Saving Medesha

by DK Land

  Harold asked, “Were you able to see anything?”

  “Yeah, I saw something!” said Ollie. “I felt like I was window peeking at some kind of really weird hospital or laboratory of some sort. It sure didn't look like any basement I've ever seen before, but the weirdest part was what was going on in there. That's when I hightailed it outta there and ran like the devil to get to my boat.”

  Harold was getting frustrated. “Ollie. What was going on?”

  “Well, ya know when I hired Lester? All he knew how to do was pump gas and use a cash register. You know? He wasn't the brightest flashbulb at the concert. I had to teach him everything else. Well, let me tell you! He either had me really fooled, or he's learned an awful lot in these last few days. That guy was wearing one of those white doctor coat thingies and he was flitting around there turning knobs and pushing buttons and listening to Julius's chest with a stethoscope and . . .”

  “Whoa!” said Harold. “What do you mean, listening to Julius's chest?”

  “Yeah, I'm serious!” replied Ollie. “That Judy Gladden, from the hospital, and Lester were both scurrying around messin' with all those machines while old Julius was layin' on a gurney either sleeping or dead or something. Anyway, he wasn't moving, and that's when I figured it was time to maybe get the law involved instead of just pokin' Lester in the nose a few times.”

  Harold grinned, “Well, I'm glad your reasoning was able to overpower your excess testosterone.”

  Jefferson chuckled.

  Ollie said, “Huh?”

  “Tell me what else you saw through that basement window,” said Harold. “Was Preston Vandervork there also?”

  “I'm not really sure if it was Preston or not, 'cause all's I could see was his back,” said Ollie. “But over in a dark corner of the room was somebody sitting in front of a couple computer screens in one of those electric wheel chair things. That's all the people that were in there. Then, there was a big shelf on the opposite wall that had maybe fifteen or twenty aluminum like balls sitting on it. You know? About the size of bowling balls. There's a whole mess of wires coming out of each of them, and a couple of em were sorta glowing.”

  “Oh my God!” said Jefferson.

  Ollie and Harold turned and said, “What?”

  “If I'm not mistaken,” replied Jefferson. “Those could be what I've been calling Life Force Vessels.”

  “What the heck is a Life Force Vessel?” asked Harold.

  “You recall when I told you how Preston and I ended up parting ways,” said Jefferson. “It was when I began discussing with him my feelings about being able to prove that a person's life force continues to exist after death. When he got so upset with me, I began to suspect that he felt that I was trying to intrude on something he was already studying and didn't want anybody else to know about it.”

  “What's that got to do with a Life Force Vessel?” asked Harold.

  “Since that time, I've been, well, I should say, Shauni and I have been studying and experimenting with that theory. In my lab at home I have three small spheres about four inches in diameter that I call Life Force Vessels. All I have experimented with is some of those white rats that you saw in the cages in my basement. Anyway, twice I have been successful in transferring the life force from a rat's brain to the vessel and back again. When the transfer takes place, and as long as the life force is in the vessel, the vessel has a slight glow.”

  Harold was skeptical. “How in tarnation can you be sure that you've moved their life force to some little metal ball? You can't talk to 'em and ask them where they've been.”

  “No, you sure can't talk to them,” smiled Jefferson. “But when you own your own EEG machine, you can scan their brain waves, and that's what I've done. I have an EEG hooked up to the rat and one hooked up to the Vessel. As soon as the EEG that's connected to the rat's brain flatlines, the machine that's hooked up to the Vessel begins recording the same brain function. That proves the transfer was successful.”

  “Holy wow!” said Harold. “That's impressive.”

  “Impressive? Are you kidding?” said Ollie. “I thought it was impressive when it only took me just over a day to learn how to operate the new GPS system I bought for my boat. What you and Shauni have done is totally amazing, Jefferson!”

  Embarrassed, Jefferson replied, “Honestly, guys, I'm not trying to brag about anything. What I'm trying to do is make an educated guess as to what's been going on these last few days.”

