The Tesla Gate (22 page)

I wasn't sure if she wanted me to shake her hand or kiss it so I awkwardly did both, chilling both my lips and my right hand. She smiled and led me in the large oak front door. We entered a large foyer backed by an ornate winding staircase. A woman of at least 80 years was hobbling down the stairs. I sucked in air as I watched her cling to the banister with each tottering step down. When she finally reached the bottom she straightened up as much as her stooped frame would allow and smiled a bright toothy grin, which was a stark contrast to her apple doll appearance. Maybe she wore dentures, I thought.

“Hello Thomas!” she said. “I'm Mollie!”

“Pleased to meet you Ms. Hartje …” I started, but she held her hand up curtly.

“I told you, Thomas. It's Mollie. Is that a problem for you?” she asked firmly, but with a twinkle in her pale blue eyes.

“No, ma'am,” I said, like a reprimanded school kid. “Mollie it is.”

I couldn't help it. I was used to showing the appropriate respect for my elders, especially one who could pass as my great-grandmother. Lizzie, or Miss Chenowith as I called her, had been much less informal. She never insisted that I call her Lizzie but she also never corrected me for calling her Miss Chenowith.

On appearance, Miss Chenowith and Mollie could have passed for mother and daughter in spite of the fact that only five years separated the two of them. The years always seem to be kinder to some than others. Aside from youthful appearance, the most glaring contrast between the two women were their fashion choices. While Miss Chenowith looked like she could be going either to church or a funeral every day, Mollie's floral silk dress and bright red scarf in her thinning gray hair seemed to be a glaring contrast to her physical appearance but was also the perfect complement to her pleasant personality.

“This must be little Seth,” she said with an adoring, ear-to-ear smile. “You are such a beautiful child. I am pleased you came to my home.”

Seth's previous shyness seemed to have left as he walked past me and accepted a hug from our gracious host. She was not a tall woman and her stooped posture put her on the perfect level with Seth.

“I'm glad you brought your beautiful doggy, too,” she whispered in Seth's ear. “What's his name?”

“Jackson,” Seth replied proudly.

“Mighty fine, mighty fine,” she said, straightening up and looking back at me. “Well, I have a lot of people for you to meet. I think you will find them very interesting.”

CHAPTER 24

Tommy and Abe

“Caves are whimsical things, and geology
on a local scale is random and unpredictable.”

—William Stone

Mollie stopped before she had fully turned toward the large arched doorway to our right. “I take it you have met Esther here?” she asked, pointing a bony finger toward the beautiful Impal.

I nodded my head.

“She was my spirit guide,” Mollie said then paused. “I take it you met Shasta?”

“Yes, we did,” I replied.

She frowned thoughtfully and nodded her head, seemingly confident that a lengthy explanation of a spirit guide was not necessary. I knew what she was talking about, but I was still curious about the origins of Esther Baldwin. Judging by her clothing, she had been around at least a couple of hundred years.

“Where are you from, Esther?” I asked.

She glanced at Mollie as if searching for approval. When Mollie nodded, she smiled and started her story.

She was born in the year 1786, the daughter of an independently wealthy ship builder from Annapolis. She had no formal education but was very well self-educated by the extensive library her father provided in their home. While she was well read, she had no ambition to be anything other than a wife and mother. In any case, it would have been difficult to have fulfilled any ambitions at that time in history for a woman. Esther died suddenly before she could marry a local attorney, whom she had been courting for a year.

“I don't remember how or why,” she said, “but I was told that I passed from a case of milk fever. My mother and I both drank contaminated milk.” She looked at Mollie with a sad expression. Mollie smiled reassuringly and nodded her head. Esther turned back to me and finished.

“My mother went on and I stayed,” she said as silvery tears slid from her cheeks and disappeared through the shiny hardwood floor.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “So, you have been by yourself all these years? That must have been very difficult.”

She looked at me and shrugged.

“It has been sad without my mother but actually time was quite a bit different for me before all this.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, even though I know it has been 200 years here, for me it only seems like it has been a couple of weeks. I know that sounds strange, but I think it's a good thing. I can't imagine experiencing all that time invisible and intangible like I was.”

I thought I saw an almost imperceptible shudder as she finished. What she just told me made me feel a little better about Seth. It may have been two weeks between his death and the phenomenon, but if what she experienced was true for all Impals, two weeks may have seemed like two hours to him. I hoped that was the truth for all.

