The tunnel vision I had self-imposed before in the name of financial security for my family blinded me to the bigger picture of what was really important, what was more important than any monetary reward my absence from their lives could have provided. It seemed that I had pulled the old blinders out again, dusted them off, and renamed them the mission to make my time with Seth worthwhile.
Hadn’t it already been worthwhile? Whether we made it in the museum or not, I would not have traded my last few weeks with Seth for anything. I don’t think Seth would have, either. Sure, he would have been disappointed for a while if we couldn’t go in, but he would have gotten over it. I guess I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking another promise to him, not now … not like this.
My single-minded obsession eventually provided a viable yet dangerous solution. Seth and Patrick may look completely normal now with a pocketful of batteries, but they were still Impals, and that meant they could still pass through solid objects—objects like a museum wall or a window. The problem is that they would have to do it without being seen. That was a huge problem in a place with a lot of people and a lot of security. I had to think … where is the best place to accomplish this? A moment later the answer dawned on me.
My last visit here had been on a business trip when Seth was just four-years-old. I had an afternoon off and was glassy-eyed from a full morning of meetings, so I decided to get out and get some fresh air. I walked up the mall from the hotel and visited the Air and Space Museum. I am not sure why I chose this museum from all the other possible destinations in the capital city, maybe it was because I had watched the movie Apollo 13 the previous night in my hotel room and I had space on my mind. I had a nice visit, and just as I was preparing to leave, a thunderstorm hit. Having no umbrella and no raincoat, I decided to wait it out in the museum.
After 30 minutes of steady downpour with no letting up in sight, I broke one of my rules that I had vowed I would not do again: I ate fast food. No, I didn’t walk to one; as convenience would have it, there was a large McDonalds attached to the museum
This particular restaurant was most unorthodox for a typical McDonald’s; it was solid glass from floor to ceiling. It provided an impressive view of the surrounding buildings through the rain streaked glass ceiling. On one side of the restaurant there were rows of tables along the glass windows, windows that ran right up to the sidewalk on the back of the building. On the surface that wouldn’t sound like anything noteworthy except for the fact that the tables obstructed lower three feet of the window. I knew this because I had been startled to see a young couple sitting against the outside glass and making out when I sat down with my Big Mac and Coke. It was nearly impossible for someone inside to see a person sitting outside the window or, perhaps, a child crawling through it.
The outside of the window was the rub because it had a clear and unobstructed view from the street. Someone, especially a wanted someone could easily be spotted from outside. But, assuming the place hadn’t been remodeled since my last visit and we timed it carefully, this could work.
With exhilaration of newfound hope, I jumped up and grabbed Seth and Patrick by their hands and led them to the sidewalk. Both boys were resistant at first until I sat them down on a bench a good distance from the hustle and bustle of the entrance.
“I thought we were going to the moozem, Daddy,” Seth said in a pitifully sad voice. Patrick didn’t say anything; he just looked at me with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.
I explained to both boys my plan in detail, making sure they understood every single aspect, emphasizing the consequences of what could happen if we got caught.
“You mean they would take me away?” Seth asked.
Patrick still did not speak, instead he alternated his gaze between me and Seth for a moment, then smirked and stared at the ground.
I guess I had been operating under the assumption that Seth was fully aware of what was going on. He is a smart kid, and even though I had not come right out and told him he was in danger of being rounded up like a wanted criminal, I assumed that laying low in the back of the SUV with Jackson, narrowly escaping the police after his kidnapping and carjacking, fleeing down an old tunnel with the military in pursuit, hiding in a basement for days, and then having to use batteries to go out in public incognito, well … I assumed he had taken the hint. Kids are trusting and optimistic as a general rule, a little too much at times. It ripped my heart out as I watched his innocence wash away as the truth sank in. He looked at me with terrified eyes.
Tears dropped from Seth’s cheeks and then turned to silvery streaks in midair before disappearing without a trace into the sidewalk. Like any good father would, I reached out and pulled Seth tight, taking care not to squeeze too hard, which could give us away to an observant bystander. This did not help Patrick’s sullen attitude. He looked at us as if I were a dancing hippopotamus in a tutu, and then he started walking slowly up the street, staring down at his shoes.
We caught up to Patrick before he made it to the end of the block. He didn’t look at me but reluctantly took my hand as we made a right turn and around the glass McDonald’s attached to the east side of the museum. I could see dozens of people dining on fast food goodness along with a large number of kids running about. It was getting close to lunchtime and the place was packed; this was not going to be easy to do without being spotted.
We made it to the next corner a minute later and made another right turn. A few moments later, we were at a large courtyard area that separated the McDonald’s from the sidewalk. The courtyard spanned the length of the restaurant up until a few feet before it connected with the actual museum. It was sparsely populated by small round flower beds, a number of stone benches, and a few trash receptacles. Most of the benches were full of weary tourists and one was occupied by a sleeping homeless man. I did a double-take at the man because there was something unusual about him. Was he…? I didn’t have time to ask the question, because before I could fully form the thought, it was answered for me.
