by John Mimms
Pac tied the garbage bag shut after placing the Chinese takeout boxes inside. He then removed it from the can and set it on the floor before replacing it with the old bag. He found a bottle of Lysol under the counter and used half of it disinfecting the dustpan and the inside of the sink. He removed the hand towel from his face and breathed. The smell was still there though not as pronounced. It was going to take weeks to get rid of the smell.
He placed the towel in the dirty clothes hamper, and then took the bag outside. His mother was wandering around with the vacant eyed, toothless guy. They were both calling and getting on their hands and knees to check under vehicles and trailers.
Pac tossed the bag into the garbage bin.
“Rest in peace, Mikey,” he said.
If Rosie only knew what happened to her dog, if she had any inkling, Pac had no doubt what her response would be.
“It should be you in the garbage bag; you worthless bum.”
After a while, Rosie gave up her search and returned home. Pac only stayed an hour, which was all he could stand. He couldn’t take any more.
JEFF HAD AN INTERESTING weekend. He felt a little better about his team of investigators, well one third of them anyway. He had visited with Elvis.
Saturday afternoon he received a surprise phone call from Elvis. He wanted to get together and discuss theories and ideas. Jeff had nothing better to do, so he agreed. Elvis invited him to his house with the promise of grilled steaks if Jeff brought the beer.
Jeff wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but steak was a different matter. He was a steak aficionado, and the very mention of free home grilled steaks was all the convincing needed.
Jeff picked up a twelve pack of Bud Light from a nearby liquor store and drove to Elvis’s home in the suburbs. When Jeff arrived, his mouth hung open. The Dickeys clad man at the meeting gave Jeff a different impression. He pictured him as someone who lived in a very modest home, perhaps an apartment or duplex.
It was not Graceland, but it was very nice. The neighborhood was less than ten years old and had been built with a Colonial theme. Elvis’s four-thousand plus square foot house rested in the middle of a cul-de-sac called Bunker Hill Court. Debbie would have found the white columned porch a stark contrast to the Chilton house. Its bright, fair columns gave the house a warm and inviting smile.
Elvis met him on the front porch and offered to take the twelve-pack to the refrigerator.
“I don’t think so,” said Jeff with a smile, “you might take it and lock me out!”
Elvis laughed so hard his jowls waved. He wasn’t wearing his khaki Dickeys tonight. Instead, he sported khaki shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Jeff felt overdressed in his Polo golf shirt and jeans.
“Well come on in!” Elvis said. “I have the steaks ready to throw on the grill.”
The inside of the house was nice, but furnishings were sparse. The large dining room on the right-hand side of the foyer did not have one stick of furniture populating its cherry hardwood floor. Not so much as a picture hung on its cilantro colored walls. The den to the left side of the foyer wasn’t furnished much more, but it had everything a guy could want in one space.
A red plush rug centered the room. An oversized leather theater seat, complete with a built-in cup holder, graced the far corner of the rug. Straight in front of the chair was the largest TV Jeff had ever seen. A baseball game played in brilliant high definition.
The St. Louis Cardinals game was on ESPN HD tonight. Intoxicated by the glow of the gargantuan boob tube, Jeff stopped to gawk. Elvis turned and smiled from Jeff to the TV and then back again.
“You wanna watch the game?” Elvis asked.
This seemed to snap Jeff out of his electronic trance.
“That’s the biggest TV I’ve ever seen!” Jeff crooned. “Well, outside of a display in Best Buy anyway.”
“Yep, it’s one of my toys. I figured why not, what the hell. It’s not like I’ve spent a whole lot on furnishings,” Elvis said, pointing to the empty dining room.
“Pretty freakin’ sweet!” Jeff exclaimed. “I guess we could watch some later, it’s only the second inning."
“You got it,” Elvis said, “let’s go throw the steaks on the grill. Then we can set up camp in here and watch the Cards put the smack down on the Padres!”