  “And what is your educated guess?” asked Harold.

  “Well,” replied Jefferson. “It seems that Preston, with the help of Judy Gladden, has been experimenting with human life force transfer for quite a number of years. I've only been experimenting with animals for a couple years and I feel that I'm a very long way from even considering any kind of human trials.”

  “So, how do you make that transfer?” asked Harold. “I mean, you can't just take a spoon and dig the rat's life force out of his brain and drop it into that vessel thing, can you?”

  Jefferson chuckled. “No, it all takes place through some extreme modifications that Shauni and I have made to the EEG machines and some rather innovative programing on my computer.”

  “That's kinda what I was suspecting,” replied Harold. “The EEG machine is at the heart of the whole procedure.”

  “Exactly,” said Jefferson.

  “You really think he's been doing this transfer stuff to people?” asked Harold.

  “Yes I do,” said Jefferson. “My Life Force Vessels are sized to hold the brain waves of a typical rat's brain. Ollie said the vessels he saw were the size of bowling balls.”

  “Oh my God,” said Harold. “Your experiments with the rats is sounding like a miniature version of the events that took place in the hospital with all those kids. When you transferred the rat's life force to your vessel, what was the condition of the rat's body? Did it appear to be in a coma?”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Jefferson. “Yes! Harold, you're a genius! It was just like those poor kids at the hospital. And, even more convincing, every one of those boys became brain dead while they were hooked up to an EEG machine that was designed and donated by Preston Vandervork.”

  “What the heck are you guys talking about?” asked Ollie.

  “This is all related,” said Harold. “The sick kids in the hospital. The death of Willy Sadler. The weird things going on over here on the island. And I'm thinking that Lester attacking Tandy is also a part of the same plan.”

  “So, what do you think we should do?” asked Jefferson.

  Harold replied, “Ollie, I would like you to head back to the dock. Larry Walsh is waiting there. When we tied up at the dock, I noticed a fiber optics phone line pedestal near the edge of the path. Tell Larry that I want him to open that box and cut the phone line. I want to cut off all possible lines of communication to and from the island. Being that there are hardly any cell phone towers in the whole county, I doubt that that will be a problem. Then, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to stay there with Larry until Jefferson and I are finished talking to those people in the house.” He reached up and touched the microphone that was clipped to his shirt. “I'll call you if we need your help.”

  As he turned to leave, Ollie gave a half-hearted salute. “Okay, Harold. I'll tell Larry about the phone line. You guys just be careful. There's some weird things going on in that house.”

  “Thanks Ollie. We'll be just fine.”

  Harold and Jefferson turned and started walking in the direction of the Vandervork Mansion. The path made a circuitous route around enormous cottonwoods and ancient oaks. Nestled among the huge trees was a profusion of raspberry brambles and wild plum thickets.

  As they approached the clearing, Jefferson commented, “Look at this place. What used to be manicured lawns now looks more like pasture land. And the house.” He pointed at the two and a half story mansion. “The shutters need painting and the rain gutters are sagging.”

  “Yeah,” replied Harold. “The pla
ce is looking a bit crusty isn't it? Let's walk over around that side of the house. That must be where Ollie said that basement window and the cellar entrance were.”

  They walked past the front of the house and continued around the corner. Harold said, “There's the cellar door. Let's take a look in that window.”

  As he leaned over toward the basement window, there was the sound of two loud bangs. “Oh God!” said Harold. “Those were gunshots! Quick!” he yelled at Jefferson. “Help me get these cellar doors open.”

  They each reached for a door and as they pulled them open, the rusted hinges groaned and screeched. The bulkhead that the doors were mounted on consisted of a concrete curbing which framed the stairwell that led into the basement level. At the entrance, the curbing was about six inches higher than the ground. Harold pulled his Beretta nine millimeter pistol from his holster.

  He looked at Jefferson and said sternly, “Stay right here until I can be sure it's safe.”

  Jefferson grabbed Harold's arm. “No! Harold, wait! Why don't you call Larry on your radio and wait for him and Ollie to get here before you go down there?”

