The Tesla Gate (9 page)

“It, what?” prodded the host.

“Well,” began Dr. Winder. “You must understand, every soul or spirit that has remained here has done so voluntarily, of their own free will.”

“Yes, that is true,” Einstein added. “Every soul I have met, myself included.”

“So, what are you saying doctor?” the host asked.

“The president asked me to be straightforward with people, so that is what I will do.”

He cleared his throat again nervously before continuing.

“Since this phenomenon started two days ago, the persons that exercised their freewill at death reappeared, but so has everyone else.”

“I don't understand, doctor,” the host said. “What do you mean,
everyone else?”

“It would seem that free will is no longer an option. You see, everyone that has died in the past two days has remained here. They have no choice.”

CHAPTER 11

On the Road

“The absence of the soul is far more terrible
in a living man than in a dead one.”

—Charles Dickens

I had to hear it repeated to understand what was said. Father Wilson had tried to tell me the same thing earlier, but I had not been in a listening mood. Reflecting on our conversation, I was suddenly shaken out of my trance by an eighteen-wheeler that had just passed at a great rate of speed. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw someone like Seth looking at me through the big rig's passenger window; they appeared to have the same ethereal glow. I quickly focused my attention back on the radio as the host dutifully asked Dr. Winder to repeat his statement.

“Yes, everyone that has died in the past 48 hours has remained here. There is no longer a choice, as reported by a few Impals who I have spoken with, no great door to choose to go through or not. They currently have no choice … their body dies and they simply leave it and carry on, like someone parking their car and walking,” Dr. Winder said in a tone reminiscent of a news correspondent reporting on some great disaster.

“Impals?” questioned the host.

“Yes … that's the nickname some scientists came up with last night, to describe the people that have manifested as a result of this event.”

“What does Impal mean?” the host asked.

“Yes, could you please elaborate on this … this nickname?” Einstein added, a faint hint of suspicion was detectable in his tone.

“It means impalpable, which is best described as not capable of being perceived by the senses. They started calling these folks “the Impalpables” then “Impals” for short. Because before the storm they were impalpable to us,” Dr. Winder said with a nervous laugh.

“I am at least glad to see that you referred to us as ‘folks,'” Einstein said, his voice stern. “In my experience, nicknames for a people are never a good thing. Yes … we are still people even though we have no physical body. I would say that we are the very essence of humanity.”

“I … I meant no disrespect, Dr. Einstein,” Dr. Winder stammered. “I was just unsure of how to refer to our people who are newly visible.”

“Refer to them as people,” Einstein said. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

I understood Einstein's concerns all too well. You never know when watching The History Channel will pay off. I found his biography fascinating. He was born in Germany and was already a world-renowned scientist before immigrating to the United States in 1933.

He made this decision due to the rise to power of the Nazis under Germany's new chancellor, Adolf Hitler. While visiting American universities in April, 1933, he learned that the new German government had passed a law barring Jews from holding any official positions, including teaching at universities. A month later, the Nazi book burnings occurred, with Einstein's works being among those burnt, and Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels proclaimed, “Jewish intellectualism is dead.” I am sure from Einstein's point of view demographic nicknames are just the beginning to something much, much worse.

“I have heard reports of Impals being hungry and even eating,” the host said. “Can you gentleman explain why this drive and function would be part of these ‘people's' characteristics?”

There was a long silence before Dr. Einstein fielded the question.

“Biology is not my area of expertise so I cannot offer a valid opinion,” he said with caution. “But … I can tell you from personal experience that I get hungry like before and can eat and taste to some degree just as before. I don't know why, but it is true.”

“Do you … do you digest?” the host asked.

“I do not care to discuss personal matters publicly, sir,” Einstein said flatly.

“Any thoughts on this, gentlemen?” the host asked addressing the other two men.

Both admitted that they were at a loss. They couldn't even begin to explain what was happening to manifest the Impals, much less explain their ‘bodily' functions.

The remaining ten minutes of the program involved profuse apologies to Dr. Einstein, even though he assured them that no apology was necessary. They all confessed they had no idea what the energy from the storm is and no idea of its effects on the human body, that is to say, the corporeal body.

