Saving Medesha

by DK Land

  “Three,” said Harold.

  “What?” asked Preston.

  “Three. We have three stop lights,” replied Harold with an overly wide grin as he held up three fingers. “And we're proud of all three of them.”

  “Oh my God!” said Preston. “You really are Barney Fife, aren't you, Wheaton?”

  “No, actually, that would be my deputy, Larry Walsh. He's upstairs in your house right now. Probably ripping some thousand dollar drapes off of one of your ten foot tall windows at this very moment.”

  “Listen, Preston,” said Jefferson. “I know what you've been doing here, and I think I know what your plans have been all along.”

  “Okay, pipsqueak. Let's hear your theory.”

  He pointed to the bodies lying on the floor. “Yes, Harold, that is Lester Rawlings body.” Then, he turned back to face Preston. “But it was actually Julius Benson's life force occupying Lester's body when you shot him wasn't it, Preston?”

  Preston's eyebrows raised slightly, but he sat in stone silence.

  Then he looked at Judy's body. “I know that Judy worked for you before she joined the staff at the hospital, so I'm going to assume that Ingrid Benson has inhabited that body for all this time. Am I right, Preston? Was Ingrid your first successful Life Force transfer? Is there really a person named Judy Gladden? Where did you get the body?”

  “Alright!” said Preston as he held his left hand over his wounded arm. “Alright, I'll answer your questions if you'll help me before it's too late. My body will die in one, maybe two hours. You've got to get me a living body that I can transfer to.”

  Larry Walsh and Ollie arrived with blankets in their arms. “We yanked these off of a bed,” said Ollie. “Can you guys help wrap the bodies before I puke?”

  Preston grabbed Harold's sleeve. “That one. I want that one.”

  Disgusted, Harold asked, “What are you talking about, Preston?”

  He pointed toward Ollie. “The gas pump jockey. That's the body I want. He looks strong and healthy.”

  “Sure, Ollie,” said Harold. “We'll be right there.” He turned too Preston. “You just murdered those two people. Now you want us to save you by destroying another life? You truly are insane. Don't you move a muscle until I get back.”

  Jefferson and Harold walked to the other end of the room to assist Larry and Ollie in the gruesome task of wrapping the bodies. As they were bent over Judy's body, Preston grabbed the joystick controller of his wheel chair and rotated his position toward the computer lying on the desk. He reached the keyboard and tapped several keys and pressed enter. Simultaneously, on the opposite side of the room, where the many Life Force Vessels were sitting on a long shelf, the two vessels that were glowing, quickly dulled to the point where they took on the same brushed aluminum appearance of the rest of the vessels.

  As Jefferson was finishing helping with blanketing the bodies, he looked up just as the vessels stopped glowing. He looked toward Preston and demanded, “What did you do just now, Preston?”

  “What happened? asked Harold.

  “Those two vessels just stopped glowing. That means that Preston just released two Life Forces.”

  “Released em?” asked Harold. “You mean, like he just let them evaporate into nothing?”

  “Not exactly into nothing,” said Jefferson. “It's more like they had already died, but their souls have just been released from the vessels that contained them.”

  Harold turned to Ollie and Larry. “Why don't you fellas remove the bodies and then wait for us down by the boat dock. I don't think this'll take much more time to tie things up before we send the coroner over here.” He motioned to Jefferson. “C'mon, let's continue our conversation with Doctor Frankenstein.”

  They sat on their chairs again, and Harold said, “Okay, Preston. I've thought about it. We'll find a way for you to have a body.”

  Jefferson interrupted, “But, Harold!”

  “I'm sorry, Jefferson. We've got to give in to his demands so we can get to the truth about what's been happening. Now Preston, first of all, who was in those vessels that you just,” he looked at Jefferson, “What'd you say? Released?”

  Jefferson nodded.

  “Who did you just release from those vessels?”