We entered a large library that was at least two-stories high. A catwalk extended around the top that was accessible by a singular wrought iron spiral staircase; hundreds of leather bound volumes ringed the room. I had the fleeting thought of wondering if Esther had been able to continue her education in here, but that thought vanished after what happened next.

Mollie walked up to the bookcase on the far wall and extended her hand. I first thought she was retrieving a book until she pushed it in and there was a loud clicking noise as the bookcase started to swing inwards. A moment later, a large doorway was revealed. A faint light in the distance provided enough illumination to see a short hall leading to a stone staircase. The light was coming from the bottom of the stairs.

A secret passage … really? I guess something like that shouldn't surprise me, considering everything I had seen the past week but I just couldn't get the Scooby Doo theme music out of my head. Of course, Scooby and his pal Shaggy would have been terrified of Impals and would have run off to the Mystery Machine to drown their terror with a gluttonous feast. Now that I thought about it, I was kind of hungry. I had been so stressed today and afraid to stop anywhere, so Seth and I had not had anything to eat since last night.

Hopefully Mollie is as good a cook as Miss Chenowith,
I thought to myself as I followed Mollie and Esther into the passage. With what seemed like psychic intuition, I felt Seth reach out and tug at my leg as we entered the semi darkness.

“Daddy, I'm hungry,” he whispered.

Esther turned and smiled at Seth and me.

“Of course, we have a big dinner planned for you shortly.” She looked at Seth and asked, “Do you know how to purge, sweetheart?”

Seth frowned uncomprehendingly and looked up at me. I smiled and patted him on the head.

“Yes, he does. But we call it squenching.”

Esther looked at me like I just announced that I was a cannibal. After several long moments, she blinked and gave a tittering laugh.

“Well, I guess that name is as good as any,” she said with an amused smile.

“It's not original. We ran into an Impal family on our way that called it that. I guess the name stuck.”

Mollie stopped and turned around so quickly I almost ran into her. She looked up at me with a kind but stern expression.

“We don't use that term around here,” she said. “Impal seems too much like a racial slur.”

Impal was the term I had become accustomed to. It seemed to fit, since it referred to people who had once been impalpable to us, but I guess I could see Mollie's point. That term had been created by the very people who were now rounding these people up for their own ‘safety' and ‘security,' our government. I had assumed that this was the name that everyone was using to refer to these people, but now that I thought about it, where had I heard that term? The answer was the radio. That question begged for a second one: who really had control of the airwaves? I had always adhered to conservative principals when it came to politics, so by nature I had a distrust of the government, a healthy one during normal times. But these were anything but normal times.

I blinked sheepishly down at Mollie. She smiled and patted me on the arm with a leathery hand.

“We refer to them as souls.”

I nodded. “Sorry.”

Both women smiled at me and beckoned for us to follow them down the stone stairs in front of us. The light was getting brighter and I could hear a smattering of voices. I jumped a little when the hidden door clanked shut behind us, sending a metallic echo bouncing off the stone walls. We seemed to be descending into a basement or root cellar, judging from the thin layer of moisture on the stone walls and floor. A musty, earthy smell grew stronger as we descended. When we reached the bottom, my jaw almost hit the floor.

We were in a very large room; actually, it was more of a cave. Small stalactites hung from a cathedral-like ceiling some 30 feet above us. The room was at least 50 yards across and ringed with a multitude of Coleman camping lanterns hanging from hooks embedded in the walls. I had been in much bigger caves before, so that was not what caused my awestruck reaction. It was the 100 or so Impals … I mean,
souls
, that populated the cavern.

Their combined ethereal glow, mixed with the lantern light, gave the place a surreal look, like a magical cave from a children's story. The souls were an eclectic mix of different time periods, genders, and ages. One of them caught my eye immediately, and incidentally that was the one who Mollie led me to.

The soul stood up from the wooden rocking chair he had been sitting in and met us halfway, giving Mollie a big bear hug as he bent his long and lanky frame over to embrace her. He stood up and stroked the tuft of black hair on his chin.

“Well, it looks like you have brought us more guests, Mollie,” he said giving us an appraising look. “Well, hello, young fella!” the man said, waving to Seth. “That's a fine-looking pup you have there!”

Seth stepped forward with a look of wonderment on his face.

“Are you Aberham Lincoln?” he asked, his pronunciation slightly off.

The man stood up straight and grabbed the lapels of his black coat. He looked at Seth with a twinkle in his eye.

