learned the last two centuries were that the ideals that spawned and maintain America are of divine providence and should be defended to the end, but the governmental offices were rarely a reflection of these ideals. He had decided long ago that if white represents purity and virtue, the presidential residence should have been painted sack cloth black decades ago.

He had worked through the initial discomfort of the day, being ogled and stared at, because he felt like he needed to listen to what was going on as it most decidedly involved him. He had now had all he could stand after the tenth time of being asked if it hurt when he was assassinated and if he had seen John Wilkes Booth anywhere in the spirit realm. The answer to both questions was no, but that was beside the point, he felt like some freak in Ringling Brothers Circus. He had observed the spectacle when the travelling show did a special White House appearance on the front lawn for President Garfield. He found it revolting and not much more dignified than a slave auction – another place where distasteful nicknames were freely used without compassion.

After the “straw breaking the camel's back” question was asked, this time by a general, of all people, he smiled politely – if nothing else he was the consummate gentleman – and answered ‘no sir' to both questions and politely excused himself from the room. While his faith in his successors may have waned over the decades, his sense of humor had not. It had been one of his strongest attributes in his political career and probably had helped him endure his life as an unseen visitor in the most important house in the world. That and the fact that he was not the only invisible resident of the nation's capital. He had made many friends over the last 100 years and he needed to talk to them now—not only for his sake, but for theirs, as well.

He had respectfully been given free rein to roam about the White House as he saw fit – respecting privacy. Of course, he had enjoyed free rein before over the last 100 years, but no one knew he was there. He edged through the doors to the rose garden under the dumbstruck and restrained stares of the Secret Service. His tall, slender, ethereal outline was barely visible until he reached the perimeter fence and then disappeared into the fading darkness.

A few minutes later, the sun's first rays began to drive back the bizarre black light nighttime, spreading fading lavender over the Washington monument as the surreal night retreated. It was like a photo negative slowly developing into a clear print. This would be the first sunrise over a new and redefined world; however, the new definition remained to be seen.

I woke up early the next morning, my heart thumping against my ribs like a caged bird. Had I been dreaming? I wasn't sure but I knew there was an underlying panic, something that I dreaded waking for. I fought hard to clear the cobwebs from my head. As my thoughts began to take cohesion, a single word came to mind … Seth.

Remembering the past day's events and my fear of what the morning might bring, I spun in bed to verify the other side was occupied. My hopes sank like a large boulder sliding into my stomach; Seth was not there. I sprung from the bed and was halfway to the door before my sheets touched back down on my mattress.

Seth's suitcase was still there by the door but there was no sign of him. Did I have a bizarre dream and pack his suitcase and mine in my sleep? I seriously considered that possibility for a moment, but the otherworldly lavender light filtering through the drapes dispelled that thought. He had to be here somewhere; after all, the strange light was still here.

“Seth! Seth!” I called in a panic as I sprinted through my bedroom door and across the landing to Seth's room.

I was just about to fling the door open when I heard Seth's voice call from downstairs.

“Daddy? What are you doing?” he called.

“Looking for you!” I shouted back with a mixture of relief and aggravation.

I started down the stairs and saw him coming back through the door to the garage dragging a large canvas bag that I recognized as the one that stored our sleeping bags. I hadn't made it to the garage yet since the funeral, so the bag still carried all three of our sleeping bags – the down-filled plaid that was mine, the down-filled yellow that belonged to Ann, and the
Star Wars
sleeping bag.

“What are you doing Seth?” I asked, a bit perplexed. I had every intention of taking our trip but I had no intention of camping out. Motel 6 and Super 8 were my idea of roughing it.

“I almost forgot these. We may have to camp out between here and there,” he said, then frowned and added, “Where's the tent?”

I had put the tent in the attic a couple of months ago. Its bulky box took up too much room in our two-car garage. It was stored against the wall in front of where I parked. I frankly had gotten tired of squeezing between the rear of my SUV and the garage door. It was not only an inconvenience but a constant reminder of my expanding waistline. With the box out of the way, I could easily walk in the three-foot area between my vehicle and the wall, no problem. Besides, it was too darned heavy to try and hoist out of the attic.

“We won't need that,” I said with exaggerated excitement for his benefit. “If we have to camp, we can spread the bags out in the back of the SUV. Won't that be fun?”

He looked at me doubtfully for a few moments then shrugged and carefully placed the bags by the door.