  Preston was still holding his injured arm. “One of the vessels held the Life Force of that stinky, greasy creature you called Lester Rawlings. His body is dead. There was no reason for him to continue cluttering up my laboratory. He was on my island, not by my choosing. Julius procured his services for two reasons. One reason was because it was Julius's intention to transfer into Lester's body to rid himself of an old, decrepit body that was quickly beginning to decay. The other reason was that he wanted to convince Lester to steal that scatter-brained little waitress so that Ingrid would have a young, fresh body to inhabit because the Judy Gladden body was dieing of colon cancer.”

  Surprised, Jefferson said, “Nothing has been mentioned among the hospital staff of Judy being gravely ill.”

  “I diagnosed her, and I treated her,” said Preston. “She had no reason to confide in others when she knew her body would be replaced before things became critical.” Then he grinned as he stared into Jefferson's eyes. “I guess you could conclude that a bullet through the heart is considerably more critical than colon cancer, right?”

  “So, it was Lester, under orders from Julius, that kidnapped Tandy and tried to smuggle her over to the island in that hot tub box. Is that correct?” asked Harold.

  “No,” replied Preston. “By that time, Lester had already taken up residence in a Life Force Vessel. The stealing of the waitress was completely the doings of that old coot, Julius. He actually cried when that box went into the lake. He was really counting on having that body to give to Ingrid for their anniversary.”

  “This is all so damn disgusting!” said Harold. “Who was Judy Gladden? Where did you get the body that Ingrid Benson used for all these years?”

  Preston laughed. “You came close to discovering that body, Sheriff Wheaton. Do you recall several years ago when you stopped me for speeding just outside of town?”

  Harold grinned thinly. “I was discussing that very same incident just recently.”

  “Then I'm sure you will recall that I was, uhm, should I say less than cordial and in an extreme hurry?”

  “No, Preston,” said Harold. “As I recall, you were an ass. Plain and simple. You were a snotty nosed, privileged rich kid. You were nothing more than an ass.”

  Thoughtfully, Preston replied, “Yes, I suppose that might have been the way things appeared. However, if you had been a little more observant as an actual law enforcement officer, you may have noticed the blood on the bumper of my car and the pile of blankets in the back seat.”

  Harold's face paled slightly. “What are you talking about, Preston?”

  “I had been in Duluth that day on business and while I was driving home, this crazy female hitchhiker stepped out into the path of my car. I hit her before I could even react. When I stopped to help her, she was in very bad condition. I loaded her into my car and was taking her to my clinic when you stopped me for speeding. She died in my clinic, but I was able to successfully transfer Ingrid's Life Force into that body. I had had one other successful Life Force transfer from a dying body into a vessel, but never had I transferred a Life Force from one body to another. It was a wonderful moment.”

  “A wonderful moment,” replied Harold. “Oh, I'm sure it was a wonderful moment. Especially for the hitchhiker.”

  “Tell us about the children,” said Jefferson. “We know it was you and Judy, or Ingrid, and probably Julius that created and injected the Tin Lizzie into all those young boys. But we just don't know why. Why did you create so much anguish for so many kids and their parents?”

  “I needed a body!” yelled Preston. “I needed a body for myself. Years ago, I started planning for the eventual need to transfer my own Life Force into another body and I wanted a young one. I wanted to have a c
hildhood with no knowledge of impending death in a few short years. I wanted what most people have; the chance to live to be ninety years old.”

  “But why choose only young boys with AB negative blood? And why so many? Why not choose one single child?” asked Jefferson.

  “Think about it pipsqueak!” replied Preston. “If you could choose your own blood type, what would it be? AB negative. The universal recipient. I wanted to make sure that if my new body should ever have a need for blood, I could receive it from every source possible. And the more subjects I had from which to choose, the better chance I had of finding the most healthy body. It's as simple as that.”

  “It's as simple as that?” shouted Harold. “How can you even say that? There's nothing simple about these horrifying things you've been doing. You weren't in a grocery store picking out a ripe melon. You were like a vulture waiting to soar down and destroy one of Medesha's children. In fact, you did destroy one of them. Willy Sadler! Did you even know that that poor little guy drowned because he was stricken with that horrible toy disease that you created?”