A loud screeching of tires behind me made me jump with surprise and when I turned around and saw the police officers piling out of their DC Metro cruisers, I knew what was going on. I grabbed Seth and Patrick, turning them away from the scene and directing their focus to the other side of the courtyard. I believe I was successful in diverting Seth’s attention but not Patrick. He watched with fervent curiosity as the hapless man, who was actually a hapless Impal, was cuffed with iron around his neck and wrists, then savagely tossed into the back of the lead police cruiser. I was shocked at what happened next.
A smattering of applause rang out from a good number of the bystanders. Not everyone clapped, though. Several people had looks of disgust on their faces, like me, but it was enough to give me a moment of pause, which quickly turned into a moment of rage. I felt like breaking every single one of their hands. What the hell did they mean by applauding such barbaric behavior? Surely the government had not been this effective with anti-Impal propaganda in such a short period of time.
I guess if you repeat a lie long enough, people will eventually start to believe it. If a person had no Impal acquaintances then really they had no idea what to believe and no choice but to believe the government. Why not believe that Impals are devious, want to take over, and will very shortly cause a population problem? After all, the moniker of ghost or spirit has carried a negative connotation for centuries.
I had not felt this vulnerable on our entire journey as I felt at this exact moment. I was asking two young boys to pull together and potentially reveal themselves to a group of people who obviously despised them, all to go and look at a bunch of old airplanes. Was I crazy? No, I just loved my son too much to disappoint him again. I had to keep my promise. There was no other option.
A pair of Army trucks rumbled by on the street, probably full of Impals, but I did not look. I was determined to have nothing shake my resolve as I led the boys over to a
bench, less than a foot from the glass window of McDonald’s. I sat them down and began to give them instructions, putting our fate in the hands of two young boys who wouldn’t even be old enough to vote if they combined their ages. When I had finished, I stood up and patted both of their heads reassuringly, gave them a wink and the most confident smile I could muster, and then set out for the main entrance on the other side of the building. I looked over my shoulder as I rounded the corner of the restaurant; both boys were still sitting on the bench as I had instructed and swinging their legs with nervous excitement. They passed from view as I made the turn and I focused myself on the task at hand, picking up the pace a little as I headed for the entrance.
A few minutes later, I was in the line for security check. As far as I could tell, I had no more metal on me than the zipper on Mr. Guffey’s borrowed slacks. I passed through the metal detector flanked by intimidating security people with solid black uniforms brandishing a museum patch on the right breast, which depicted the Kitty Hawk and the space shuttle. I made it through with not so much as a beep.
I felt a strong tinge of worry when I saw one of the security people looking at me conspicuously, a large black woman with short bobbed hair and a rigid stone face. After a few moments she smirked, shook her head, and turned her attention back to the door. I assumed she was looking at my white ankles exposed by my loaner britches, which were about two inches too short and just slightly snug in the waist. Yes, I looked like a dork. Especially with the brown bowling shirt, but with the millions of people that came through here each year, I was sure they had probably seen worse.
Not wanting to leave Seth and Patrick alone any longer than I had to, I quickly rushed to the gift shop to carry out the next objective of my plan: I bought batteries. I figured about six AAs apiece would suffice; I didn’t know how to judge a battery’s life expectancy with an Impal anymore than I could explain what was going on with the phenomenon. Sometimes you just have to wing it and hope for the best.
I made my way across the museum as casually and covertly as I could. Until I was passing the Apollo 11 capsule, it didn’t sink in how much I had been sweating. The cool, sterile air pumping from the vents high above is common in most museums and something that I appreciate under normal circumstances, but not today. When I passed under the behemoth vent, I felt like 100 Impals had touched me all at the same time. My chest under my saturated shirt, my pasty arms and face not to mention the back of my neck all screamed with shock as the frigid air engulfed me. It was not an overly warm day, but my nervous perspiration made me look like I had just come in from the desert. A young couple passed by, pushing matching strollers, one with an infant and the other with a toddler. The man paused to look at me.
“Are you all right?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
“Yes,” I replied as I wiped sweat beads from my brow and the end of my nose. My heart thundered in my chest as another security guard passed, looking at me suspiciously. “I just ran here from the Lincoln Memorial to catch up with my wife and son,” I lied. It must have been a convincing lie because he nodded his head and smiled then continued on with his wife.
The security guard was not as convinced of my benevolence. He continued to look at me for several moments after the couple walked on. I suppose I would have stared at me as well in all my sweat-saturated, high-water pants dorkiness. I stood out and that was not good. As I sat down on a nearby bench to try and collect myself, I stupidly wondered if that would be considered as some sort of illegal profiling. My self-indulgence into politically incorrect humor did little to calm my nerves. The only thing that would do that is time, no … that’s not true. The only thing that would do that is to get Seth and Patrick safely back to Mr. Guffey’s. When I felt that I had reasonably reduced my perspiration from a downpour to a drizzle, I stood up and set out for the large golden arches on the opposite side of the exhibit hall.