Dr. Einstein would be working with the scientists to find answers quickly and to alleviate fears. That was reassuring, but when you got right down to it, none of them had any more of an idea what was happening than a monkey has a concept of calculus. This was an unknown that the world would have to blunder about in for a while. I hoped for my and Seth's sakes that it would be a very long time. The program did confirm the two things that Father Wilson had told me. People who die now have no choice and apparently there had been an alarming number of suicides since the phenomenon started. The nickname bestowed on these unfortunate souls was “sleepers.”

The more I thought about, in a vague way I could somewhat understand the actions of these desperate people. Not that I agreed with it, but I understood it. In the time after Ann and Seth's death, I did wish numerous times that I had died, too. The pain of losing them made death seem like an attractive alternative. It would stop the pain and I would be with them, forever. My lamenting over my mortality was more a regretful wish than a plan of action; I never thought about seriously going through with it. While I still felt Father Wilson's remarks offensive, I guess I could understand his concern. Perhaps people felt emboldened now that there was definitive proof of life after death. The mystery of mortality was now on full display.

I didn't give the new developments much more thought until we were halfway between Little Rock and Memphis. Traffic began to noticeably slow and then eventually came to a complete standstill, with everyone merging into the left lane. In a situation like this, it's either construction or a wreck. After just two miles in 30 minutes' time, I could see the ominous flashing blue and red of the police and fire department; it was a wreck, and a bad one by the looks of it. As we drew nearer, I could see an eighteen-wheeler turned on its side. It was resting on the crumpled frame of a white minivan. My stomach lurched when I saw the twisted remains; I knew no one could have survived.

Just as we passed the toppled cab of the truck, my fear was confirmed. We came upon the most bizarre sight that I have ever seen. Lying in a neat row just beyond the right shoulder were four white sheets. The length of each sheet seemed to get progressively shorter from left to right. I had the unintended and distasteful thought of that commercial showing cell phone bars. I knew it was the remains of four people, probably a family judging by the minivan, the varying sizes of the sheets covering the remains and, well … the people.

A man, woman, and two girls—the youngest of whom was probably Seth's age—stood a few feet away from the sheets, embracing each other and staring dumbly all about them. They all had the same glowing silvery shimmer like the surface of a lake on a sunny day. Their ethereal light combined with the lavender sky, giving the scene a surreal feeling, like it was some bizarre dream. But the confused and horrified faces of the officers, firemen and EMTs, who had probably seen it all at one time or another, was enough to bring the dreamlike vision into focused reality. The worst were the terrified and confused expressions of the family. They had been killed, yet they were still here – no choice.

I looked at Seth, still sleeping peacefully, his head lolling listlessly in my direction. At that moment it hit me like a slap to my face. It was easy to look at Seth as just what he appeared to be: my son. And he was, after all … I could accept that.

No, in actuality, I welcomed that. I had him back and that was good. But when I saw the family and their bodies, the “who” with the “what,” so to speak, it felt like peeking behind the scenes of a popular ride or movie; the illusion was shattered. The two faces of death were on public display by the eastbound lane of Interstate 40 today – the “who” and the “what” in full comparison and contrast. It made me pity the family and mourn Seth once again when I thought of what he suffered to reach this state. He seemed happy, but I thought I could detect a faint sadness under his boyish grin and laughter. My God, what had he seen and experienced in the last two weeks? For my own peace of mind, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

I wanted to be sick but I held my gorge until we reached the rest area five minutes later. I had never realized what the consequences of this phenomenon could be other than my own selfish desire to have my son again. I puked until I thought my shoes were going to come up the back of my throat. I would like to say it made me feel better, but it didn't.

When I returned to the vehicle a few minutes later, I was greeted by a sleepy-eyed but smiling Seth.

“Are we at the Moozem yet?” he asked.

“No buddy, we have a ways to go,” I said with a faint smile as I swallowed hard to soothe my burning throat. In kid time, we had an eternity left to go; we hadn't even left Arkansas yet.

He frowned dejectedly, and then a look of alarm washed over his face.