  “I can't wait,” said Harold. “Somebody could need help down there.” He grabbed his PCD from his belt and unhooked the microphone from his shirt pocket. “Here, you call Larry. I've gotta get down there.”

  With that, he turned and promptly caught his foot on the concrete curbing and proceeded to dive head over heels, somersaulting his way down to the landing at the base of the steps. As he came to rest on his back on the concrete floor, his gun flew from his hand and slid across the room. He moaned as he reached for his left ankle and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His ungainly entrance into the basement had placed him no more than ten feet from Preston Vandervork who was seated in an electric wheel chair.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” he said meekly.

  He looked up into the pallor, unshaven, unwashed face of Preston Vandervork. His hollow cheeks, unkempt hair and sunken staring eyes gave the appearance of a man with only one foot tenuously lodged in the land of the living. A soulful moan off to his left drew Harold's attention away from the man in the wheel chair.

  At the opposite end of the room, sitting on the floor with the body of Lester Rawlings in her arms was Judy Gladden. Harold looked back at Preston, who was still staring at him. Only then did he notice that Preston held a small pistol in his right hand.

  “Preston,” said Harold. “What have you done? Did you shoot Lester?”

  No answer. No acknowledgment. Just a dead stare back at Harold.

  Louder, Harold said, “Preston! Did you shoot Lester?”

  Slowly, a half snarl, half smile began to work it's way across Preston's face. “Well, if it isn't our very own Barney Fife from across the water.” His voice became stronger as he said, “You shouldn't be here Sheriff. You have no jurisdiction here on my island.”

  Ignoring the insult, Harold replied, “Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Preston. This may be your island, but it's still within the county and I am the County Sheriff. Now tell me. Did you shoot Lester?”

  Preston's gaze slowly drifted from Harold across the room to where Judy Gladden sat rocking back and forth as she cradled Lester's body.

  Judy looked up as she continued rocking. “You killed my husband, Preston! Sixty-eight years we were lovers, and you killed him. This body is dead. There's no way we can retrieve him now. He's gone! He's gone forever! Oh, my poor Julius!”

  “I had to kill him, Ingrid,” replied Preston. “I had to. He was killing me. Both of you were killing me. Neither one of you would get me my own body. It's always been only about you and your precious Julius. Well, now, there. It's done. It's over. He's dead and gone. But don't you worry old woman. You will soon be joining him.”

  He turned his head back and forth as he scanned the room. “Did you hear that Julius? I'm going to kill that old lady so she can join you.”

  Using the wall for balance and leverage, Harold pushed himself up to a standing position. Gingerly, he placed his left foot on the floor and tested it to see if it would hold his weight. Satisfied that he had only slightly injured his ankle, he yelled at Preston, “Now, wait just a minute you two! This is getting way too weird, and there will be no more killing anybody. Preston, give me that gun now.”

  Preston shifted his gaze from Judy back to Harold. “No! You wait just a minute, Sheriff! You live in my town. You are on my island. You are in my home, and I'm the one holding the gun. I think I'm the one with the authority here. Now, back up against that wall and stay there. I'll deal with you when I'm done with Ingrid.”

  A loud shuffling sound drew their attention back to Judy as she pushed Lester's body away and crawled across the floor to reach Harold's gun that lay about six feet behind her. She grabbed the gun and aimed it at Preston and fired at the same instant that Preston fired his gun. Her bullet hit Preston in the bicep of his right arm and slammed full force into the bone, breaking the arm and causing him to drop his gun.

  Judy did not fare nearly as well. Preston's bullet had found it's mark and hit Judy solidly in the chest and powered it's way through her heart and buried itself in her spinal column. She died instantly as her body slumped to the floor next to Lester's body.

  Stunned, Harold yelled, “My God! You people are absolutely insane!”

  He limped over to Judy's body and leaned down to feel her neck for a pulse. Slowly, he rose and walked toward Preston. “Do you even have a clue what you just did, Preston? You just murdered that woman in front of a law enforcement officer. And you also admitted killing Lester Rawlings. Can you guess how easy it will be for a jury to decide on a verdict at your murder trial?

