“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.
CHAPTER 25
Capital Secrets
“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”
—Jonathan Swift
Dinner was greasy and good. The honorable Abraham Lincoln seemed to have a special affinity for hamburgers. I don’t think they had them in his time, but if they had, I don’t think he would have had such a slender frame.
Even though I did not use the term Impal publicly anymore, it was still the descriptor of choice in my head. I took notice of each and every one sitting at our table. Many were from Esther’s time, I would say about 50-100 years before Lincoln. There were a few from the Civil War, as evidenced by the uniforms and clothing they still wore. Another dozen or so were probably from the early 20th Century, and then a potpourri of time periods was represented from the 1920s all the way up to present day.
A small boy, not much older than Seth, watched us with keen interest from two tables over. When he got up and walked to get a refill on chips, I could see that he was wearing a green Lego Star Wars t-shirt. His silvery shimmer gave the two characters on the front, R2-D2 and C-3PO, a surreal animated appearance like they were moving about, as if they were doing a droid jig. When I saw his shirt, I thought to myself how well that Seth and the boy would get along with their common interest in Star Wars, but to my surprise, he kept his eyes on me most of the time, hardly noticing Seth.
When dinner was over, Mollie stood up and hobbled to the center of the tables on her cane. She looked around at the room and smiled brightly at everyone.
“I would like to thank everyone for being here tonight, and I hope you enjoyed the wonderful food provided by my son from his favorite burger place.”
As it turned out, Mollie’s son owned a chain of the Martian joints in the Maryland and northern Virginia area. I guess it’s good to have connections, especially when you have this many mouths to feed.
She proceeded to introduce Seth and me to the group. I felt like I was at an Impal Alcoholics Anonymous meeting as the unanimous response came back like it was spoken from inside a tin can.
Hi, Thomas and Seth.
“All are welcome here, souls and fleshers alike,” she said, pinching the sagging age-spotted skin on her right forearm, I would guess to demonstrate her status as a flesher. “It’s terrible times out there right now, terrible for us all.”
There was a murmuring of agreement from the crowd.
I didn’t want to offend, but I also wanted to know two things: why we were all eating burgers in a cave, and what else was going on that was more terrible than just rounding Impals up and relocating them? I slowly raised my hand.
“Yes, Mr. Pendleton,” Mollie smiled.
“You have a beautiful home, ma’am, and I’m happy to be here,” I said, cautiously. “But, what is this place we are in?” I asked, gazing up at a rather jagged stalactite above my head.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Pendleton!” she said, her pearly-white dentures in full display. “As to what this place is, I think Mr. Lincoln would be more qualified to give you a thorough explanation.” She gave a quick cackle of a laugh and said, “I have no doubt you will find it both fascinating and useful!”
When Mollie’s pep talk was over, everyone contributed in the cleanup and the Impals slowly made their way to an unassuming set of rock steps on the opposite wall of where Seth and I had entered. I tried to strike up a conversation with Lincoln again, but he politely interrupted me as he reached the base of the steps.
“Excuse me, Tommy,” he said. “I have to go up and purge. Gotta keep Mollie’s dogs fed and our house clean,” he said with a chuckle.
“Seth, you probably ought to go up and squench,” I said patting him on the head.
Lincoln emitted such a loud belly laugh, I jumped. His tinny laughter echoed through the cavern.
“Squenching … I like that!” he said in between guffaws. “Would you mind if I used that term? It sounds far less nasty than purging.”
“Be my guest,” I said, a little bemused. For a man that history reported to be somewhat melancholy, he sure liked to laugh.
He held out his hand for Seth and said, “My lad, would you care to join me for squenching?”
Seth couldn’t help but laugh and eagerly took Lincoln’s hand and followed him up the steps.
“We’ll be back shortly,” he promised as they rounded a bend at the top of the stairs and disappeared.
It made me nervous to let Seth out of my sight, if only for a few minutes, but my gut t
old me we were safe. I had no reason to believe otherwise. I turned to face the cavern in time to see the stuttering feet and cane of Mollie as she reached the top of the stairs leading to the secret passage. Shortly I heard the door in the bookshelf creak open and then clang shut a few moments later. I was alone in the cavern.
I stared around at the lanterns ringing the cave. They provided ample light by which to navigate, but they also gave the cave a mysterious aura like I was standing inside an ancient tomb that had just been lit for some sort of sacred ceremony. The only thing that dispelled that illusion were the rows of beds on the far wall. I had not noticed them at first because of the viewing angle I had when we came down the stairs and the fact that they were slightly obscured by a couple of rotund stalagmites.
I walked over and examined what I guessed must be the sleeping quarters for all the Impals that lived here. Actually, “lived” here might not be the correct word; it was more like they had taken refuge here with Mollie in her basement cave. The beds were in neat rows, much like the tables had been and were made up so tightly you couldn’t see a wrinkle on any of the sheets. I had counted up to 35 beds when I heard everyone coming back down the stairs from their squenching expedition.
I quickly stepped back, as not to appear snoopy, and turned to face the stairs. A man and a woman came down first. They were dressed in garb that suggested that they might have lived during the Great Depression or slightly before. They looked at me warily, obviously aware that I had been examining their sleeping area.
“Hello,” I said.
“Good evening, Mr. Pendleton,” the man said with a pensive smile. The woman did not speak but nodded at me with a wistful smirk.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Fairfax,” the man said then grabbed the woman by the hand. “Excuse us, Mr. Pendleton,” he said, then led the woman over to the farthest row of beds. They took a seat facing each other on adjoining beds and engaged in muted conversation, casting me an occasional furtive glance.
The Tesla Gate Page 21