“I got to go tinky!” he exclaimed and hopped out the door. He was making a beeline for the restroom when I stopped him.

“Let me come with you,” I said as I put a hand on his cold shoulder.

He puffed out his chest and exclaimed proudly.

“I'm a big boy!”

“Of course you are,” I said as I felt the strange mixture of warmth and cold as he turned his shoulders, causing my fingers to pass through. This time it gave me the sensation of passing my fingers through a hot fudge sundae.

“I'll wait right here and watch the door,” I said.

He smiled proudly and skipped off toward the men's side, drawing the looks of several rest area patrons in the process. He seemed to be the only … what did the doctor call it? Impal? He was the only one present in the rest area, at least as far as I could see. Prudence told me that I should move a little closer to the door, just in case curious ignorance got the best of one of the bystanders. I'm sure his trip to the restroom was as much a mystery to them as it was to me, and I had seen him try to eat.

He returned a minute later with a frown on his face.

“Did everything come out all right?” I joked.

He looked at me a little confused and slightly less amused by my poor attempt at humor.

“False alarm,” he said.

“Did you feel like you needed to go?” I asked.

He shrugged.

I was as flabbergasted by this as I was his attempt to eat Chockit Berries. How could he have any desire to eat or a need to use the restroom? The cereal had ended in disaster and I didn't care to think of the prospects of answering nature's call. But he said he was hungry, and he said the cereal tasted good even if his body couldn't contain it. Is it possible that there are some physical functions that are not solely physical? Eating can bring as much enjoyment emotionally as it can physically. Perhaps “food for the soul” has a deeper meaning than we thought. I couldn't reconcile the other bodily function, that is, until I questioned Seth further. I asked him a leading question, as is often necessary when speaking to children.

“Seth … did you go to the restroom because you saw me go?”

He hesitated then crinkled his nose like he had just sniffed an unpleasant aroma, which was both appropriate and ironic considering the state of the lavatory. It brought a smile to my face.

“Maybe …” he said and pursed his lips as if in deep concentration.

“You don't have to go now?”

“No.”

“Did you feel the urge to p–, uh, tinky?” I asked, being careful to stay within his vocabulary.

“I don't think so,” he said. “I just knew I needed to go whenever we stop, cause you don't like to have to stop too much.”

I smiled and winked. “That's right, buddy. We want to get to the Museum as quick as we can, right?”

He smiled so broadly his unearthly shimmer seemed to glow more brightly.

“Let's go!” he exclaimed and sprinted back to the vehicle.

I didn't feel as sick anymore. Oh, the ghost of my nausea was still there, hiding deep inside. I knew it wouldn't take much to bring it to the surface again. I decided that I needed to refocus my attention and energy on Seth and our trip. I would focus my attention on my son, the “who” that came home, not the “what” that would forever remain under the green zoysia grass of Oak Grove. I made myself this promise with the strong hope that no more reminders presented themselves.

We started out on the road again, determined to make Memphis by noon. The remaining miles passed uneventfully. I was starting to get hungry; it had been almost five hours since breakfast, and what I did have for breakfast was left about 80 miles back. Seth claimed he was hungry, too. Maybe he was and maybe he wasn't; I was more inclined to believe the
idea
that he was hungry or that he had to tinky. Perhaps these urges were just all in his head, a latent instinct from when the “who” and the “what” were one and the same.

Of course, one of Seth's favorite restaurants was one that every kid loves and one that I absolutely despise – Martian Burger. Oh sure, when I was a kid I enjoyed it, with a high metabolism and squeaky clean arteries, but now every time I eat a French fry I feel as if I'm shoveling a little more dirt out of my grave. If I keep thinking of that analogy, I'll lose my appetite all together.

“Okay, Seth … what would you like for lunch?” I asked on his third complaint of an empty tummy.

“A Martian hambooger and grape soda!” he proclaimed.

Seth loved hamburgers, or “hamboogers,” as he liked to call them. And, as suspected, it had to be the Martian joint. Whatever faint hope I had of scoring a trip to anywhere less greasy was dashed. I turned the SUV off the exit ramp and headed for the giant flying saucer burger in the sky with two animated tentacles suspended on top.