  Quietly, Preston replied, “Yes, I knew about the Sadler boy and I felt terrible about it. I never meant for that to happen. And then when we almost lost the Zimmerman boy.”

  “What do you mean, when you almost lost the Zimmerman boy?” asked Harold.

  “We had transferred the Zimmerman boy's Life Force to one of these vessels through the internet connection at the hospital. We were going to send him back but something didn't work quite right and part of his personality stayed in the vessel. After we got things corrected, we were able to make him complete again, but the problems we had with those two boys made me decide to abandon the project of acquiring the body of one of those children.”

  Harold pointed to the floor where the bodies of Judy Gladden and Lester Rawlings had been lying. “So, what caused this massacre? What drove you to kill two,” he hesitated. “No, I'm not exactly sure just how many people you've killed here. Why did this happen?”

  “We simply had a disagreement,” replied Preston. “Julius and Ingrid had aspirations for immortality. I just wanted a normal lifespan. I wanted to live to be an old man. Julius had Lester's body and I wanted it. After he injected me with that syringe, I shot him. Now he's dead and I'm dying.”

  “One more question,” said Harold. “Whose Life Force did you release from the other vessel? Was it the hitchhiker's Life Force?”

  Preston looked down at his wounded arm and said, barely above a whisper, “I have never told anybody the name of the Life Force that was in that vessel.” Then he looked directly at Harold. “And I never will.”

  Harold drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he contemplated his next move. He knew that Preston had committed serious crimes. He had killed Julius Benson, Ingrid Benson, Lester Rawlings and some hitchhiker with the dubious name of Judy Gladden who had spent years working at Medesha Memorial Hospital, but was actually Ingrid Benson. Willy Sadler had also died because of Preston's meddling. But what real proof was there to convict? With the crazy things that had been happening the jury would probably have no choice but to rule not guilty by reason of insanity.

  Harold had arrived on the scene just in time to witness the murder of Judy Gladden, which Preston insisted was actually Ingrid Benson. If Judy's Life Force had been in the vessel that Preston had released, then who had he killed with that one bullet? Two people sharing one body. If you kill the body, have you killed two people?

  Then Preston had admitted to killing the body of Lester Rawlings, but insisted that it was really Julius Benson. There again, two people sharing one body. However, in this instance, the body of Julius was still alive but there was no brain activity.

  And then there was Preston's claim that he had less than two hours left to live and by all outward appearances that was probably a correct assessment. How would small town sheriff, Harold Wheaton, be able to record the actual crimes that took place when he barely understood half of what had been going on since the first cases of sick children began showing up at the hospital?

  How would the community of Medesha be affected when the truth came out that Preston Vandervork, the owner of the largest employer in the county, was actually a serial killer? What would become of Vander-Wear? Would this be the beginning of the decline of Medesha? He couldn't allow that to happen to his beloved little town that he had sworn to protect.

  As a plan of action began to form in his head, he rose from the chair and looked down at Preston. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and reached down and cut a battery cable on the electric wheel chair. “There,” he said. “Now maybe you'll stay where I tell you to. Jefferson and I have a few things to discuss. We'll be back in a few minutes to deal with you.”

  “But, Sheriff Wheaton,” pleaded Preston. “I haven't got much time left. Please, get the pump jockey back? I need a body before this one dies.”

  He ignored Preston as he nodded at Jefferson. “Let's go over here and have a talk.”

  They walked to the opposite end of the room and Harold asked, “If the last of the Vandervork family were to die today, would it be possible for the factory to survive and continue to do business?”

  Jefferson smiled, “Oh yes. Most definitely. My parents had offered to buy the factory from Preston's father quite a few years ago. I'm sure they would still be interested and if all the Vandervorks are gone, they would simply buy the factory from the estate. They originally wanted to buy it and then sell it to the employees so it would be an employee owned company. They felt it would be more stable for the town that way.”