“Okay, I'm ready!” he said as he sat down hard on the bag, his rear end noticeably sinking a couple of inches through the canvas.

“Give me a minute, buddy, and I'll be ready to rattle some bridges!” I said before turning and heading for the bathroom where an eye opening morning shower was calling my name. I hardly noticed Seth's confusion, but he had an expression like he had come across a difficult problem on his homework. He was probably trying to figure out my expression about bridges.

Fifteen minutes later I was showered, dressed, and ready to go. Seth excitedly dragged his suitcase downstairs and through the garage door, parking it near the rear of my SUV. He then stacked the sleeping bag carrier beside it. I brought my case downstairs, locked the doors and set the security system, then closed and locked the door to the house. I hit the button opening the big garage door and helped Seth load the bags in the back. I had just one thing I needed to do before we left, I needed to call Don and let him know I would be out of town for a while. I opened the door for Seth and turned the key to accessory so he could listen to Radio Disney while I made my phone call.

I was apprehensive about making the call. Not because I was afraid he would say no and tell me to go back to work; that was immaterial. This trip is going to happen regardless. I was apprehensive because of the state Don was in when he left last night. I knew this was not going to be easy for him and I had no idea what to expect. Thankfully for me, Gina answered the phone.

“Hello?” she said, weary.

“Gina, this is Thomas. Is Don available?”

She sighed heavily.

“I'm so glad you called Thomas; it has been a rough night.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked, a knot starting to form in my stomach.

“I guess as okay as can be expected, given the circumstances. Don was up until three or four this morning talking to his … his dad. I still can't believe this is happening. It sounds so strange to talk about him again like he's still living, but I guess he is still living in a sense.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I said as I looked in the window at Seth. He was sitting there, happily mouthing the words to one of his favorite Disney tunes.

“Oh … oh, Thomas I'm sorry. How is Seth?”

“Fine,” I said as I caught Seth's eye and gave him a reassuring wink. He grinned comically and winked back before resuming his radio lip sync. “That's kind of what I was calling about. I guess Don is still asleep since he was up all night?”

“Yes,” she said ruefully then continued with a hopeful tone. “Do you want me to wake him?”

I suspected it was because Don's father was not asleep and she felt uncomfortable about being alone with him. She was probably looking for an excuse to wake Don. Come to think of it, I was not even sure if Seth slept or not. I fell asleep talking to him last night and he was up and about when I woke up.

“No Gina, that's okay … can you give him a message for me?”

She sighed noticeably and I thought I detected a faint sob rattling underneath.

“All right … what?” she said.

“Gina, is everything okay?”

I heard a faint sniffle and then she cleared her throat before speaking.

“Yes, it's just hard you know … losing someone, making peace with the loss and then suddenly they're back.” She took a deep breath and mustered a more positive tone. “I think it is going to be a good thing ultimately. As crazy as this sounds, I actually think it will help their relationship.”

“That's great,” I said. I could definitely relate to the losing someone and then suddenly they are back. In my case I had not made peace with it yet; it had only been a couple of weeks. Two weeks or two years, I wasn't sure with which would be the most difficult to come to terms. Maybe it was personal prejudice on my part, but I suspected that my situation had to be worse. I lost my child and that goes as much against the natural order of things as this phenomenon does. It is an abomination to nature and a terror that haunts the soul of all mothers and fathers. When I thought of it in those terms, I didn't feel so sorry for Don anymore. Empathetic? Yes. Sorry? No.

“Listen Gina, I am taking Seth out of town for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks. I wanted you to let Don know that I would be gone.”

“Are you coming back?” she said in a tone that almost sounded panicked.

It never occurred to me that I would not come back, so the question took me completely off guard. It also gave me an uncomfortable moment of pause.

“Uh … yeah,” I stammered. “We intend to.”

I looked back in the window at Seth. He was still lip syncing and swaying his shoulders. Our eyes met and he motioned for me to come on and go already.

“Gina, I need to go. I know you and Don have my number if you need me,” I said, and then told her our travel destination.

“That sounds like fun,” she said. “Give Seth a hug for me.”

“I will. You guys take care. Tell Don to give me a call if he needs to talk.”

“I'll do that, Thomas. You are a good friend. Have a good trip and come back safely.”

“We will. Goodbye, Gina.”

I put the phone in my pocket, slipped into the driver's seat, and turned the volume down on the Jonas Brothers. Seth looked at me hopefully.

“Are you ready to rabble bridges?” he asked.