Jeff followed Elvis and as they passed the stairs, the cherry hardwood gave way to beige tiles upon entering the kitchen. Elvis led him out French doors onto a stone patio. Like the house, the patio was void of furnishings. The only thing out there was a large stainless-steel gas grill.
Elvis pulled back the lid to reveal an enormous cooking surface complete with an electric rotisserie. Jeff had but one thing on his mind when he thought of his cheap charcoal pit. “I gotta get me one of those!”
“How do you like your steak?” Elvis asked as he cut the string binding the butcher’s paper. He opened it to reveal two large T-bones, “bloody, pink, done, or extra crispy?”
“Pink,” Jeff said, stepping forward to admire the grill and the choice cuts of meat.
A short time later, Elvis moved a leather La-Z-Boy from his office into the den and parked it beside his theater seat. They watched the game while relishing steak and baked potatoes, chasing every mouthwatering bite with a swig of beer in chilled, frosty mugs.
Jeff set his empty mug down on the TV tray in front of him and leaned back. He let out a sigh and patted his belly.
“I think this is the best steak I’ve ever had!”
“Yep, I buy all my steak at A Cut Above. Best damn steaks in town!” Elvis announced with conviction. “Beats the hell out of the gristle they sell in the mega markets.”
“You’re gonna have to give me the address,” Jeff said.
The conversation was casual the rest of the game, not deviating much outside the prevue of sports. Jeff enjoyed watching the game on the big screen. He decided, out of politeness to his host, he would not mention he is a Kansas City Royals fan.
By the ninth inning, Jeff had consumed the equivalent of a beer and a half, but Elvis was on number six. Alcohol is as good a lubricant as WD-40 when it comes to loosening jaws.
“I had some ideas I wanted to run by you tonight,” Elvis said, muting the TV after the Cardinals made the final out to secure a 3-1 victory.
“Shoot,” Jeff said.
“Well, the paranormal is a very broad field,” Elvis began. “The answers we seek span several different scientific disciplines.”
“I would say you are right,” Jeff said, taking another swig of beer.
“I guess the Grand Poohbah of questions is what happens when we die. That is to say, is there a soul continuing on and, if so, what is it?”
Jeff nodded. “Most people believe that ghosts or souls are a form of energy.”
“Exactly!” Elvis said. “I have been doing some research on the subject. I came across something most people in paranormal research seem to overlook ... it is a fundamental of every high school and college science class.”
“What?”
“Are you familiar with the Law of the Conservation of Energy, otherwise known as the Law of Thermodynamics?”
This subject was familiar to Jeff, and he rattled off the textbook definition, “The Law of Conservation of Energy is an empirical law of physics. It states the total amount of energy in an isolated system remains constant over time or is conserved over time. A consequence of this law is that energy can neither be created nor destroyed: it can only be transformed from one state to another. The only thing that can happen to energy in a closed system is it can change form.”
“K-e-e-rect!” Elvis said with a wink, “couldn’t have said it better myself!”
“So, what does it have to do with ghosts?” Jeff asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Elvis asked, furrowing his brow.
Jeff stared at him blankly.
“Okay,” Elvis said, a little disappointed. “The human body has almost every form of energy going on inside, right?”
<
br /> Jeff nodded.
“Electrical, chemical, thermal, kinetic...all are present in the body our whole lives.”
Elvis leaned forward and whispered, “So, what happens to this energy when we die?”
Chapter 7
“OF COURSE, IT’S NOT destroyed,” Jeff said.” Just because our body dies; our energy can’t per the Law. So, what form does it take?”
“This is the million dollar question my friend,” Elvis yawned, running his fingers through his salt and pepper pompadour.
Jeff sat up with a jolt.
“It’s so simple; the measurable energy in our body has to go somewhere. Who’s to say the conglomeration of the energy doesn’t make up what we call the soul?”
Elvis gave him a knowing grin.