As luck would have it, we were now on the backside of the lunch hour so there were only a few people in line. They were scattered among the five lines that were open, so fortunately there was one completely devoid of patrons. As I walked up to place my order, a pimple-faced, redheaded teenager smiled broadly from behind a set of glasses that looked like a pair of Coke bottle bottoms. He didn’t look at me judgmentally, but instead just happily took my order. I guess the young man was not a hypocrite, because his awkward appearance probably trumped my own.
I ordered my old standby, a Big Mac and chocolate shake; I didn’t feel very hungry, but that was not the point. If I went to the table without an order it might draw attention. In the two minutes it took to get my food, I tried to discreetly look at the window where Seth and Patrick should be waiting. It was a good 30 yards away and I didn’t see them, which caused me a twinge of worry, but that was also a good thing if they were following instructions, staying low and inconspicuous.
I set my gift store bag containing the batteries on my tray and casually walked toward the window where the boys should be waiting. I paused when I saw an attractive young woman sitting about ten feet away from the planned point of entry for the boys. She had a preschool age girl who was contentedly munching on fries as she examined her happy meal toy, which looked like a horse with a rainbow-colored mane. The woman was bottle feeding an infant while she took intermittent sips of her soft drink. I hoped they would get up and leave soon, because she had a clear line of sight to where the boys would be coming in. I slowly approached the table and sat down, peering carefully over the table as I sat. My heart both lifted and dropped at the same time. Seth was there waiting patiently, just as I had instructed. When he saw me through the glass his face lit up with excitement. The problem was that Patrick was nowhere to be seen.
Seth had been good and patient and followed my instructions, but when he saw me, caution fled his brain. I had not given him the signal or even had a chance to get the batteries out of their package and ready to hand off to him. He dropped his batteries on the concrete of the courtyard where they slowly started rolling toward the street. Seth dropped to his knees and slowly pushed his now luminescent body through the glass. A few moments later he was hunkered under the table with his hand outstretched for a battery refill.
I quickly tore at the package and popped it open, sending batteries scattering across the table and dropping with loud clicks into the floor. Seth scooped them up and stuffed them in his pocket. The silvery glow faded, restoring his flesher appearance. I started to breathe a sigh of relief as Seth climbed out from under the table and took a seat across from me. My breath was cut short when I looked at the woman. She was staring at us with a look of bewilderment frozen on her delicate features. The drizzle of sweat turned back into a downpour as my guts twisted with panic. She was going to scream or report us or something, and that would be the end—the end of our journey, and the end of my gift of borrowed time with my son.
CHAPTER 32
Journey’s End
“Words have no power to impress the mind
without the exquisite horror of their reality.”
—Edgar Allan Poe
To my surprise, the woman did none of the above. She continued to look at me with the same expression for a few moments and then looked at Seth. He smiled at her with his infectious grin then reached over and took a sip of my milkshake. The only thought that penetrated my numb brain was that his casual sip would require squenching later. I also realized at that moment that I needed to perform my own brand of squenching as well. I had too much coffee before we left that morning. It’s amazing what insignificant thoughts our brains sometimes highlight for us under extreme stress.
Her fear started to slowly melt from her face as a pleasant smile formed. The reaction by her daughter to Seth’s sudden appearance helped her relax a little. The little girl had not seen Seth until he had been out from under the table for a few moments, but when she noticed him sitting there she crinkled her nose and protested.
“Eeeeeew, a boy,” she said as she turned in her seat to face away from Seth to where there was absolutely no chance that they could make accidental eye contact. The woman leaned over and whispered a few scolding words to the pretentious tot, then looked at me.
“Sorry,” she said in a whisper.
I smiled and lightly waved my hand to indicate no problem.
“Is he your son?” she mouthed more than she spoke.
I nodded my head and smiled.
“He’s a cutie,” she said, a little more audibly this time.
“Thank you,” I said, and then looked searchingly at her. Was she just trying to play it cool until she could blow the whistle on us?
She gave me an understanding smile and leaned toward me as much as the infant in her arms would allow.
“My husband died last week. I am here to talk to our Congressman about what is going on. It is very unfair.” A pair of tears slid off her cheeks and splashed delicately on the side of the baby bottle.
“The military took him?”
“Yes, based on that stupid Executive Order,” she said between sniffles. “Members in Congress are fighting it but I don’t know if it will do much good. Too many people believe what they are being told. Aaron was … is a good man. He is not a threat to anyone.” She looked at Seth and then back to me, tapping the skin on her forearm.
“How?” she asked.
I held up the torn battery package and then placed it in my burger bag.
She gaped at me incredulously for a minute then her lip started to quiver. She bit her lip and mumbled in a distant voice.
“That easy. If only I had known, Aaron might still be with us.”
The Tesla Gate Page 27