  As he winced in pain from his wound, Preston looked up at Harold and snarled, “You just don't get it do you Sheriff Wheaton? There's never going to be a trial. Hell, I won't even spend a single night in your dinky little cardboard cutout jail cell. In fact, I'll never leave this island again.”

  “That's some pretty cocky thinking for a guy that just murdered two people, don't ya think?” said Harold.

  Preston nodded toward the computer desk behind him. “Ya see that syringe lying there?” Then he pointed toward the body of Lester Rawlings. “Our dear friend, Julius Benson, used that syringe to inject me with a solution of chemicals.” With a slight chuckle, he said, “I have less than two more hours to live.”

  From the stairwell came the voice of Larry Walsh, “Sheriff Wheaton? Harold?”

  “You can come in Larry,” replied Harold. “Everything is under control now.”

  With his pistol drawn, Larry Walsh entered the room followed by Jefferson and Ollie. Stunned by the carnage before them, they all stood still in disbelief.

  “Harold,” said Larry. “What happened here? My God! Judy Gladden. Lester Rawlings. Both dead? And over there on the gurney. Isn't that Julius Benson? Is he dead too?”

  Harold looked over at the far corner of the room where the body of Julius Benson lay on a gurney surrounded by several machines. “Since I got here, things have been happening so quickly that I haven't even had a chance to see what else is in this room.”

  As Jefferson walked over to the gurney, Harold turned to Preston. “Is Julius dead too Preston? Did you kill him also?”

  “He's still alive,” said Jefferson. “It appears that he's comatose, but he's alive.”

  Preston replied, “I already told you Sheriff.” He pointed at Lester's body lying on the floor. “I shot and killed Julius after he gave me that injection.”

  Harold ran his hand through his hair as he tried to cope with the nonsensical answers he was getting from Preston Vandervork. He walked over to Judy Gladden's body and picked up his pistol and placed it in his holster.

  “I'll tell ya what I think we need to do fellas,” he said. “Larry and Ollie, I know it's not an enjoyable undertaking, but would you guys mind taking Judy's body up the basement steps and around the house to the front door? Take her in and lay her on a couch or a
table. Then come back here and get Lester's body and do the same thing. Maybe you should go up into the house first and grab some sheets or drapes to wrap the bodies in. I'm gonna need some time here alone with Preston to get this all straightened out.”

  He looked at Jefferson. “I'd like you to stay here with me to help interpret some of the medical stuff that apparently has been happening.”

  “Of course, Harold, I'll do what I can to help.”

  While Larry and Ollie were gone, Harold and Jefferson pulled a couple chairs over in front of Preston. “Tell me,” said Harold. “Why do you insist on saying that that body on the floor is Julius when it's quite obvious that Julius is lying on that gurney over there in the corner? And why did you call Judy Gladden by the name, Ingrid?”

  “Oh you small minded little man!” said Preston. “You can't even begin to understand the things I've discovered and the things I've created.”

  Jefferson interrupted, “Excuse me, Harold. I think I need to say something here.” He then turned to Preston. “Hello, Preston. Do you remember me? Jefferson Cordain?”

  Preston replied, “Oh course I remember you, you little pipsqueak! You ran my clinic into the ground with your ill conceived notions of being a do-gooder.”

  Jefferson smiled. “Yep. That's me, Preston. The town do-gooder. I've always wanted to make sure that this little town stays prosperous and the people stay healthy. Isn't that what you've always wanted for this town also, Preston?”

  “My town has always been prosperous because of my factory,” said Preston.

  “Yes, yes, you're right. Your town has always been prosperous because of your factory. But tell me this, Preston. What's going to happen to your town after you're gone. Which, incidentally, looks like it will be quite soon. Will your town still be prosperous?”

  “Why in Hell should I care what happens to this little two stoplight town after I'm gone? It makes no difference to me.”