Jeff spun this idea around in his head for a few moments. Soon, an expression of utter dejection washed over his face.
“You realize there is only one way to test this, don’t you?” Jeff said.
Elvis nodded, “Yes, and it’s not very pleasant, not to mention ethical. This...this ‘death theory’ can only be measured by monitoring people when they die.”
Jeff pulled himself forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.
“How did you come...,” Jeff started, but Elvis interrupted.
“How did I come up with this?”
“Yeah, how?”
Elvis leaned back in his chair and downed the last bit of brew from his mug. He placed the mug on his lap and made circular motions around the rim with his index finger.
“Well, you know how sometimes when you get a thought it runs into another and another ... snowballing until you get one big one?”
Jeff nodded.
“After the meeting last night, I started thinking about my wife.”
Jeff’s eyes roamed for evidence of a female in the residence. Elvis noticed his furtive glances. He leaned back in his chair and said, “If you see her let me know, that would be one huge step in our research.”
Jeff understood the meaning from the sad and haunted undertone. The big man regarded his mug, as if gazing into a crystal ball, hoping to gain some divination from the cool and dewy glass. When he spoke, it was a whisper.
“Vicki passed away two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said.
Elvis sat silent for a moment longer, and then snapped up in his seat. He reached down on the floor, retrieved another beer, and refilled his mug.
“I know this is awkward,” Elvis said as he sucked the head off his foamy draft, “but if we are going to work together, I think we should have no secrets.”
Jeff recounted his parent’s tragic accident and his experiences since.
“I’m sorry for your loss as well, my friend,” Elvis said. “It seems we both went through a lot of crap to get us to this point.”
He paused for a few moments and then continued.
“I don’t like to talk about it, in fact, I haven’t talked about it since it happened.”
Jeff sat back in his chair and listened to Elvis’s story.
“Vicky and I had been sweethearts since high school. I have never dated anyone else,” he said and glanced at Jeff to gauge his reaction. Jeff’s warm smile did not falter when Elvis caught his eye.
“Anyway, we were married when we were both twenty and had several bittersweet years together. The years were bitter because we could never conceive children. They were sweet because we were not only husband and wife, but best friends as well.”
Elvis took a deep breath and said, “Four years ago, she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. It had begun to spread in her body before the Doc found it and by then it was too late. I was willing to do anything to save her and took her around the country for treatments from some of the best cancer doctors in the world. Of course, it costs money. By this time, she was unable to work as a CPA anymore. Our insurance would not pay for some of the treatments and our money was running out.”
He downed the rest of his beer and refilled his mug before continuing.
“She made me promise I wouldn’t sell the house. I kept my word on the house, but I sold every possession we had – furniture, china, silverware, jewelry...”
His voice trailed off before whispering, “It almost killed me the day I sold our wedding rings.”
Jeff’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He watched as a small tear streamed down the big guy’s cheek.
“Sometimes I do wish I had sold the house. The money it would have brought...I could have gotten several more treatments for her and maybe, just maybe...” he didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he took another nip from his mug.
The air in the room was starting to get heavy. Jeff felt genuine empathy for his friend, but he felt uncomfortable. He was trying to think of something meaningful to say when Elvis composed himself and continued his story.
“To get to the point of why I asked you here tonight, let me tell you this. I was with Vicky when she died at a small hospital in Ohio. It was our last stop on our futile attempt for a cure. I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it,” he said, grimacing as if someone were twisting a dull knife in his gut. “I felt her die.”
The curious, scientific side of Jeff perked up, but the rational side slapped it back down. Jeff waited for Elvis to explain. He didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth by asking some lame and callous question.
“I was holding her hand when it happened and I swear I could feel it, it was a sudden output of energy. It was not bad. It was a warm electrical charge flowing outwards before disappearing,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “It was the most peaceful feeling I have ever experienced.”
“I know it sounds crazy,” Elvis muttered, glancing at Jeff.
