The Tesla Gate (7 page)

I chuckled when I realized he had picked up on my ‘rattling bridges' expression.

“I'm ready!” I said as I turned the ignition over and fired the vehicle to life.

Seth looked at me with a puzzled frown.

“What does that mean?”

I explained to him that it was an expression I had picked up from my grandfather when I was a kid. The way he had explained it to me is that when he was young, most bridges were made of wood and they rattled when you crossed them. When you went on a trip you crossed a lot of bridges, so you were rattling bridges.

Seth looked at me with a mixture of doubt and comprehension. I suspect he comprehended the expression as well as any six-year-old could, not knowing anything of the world prior to the dawn of the 21st Century. Seth was a smart kid, though, smarter than I was at that age.

I shifted the SUV into reverse and cleared the garage door, closing it with a click of my remote. I carefully backed into the street. The neighborhood was still eerily silent and still. It was not empty, though. I noted several curious observers from a number of neighbors peering through drapes or blinds. We did live in a neighborhood with a high population of retirees and we didn't see them much. I couldn't even tell you half of my neighbors' names.

Zoning for our neighborhood dictated there be no names on the brick mailboxes, just the house number in raised brass letters. Most of my neighbors were just a number to me, I'm sad to say. I saw number 19 and 21 quickly withdraw their heads and shut the blinds as I stopped in the middle of the street and looked in their direction. They were embarrassed to be caught looking but they were frightened as well, and that I completely understood.

I was just about to shift into drive as I looked up into the lavender sky and the strange, yellow clouds. It made me think of Alice in Wonderland again, which made me think of Disney World, which ignited a memory, one I had not thought of in a long time. The first time I went to Disney World, the ride I was excited about the most was the Jungle Cruise. I guess maybe it was because I was a Tarzan fan as a kid. It was not just that strange sky that invoked this memory, it was also the feeling I had inside at this very moment.

When I got in the boat and took my seat in preparation for the ride, I had a nervous excitement burning within me. I was scared because I had no idea what dangers lurked ahead in the form of lions, hippos, or giant snakes, but I was excited because of the thrill of adventure and the thrill of the unknown. That was exactly how I felt now. I was scared of what was occurring and what we may encounter on our trip but I was also excited. This was definitely an unknown. I shifted the vehicle into drive and set out on a trip that would prove to be unlike any I had taken before.

CHAPTER 9

Father Wilson

“Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.”

—Francis of Assisi

The trip was unexpectedly delayed by the flashing of headlights and honking of a horn behind me. I looked in the mirror to see Father Wilson in his small green sedan desperately trying to get my attention.

Seth looked at me with a confused frown.

I smiled sympathetically as I secretly gritted my teeth in aggravation.

“I'm sorry, buddy. I guess the trip is going to have to wait a few minutes.”

His disappointed face was a direct reflection of how I felt. I was looking forward to our little adventure, I really was. I did not want to have a conversation with the Father now, I just wanted to get on the road.

“Who is it?” Seth asked, not recognizing the car.

I turned the wheel and pulled to the curb before shifting into park and stepping out.

Seth hopped out and bounded to my side.

“Is that Father Wilson, Daddy?”

“Yes,” I said, but when I saw his worried look I knelt down beside him. “We won't be long; he just wants to wish us well on our trip.”

“Why don't you go in the house and play while I talk to the Father.”

“Can I get my toys out?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said as I opened the back door.

He grabbed his duffel bag of toys and set it on the ground with one hand out.

I looked at him stupidly as he continued to hold out his hand with mounting impatience.

“Can I go inside?” he asked.

I shook my head like I was trying to sweep away the cobwebs then gently placed the keys in his palm.

“Here ya go, buddy,” I said as he started for the door.

“Okey dokey,” he called as he put the key in the lock and opened the door. It just occurred to me that Seth could have gotten in the house without the aid of a key. I was glad to see that we were keeping it normal. Of course, I really had no idea what was normal anymore.

Just as I watched Seth disappear into the house, a lump formed in the pit of my stomach. Father Wilson had gotten out and was walking toward me, a stern but pleasant expression on his face. I did want to talk to him about some of the discussion topics at Seth's school, but I didn't want to have that conversation now.