  “Great,” said Harold. “That's my main concern. Now, here's my idea, but you've got to promise not to let any of this go beyond the two of us.”

  From across the room, Preston Vandervork was watching the two men intently as they were talking. There would be an occasional hand gesture or a nod of agreement or even a bit of a smile, but they continued talking. Preston was getting weaker, and tried to yell at Harold and Jefferson, but little more than a whisper was all that he could produce.

  “It's beginning to happen, Sheriff Wheaton. The poison is starting to shut down my organs. You've got to hurry. I need a body, please?”

  As they walked back toward Preston, Harold said, “Alright, Preston. We've agreed to help you. However, if your Life Force is transferred to a different body, you have got to agree to assume the life of that body and not try to convince anybody that you are truly Preston Vandervork. You will legally no longer exist. Do you agree with those terms?”

  “Yes! Yes!” he replied. “Hurry, before it goes any farther. You've got to get the pump jockey back here.”

  “Okay,” said Harold. “Here's what we're gonna do. My walkie talkie was damaged when I made my graceful entrance into your basement, so I'll have to walk back to your boat dock to get Ollie. While I'm gone, you can show Jefferson how to operate your equipment so he can transfer your Life Force into one of those damned beer keg looking vessels of yours.”

  Preston interrupted, “No, I want to be transferred directly into the pump jockey's body. That way you can't trick me and leave me trapped in the vessel.”

  “Oh, for heaven's sake,” said Harold. “Why would we bother with trying to trick you? We agreed to help. If we weren't going to help, we'd just sit here and watch you die, and that looks like it's gonna happen quite soon. You decide. Go into the vessel until I get back here with Ollie, or I'll just sit back down in this chair and stare at you for a while.”

  “Okay. Okay. Do what you have to do. Just do it quickly.”

  “Alright,” said Harold. “I'm leaving. You tell Jefferson what he needs to know to operate that thing, and stop calling him pipsqueak. He's a young man that I am extremely proud to know.”

  He turned and walked over to the stairwell and continued up the steps. When he got to the top, he stepped over the concrete curb and looked off to the side of the bulkhead. Lying exactly where Jefferson said it would be, was his PCD. He picked it up and
hooked it to his belt and clipped the microphone to his shirt pocket.

  Then he walked back to the stairwell and carefully stepped over the curb and stood on the first step and listened. He heard nothing so he sat down on the curb and continued looking down the stairwell as he rested his elbows on his knees.

  He lifted his head when he thought he heard a soft moan. Then it sounded just a bit louder. “Harold . . . Harold . . . you can come down now. The transfer has been completed. He's beginning to wake up.”

  He stood up, adjusted his holster and PCD and walked slowly down the steps. As he entered the basement, he noticed that the wheel chair was sitting near the gurney. Jefferson had tied a restraint strap around Preston's chest to keep him from falling out of the chair. His body was slumped at such a strange angle that his wounded arm had bent backwards where it was broken and was almost reaching around behind his back.

  “Is he dead?” asked Harold. “Er, I mean did his body die?”

  Jefferson replied solemnly, “Yes, the body has died. I was able to make the transfer with just seconds to spare. If I had waited any longer, he would have died with his body.”

  “Good,” said Harold. “Thank you for doing this, Jefferson. Now, he can get what he always wanted and he can still be punished for the terrible things that he's done. It just didn't seem right to let him die without receiving any punishment at all.”

  “I agree,” said Jefferson. “The man needs to be punished and I think this is the only possible way to do it. However, I'll tell you one thing.”

  “What's that?”

  “When I get home, I am going to destroy my Life Force Vessels and reconfigure my EEG machines. I've seen enough proof here to realize that a person's spirit does live on after the body dies. I've also seen the evil that can arise from that knowledge. I want nothing more to do with any of it. From now on, Shauni and I are going to be working with gene manipulation as a way to help cure disease.”

  Harold smiled, “Oh, the long legged rats! You're talking about the long legged rats.”

  Jefferson laughed. “Yep. Your daughter and I are going to be getting all excited about rats with long legs.”