“Not at all,” Jeff replied.
“I was thinking about that moment and things started to come together in my head, then it made perfect sense. It must have been her energy I felt leaving her...” he took a labored breath and finished with, “well, it’s a theory.”
“I think it is a good theory,” Jeff said, “Vicky must have been a very special lady.”
Elvis smiled, stood up, and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He fumbled inside for a moment and removed a small photo, before handing it to Jeff. Elvis walked to the door and flicked on the light to give Jeff a better view. The woman smiling back at him with a bouffant hairdo would not have won any beauty contests, but Jeff could see the kindness in her eyes. He knew instantly why Elvis had fallen in love with her.
“She’s very beautiful,” Jeff said, handing the photo back.
Elvis smiled and carefully slipped the picture back into his wallet.
“Do you mind if I discuss this theory at our next meeting?” Jeff asked.
This question seemed to pump a little air back into Elvis’s sails.
“Not at all... but, would you mind not mentioning Vicky?”
“Of course.”
Jeff checked his watch. It was almost two o’clock in the morning.
“Well, I better get heading home, I need all the rest I can between now and the investigation Friday. You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” Elvis beamed.
Jeff helped do a quick cleanup, disposing of empty cans and T-bones, before Elvis escorted him to the door.
“By the way, Elvis. What do you do for a living?”
Elvis stared at the floor sheepishly.
He slowly raised his head and said, “I’m a mortician.”
MONDAY MORNING ARRIVED as an unwelcome visitor. In Jeff’s case, it was no metaphor. He did receive an unwelcome visitor.
Will Marlowe was the regional vice president for Jeff’s company, Nuverian Health. Like most regional vice presidents, his subordinates loathed him. It was never good news when he came to town. He was an older man who had been relocated to the St. Louis office last year from the east coast office in Trenton, New Jersey. Stereotypes were not something Jeff prescribed to, bu
t Will Marlowe was the icon of stereotypes. The man could have just stepped out of an episode of ‘The Sopranos’.
He wore a sport coat, but his shirt was always unbuttoned one button too many. A gold serpentine chain hung around his neck. It resembled a golden snake hiding in the underbrush of Marlowe’s chest hair.
The most damning mafioso characteristic of the man was his slicked back dark hair. A streak of white ran from his brow and ended a few inches from the base of his skull. From a distance, the man appeared as if he had a skunk sitting on his head. Hence, the warning cry repeated numerous times for the benefit of newcomers to work on Monday morning – old-skunk-head is in town!
When Jeff heard this warning as he came in the door, his breakfast Pop-Tarts did a flip-flop in his gut. It was never good when Marlowe visited. To make matters worse, when he sat down at his computer at 7:50 he had an e-mail invitation waiting on him to attend a meeting at 8:15.
“Great, what a wonderful way to start off the week!” he murmured, checking the rest of his inbox.
The meeting went pretty much as expected. Marlowe berated his bleary eyed middle managers for poor production. He might have had the decency to let their Monday morning coffee kick in before tearing them a new one, but it was not his style.
Jeff watched, half-agitated and half-bemused, as Marlowe administered his verbal flogging. The man’s oversized nose shadowed a neat little mustache and buckteeth. This made him conspicuously resemble a rat. His nose and mustache flexed and twitched as he delivered his ass chewing. This amusing likeness took a little bit of tension off the meeting, but not much. Until further notice, all employees would be required to work Saturdays. To Marlowe, further notice meant until you worked to his satisfaction.
Jeff was accustomed to these cruel mandates, so he was not surprised. It was aggravating though because he had scheduled the group’s first investigation for Friday night. Now he had to be at work by 8:00 the next morning.
The rest of the week was rather routine. The stress level went down at Nuverian Health when old skunk head went back to St. Louis on Tuesday morning. Jeff managed to get final arrangements made with Dr. Freely, the owner of the Chilton house.