He was dressed as he typically is – black shirt, black pants and white priest's collar. With his gray hair and sagging jowls he has always reminded me of the old priest in
The Exorcist
Childishly, my first impulse was to run inside and lock the door, but the time had come to speak to the man. I really didn't have any more excuses to put him off. He had been concerned for my well-being after Ann and Seth's accident, which I appreciated. But I had blown him off because I didn't want to have that discussion with anyone especially after my friends' – primarily Gina and Don Lewis – goodhearted attempts to rid my house of all reminders of my wife and child's existence. I wasn't ready to let go, and am not sure I ever will be. I guess in my view, discussing it with a priest would put the final dagger through my heart; it would give their existence the finality that I was not prepared to acknowledge.

My issues about discussing abortion and suicide with six-year-olds seemed trivial now considering what had happened to me and what was going on in the world, but it suddenly occurred to me that he might have an interesting perspective on current events. As it turned out, he did, he had also come to discuss one of the very topics I had wanted to discuss with him.

“Good morning, Father,” I said, smiling as he approached me with an apprehensive expression. I understand his wariness, since the last couple of visits from him I was less than cordial, practically slamming the door in his face.

“Good morning, Thomas,” he drawled. Father Wilson had always sounded more like a stereotypical southern evangelist than a stereotypical Catholic priest. He paused momentarily, half-looking at the ground and half-looking at me before he continued.

“How are you today?” he said quietly with sincere undertones of empathy in his voice.

I extended my hand to him. “I'm fine, Father.”

He looked genuinely shocked for a moment but quickly recovered and shook my hand vigorously.

“I'm glad to hear that Thomas. I just stopped by to let you know that if you ever need to talk, I am here,” he said, and then paused as his face wrinkled into a more serious expression. “Especially if you would like to talk about what is going on now.”

It suddenly dawned on me that he must know about Seth. Determining how he found out didn't take very long because the only people that knew Seth was back were Don and Gina Lewis. I didn't think Don had told him because he was too busy with his own issues. The question is, did Gina tell him before or after I spoke with her this morning? I guess it didn't really matter; she thought she was doing the right thing as misguided as her good intentions often were.

“We're fine,” I said, watching his reaction carefully.

My suspicion was confirmed as he showed no surprise at my use of the plural pronoun.

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it!” he said. “Is he …?”

“In the house,” I finished. “I would prefer that we leave him out of our discussion.”

Father Wilson nodded sheepishly.

“Of course,” he said.

“And, no … his mother is not with him,” I said as a breeze blew the aroma of Ann's prize rose garden past my nose. The fragrance invoked a sweet memory of my beloved wife. It took everything I had to suppress a tear.

Father Wilson did not respond but simply nodded with a sympathetic smile.

I decided not to beat around the bush.

“Can you explain what is happening, Father?” I asked.

His face lit up as brilliantly as the lavender sky.

“Oh, yes … isn't it wonderful?” he beamed.

All I could manage was an incredulous stare; the good Father had taken me completely by surprise. Before I could formulate a response, he continued.

“It proves what we have been preaching for centuries, proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

“What?” I managed to utter stupidly.

He looked at me as if I was laughable.

“Why, the existence of the soul of course!” he grinned with the same overindulgence of excitement.

I have to admit that my view of the whole event had been very narrowly focused. I had not yet considered the larger implications that this incident held. Frankly, it was just not that important to me. What was important was a “who,” and that “who” was in the house, and I wanted to get back to him. As anxious as I was, my curiosity kept me engaged with the Father.

“Why are they here?” I asked.

“Well from what I hear, they are here by choice,” he said.

I nodded with as neutral an expression as I could manage. I had no intention of telling him anything about Seth, especially not his mention of the doors and Ann.

“That proves another point we have been preaching for centuries,” Father Wilson said. “It proves that God does give us free will!”

I was starting to think that Father Wilson was sounding more like an attorney than a priest, laying out his proof to a jury of one.

“Is that what you came to tell me?” I asked, starting to get a little irritated. I really wanted to go in and check on Seth.

“No, no,” he said, his jovial demeanor suddenly replaced with a look of seriousness. “I wanted to warn you.”

He got my attention.

“About what?” I asked.

He blinked and fidgeted before clearing his throat and continuing with a question.

“Did you know that everyone who dies now has no choice?”

I shook my head and shrugged, clearing not grasping his meaning.

“They are stuck here whether they like it or not,” Father Wilson said.

I started shaking my head, confused as to what exactly he was telling me. My shaking head slowly ceased as comprehension dawned.

“Everybody?” I asked.

The Father nodded his head curtly.

“Everybody,” he said.

Grief is capable of putting all kinds of strange thoughts into a person's head. I had a thought hit me from nowhere.

If Ann and Seth had to die, why couldn't it have been a couple of weeks later?