“Well, that depends, what have you heard about Abraham Lincoln, my lad?”

Seth, being the intelligent kid that he is, recited his thorough grade school understanding of our 16th President. Lincoln seemed both impressed and amused with Seth's knowledge. He shook his head and chuckled.

“Well, I was from Illinois, but I never freed any slaves or restored the Union. I was just an old country boy who had some good folks and some good generals working for him. I was a lucky man.” He shook his head with a look of embarrassment on his face and waved his arm as if he were pointing at an object in the far corner of the cave. “I sure don't deserve that gaudy monument they built with me sitting in that uncomfortable-looking chair, like it was a dadgum throne.”

I suppose I looked like a deer caught in headlights as I stared at my idol. Lincoln was my all-time favorite president and I had read countless books and watched numerous movies about his life and presidency. He was not only a great leader but also a very humble man, with a modesty that seemed true to form of historic accounts. He saw me gawping at him and smiled politely as he extended his right hand.

“And who might you be, good sir?”

I stood with my mouth agape, hardly hearing his question. After several long moments he raised his eyebrows and started to withdraw his hand.

“This is Thomas Pendleton,” Mollie interjected. “He is Seth's father.”

I quickly snapped out of my hero-induced trance. I grabbed his hand before he had completely withdrawn it and shook enthusiastically, the cold and warmth mixing vigorously as I probably grasped his hand too hard.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Pendleton. Please, call me Abe.”

“Oh, I don't know if I could do that, Mr. President. It doesn't seem right.”

“What doesn't seem right,” Lincoln said with cautious exasperation, “is that folks should take on about me. I'm just a man, and not really that anymore.” He said as he paused to look at his luminescent hands. “I haven't been involved with anything important in 150 years. I've felt useless watching the thirty administrations that followed mine; all I have been able to do is watch. I haven't even been able to compliment a president when he does well or criticize when I know he is making a boneheaded mistake.” Lincoln paused with a disconcerted look on his face. He stroked his beard thoughtfully for several moments before he spoke again.

“That is, until this president. He is a good man at heart, but he really has nincompoops working for him, giving him advice. No, I think that is too inadequate, too trivial a word to describe it … there is a lack of morality by some of his advisors. It is scary.”

General Garrison immediately came to mind.

He shook his head as if to refocus his thoughts then looked at me and smiled.

“I'm sorry. I have a tendency to ramble sometimes.” He winked and said, “I'll make you a deal. I'll call you Tommy if you call me Abe.”

I still didn't feel comfortable addressing my hero informally, but I agreed to his proposal. The only person who had ever called me Tommy was my mom and Don Lewis. I guess I could make that exception for one of the most revered men in history. I wanted to talk with him, ask dozens of questions, but that would have to wait as Mollie announced it was time for dinner. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning who is ravenously hungry but doesn't want to tear himself away from his presents long enough to eat breakfast.

When Seth looked at me with excited anticipation over getting another home-cooked meal, I decided I could put my excitement aside long enough to have a good dinner. Besides, we were here for Seth and not my own historical curiosities.

But it's Abraham Lincoln, for God's sake,
I thought to myself as we all walked to a large cedar table in the corner.

A line of souls had formed to make a plate and then seat themselves orderly at one of at least a dozen tables nearby. I had not noticed at first, but it seemed that Mollie and I were the only non-deceased, non-soul, non-Impal … I wasn't sure what to call us. For the first time I felt like an outsider, a minority. Was that the way the people in the government felt? Part of me could see their side of the argument: the living could rapidly become a minority if this phenomenon kept up. Yes, I could understand their fear, but I couldn't condone how they were dealing with it. I wasn't sure we could do anything about it, either. I mean, the Constitution doesn't specifically guarantee rights to the deceased.

When we reached our turn in line, I didn't know whether to be disappointed or laugh. Instead of an immaculately prepared home meal, there was a platter full of hamburgers still in the wrapper. I smiled and took one, along with a handful of potato chips from a nearby ceramic bowl and a Coca-Cola from a Styrofoam cooler. I was a little disappointed, but I was also grateful for what we had. So were Seth and Jackson. Seth put his dinner on a paper plate while Jackson had his very own burger in a Styrofoam bowl. We took a seat at one of the dozen or so folding tables laid out as neatly and evenly as a school lunch room. We would have dinner and then, little did I know, I would have the conversation of my life.