I felt ashamed for thinking such a thing and quickly tried to shove the thought out of my head, but it refused to leave, hanging on as stubbornly as my love for my lost wife.

Father Wilson allowed me to absorb this information as he nervously pulled at his collar, trying to get cool. It was still relatively early in the morning, but the temperature was already in the mid-'80s. Sweat beaded on my lip and streamed down my back as I pondered this for several moments. Gradually my thoughts fell back to his original statement; that he had come to warn me about something.

“What did you want to warn me about?” I asked.

“Well,” he began with a nervous cough. “Do you know Elbert Bachman?”

I nodded my head. I did vaguely know Elbert and his wife. They were an older couple at the church, very nice and generous, but we were not close friends. I guess that is why I was shocked last year when Elbert asked me to be a pall bearer at his wife's funeral. I agreed to the request and in the end I was honored to help lay his beloved Gertrude to rest. I guess I had something in common with Elbert now, something terrible.

“Yes,” I said. “His wife died last year.” I paused for a moment and asked, “Is she back?”

Father Wilson nodded his head mournfully. I didn't understand his sorrowful reaction until he answered.

“Yes and Elbert tried to be with her or be like her,” he said.

“He died?” I said.

“He committed suicide,” the Father said staring at the ground and slowly shaking his head.

It felt like a small tea kettle had boiled over in my stomach at this proclamation, I was suddenly reminded of the conversation I had intended to have with Father Wilson. But it was nothing compared to the volcano that was about to erupt.

“So … they are together now?” I asked.

The Father continued to shake his head sadly, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

“Not exactly,” he said in a hushed voice.

He finally looked up at me after several silent moments and said in the same quiet voice, “It proves what we've been saying about suicide all these years.”

I looked at him, feeling my cheeks start to flush with anger.

“Is he burning in Hell?” I asked, sarcasm dripping from my words.

If the Father was offended by my off handed remark, he didn't show it. His mouth was drawn in a straight line and he looked directly at me as he spoke.

“He is in a coma; well at least his spirit is any way. According to what I heard on the news this morning that seems to be what has happened to everyone who has committed that unforgiveable sin since this all started.”

My curiosity dispersed my anger momentarily.

“A coma?” I repeated a bit perplexed.

“Yes, it seems the spirit left the body true enough, but then it instantly falls into a deep, catatonic sleep.”

“No one has woken up?” I asked.

“Not yet, but of course it hasn't been that long yet. I think it is God's way of telling us it is wrong, and he separates these souls from the others,” Father Wilson added.

I could feel my anger starting to rise again. I don't know why Father Wilson has always gotten under my skin; I generally agree with most of his beliefs. I think it is his delivery, his lack of tact, especially when it came to his non-age-appropriate discussions with the children at the school. Like Don, he never has had much of a filter between his brain and mouth. That is a dangerous condition for a priest to suffer from. Little did I know that with my next question, my inner volcano was about to blow.

“So what did you want to warn me about?” I asked, impatiently. While this information was interesting, I didn't see how any of it pertained to me.

Father Wilson looked at me with raised bushy white eyebrows and spoke in a hushed but unfiltered tone, like the answer should be as perfectly plain as the nose on my face.

“I didn't want the same thing to happen to you.”

First, I was dumbstruck. The thought had never even entered my mind. That lasted only a couple of moments as the rage seemed to work its way up from my gut and spread to all of my extremities with a radiating heat, finally erupting from my mouth with a viral explosion.

“Who in the hell do you think you are? What the hell makes you think I would even consider something like that?” I hissed.

Father Wilson's mouth opened and closed wordlessly like a fish gasping for oxygen. He continued to gaze at me with eyes bulging from shock and a mouth still silently opening and closing. I walked around and opened the passenger door, pretending that I was looking for something in the glove box, hoping that he would take the hint. I am not a short-tempered individual by any stretch of the imagination, but Father Wilson was one of those few people who could push the envelope with my resolve to be civil. Thankfully, he slowly retreated to his car and drove away. Deep down I felt bad about our encounter, but on the other hand I don't think anyone has said something so offensive to me in a long time. The very idea that I might contemplate suicide to be with Seth. I would do anything for my boy, but I don't see how that could be helpful, especially now that he is back.

I went inside to check on Seth. I needed to cool off as well, between the weather and Father Wilson I felt like my head was in a crock pot. I found Seth sitting on the living room floor playing with a couple of Hot Wheels cars. He seemed as pleasant as ever, thankfully unaware of my confrontation with the good Father.

“When can we go, Daddy?” he asked.

“Now,” I promised. “As soon as you gather your toys.”