Death Theory

by John Mimms

  JEFF ARRIVED FIRST for the meeting. Liz, the perky, fanny-twisting waitress, brought him an iced tea.

  Debbie arrived shortly afterwards. Dr. Staples followed a few minutes later.

  “Jeff, I would like you to meet my uncle, Dr. Conroy Staples. He is a psychologist and is interested in studying the mental side of paranormal stuff,” Debbie said.

  “Nice to meet you Dr. Staples,” Jeff said, shaking the doctor’s pudgy hand. “It will be great studying another aspect of the field with a true scientific professional.”

  “Please, call me Roy,” he said.

  Elvis came in and Debbie introduced them. It was now almost a quarter after seven and Pac hadn’t shown up yet.

  “Everyone please order something, I’ll give a few more minutes before getting started,” Jeff said as he unpacked his laptop.

  He was about to go ahead with his presentation when Pac walked in the door. He was well groomed, but seemed exhausted.

  “Good to see you, Pac!” Jeff said, extending his hand.

  Pac grunted and slumped into a seat at the far end of the table. He nervously picked up a menu and began to peruse the limited choices. He had not noticed the newcomer to the group until Jeff made the introduction. “Pac, I want you to meet Dr. Conroy Staples; he is a psychologist.”

  Pac seemed dazed.

  “Pleased to meet you Pac!” Dr. Staples said, pushing his plump belly away from the table and rising to his feet. He walked the short distance to Pac and extended his hand.

  Pac peered at him with narrowed eyes. He had seen this fat old shrink before.

  “What do we need a shrink for?” he asked flippantly.

  “He’s my uncle,” Debbie said. “He is a psychologist and interested in studying the paranormal.”

  “Is that what he is?” Pac smirked.

  Debbie scowled.

  “Well Doc, any family of Debbie’s is a friend of mine,” Pac said, finally grasping Dr. Staples’s hand and shaking it with two firm jerks.

  “Please call me Roy.”

  Pac nodded, winked and said, “Okay, Roy.” He then went back to studying the menu.

  Jeff started out the meeting discussing Elvis’s theory.

  “The Law of Conservation of Energy is an empirical law of physics,” Jeff began, and then described it to the group.

  When Jeff finished his definition, mixed responses echoed from around the table.

  Elvis beamed with pride while Debbie seemed confused. Dr. Staples smiled with keen interest. Pac was a picture of incredulity.

  “So, what does it mean?” Debbie asked with a furrowed brow.

  “Mr. Presley, would you like to take this one?” Jeff said, motioning to Elvis.

  “Fags,” Pac thought.

  Elvis’s face lit up as he elaborated, “Well, in a nutshell, most people believe in a soul continuing after we die. The human body contains all sorts of energy which seems to go away after death. What’s to say the energy in our bodies make up our cognitive self and when the body dies this energy simply changes forms and goes on. The energy, or soul, or whatever you want to call it, turns into what we consider a ghost.”

  Chapter 14

  DEBBIE’S EYES BRIGHTENED. “It makes sense, assuming the law is accurate.”

  “It’s a constant of the universe,” Jeff said.

  “So, have you tested this theory on any of your clients?” Pac said, staring at Elvis.

  Elvis flushed red. Jeff scowled at Pac and deflected the question, “There is only one drawback to this theory.”

  “You would have to monitor someone when they die,” Debbie said, crinkling her nose.

  Jeff nodded. “That’s right.”

  “It’s as vile as some of the tests the Nazis did in the concentration camps,” Dr. Staples remarked.

  “I agree,” Jeff said. “In the meantime, we need to focus our efforts on as much environmental data as we can from investigations. If we find a similarity in paranormal events, we can try to correlate the finding with energy present in the body.”

  “Fascinating theory, very fascinating indeed,” Dr. Staples said. “I’ll let you guys work it out, I’m only in it for the psychology. I believe there is more brain than boogeyman to the whole thing.”

  Jeff smiled. “We definitely need to explore it from every angle; otherwise we aren’t being impartial.”

  “I appreciate your scientific mindedness, Jeff,” Dr. Staples said. “There are too many doing this for popularity and...how do the young folks say it? Shits and giggles.”

  Everyone laughed, even Pac.

  Jeff said, “I have one important order of business tonight before we listen to the EVP from the Chilton house. If we are going to continue our research, we need to have a name for the group. But...,” he held his hand up to squash an outburst of suggestions. “It needs to be a name differentiating us from everyone else, one stating professionalism. It needs to be a name letting the public know we take our research seriously.”

  The bulk of suggestions came from Elvis and Debbie; Dr. Staples remained silent and watched the debate. Even Pac submitted the suggestion of Spirit and Anomaly Scientific Studies. The acronym SASS was clever and right up Pac’s alley. The group shot it down much to his chagrin. After a half hour debate, they selected a name, which Pac endorsed with a great deal of reluctance. Jeff wanted the vote to be unanimous.

  SMS PAST was the name finally agreed upon. It was the acronym for ‘Show Me State Paranormal and Anomalous Science Team.’

  Dr. Staples made a very observant comment. “It not only includes the paranormal, but history as well with the PAST part of the acronym. It suggests it is also a study of our past. I also like the show me state part at the beginning suggesting you want proof. The whole name together, SMS PAST sounds like a sleek, British battleship. I like it!” he chuckled.

  Everyone listened to the EVP recording captured from the Chilton house. There was no doubt; everyone heard the same thing - a male voice proclaiming, “my house”. Even Dr. Staples had to admit he was stumped.

  “I have no psychological explanation...are you sure no one there said it?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Jeff said. “If you look here on the screen, you can see the voice was in the 15-hertz range,” he said, pointing to the graph on the screen of his laptop. “The human voice is not capable of utterances below 20-hertz.”

  “Fascinating. I may have to rethink my stance on the field,” Dr. Staples admitted. He smiled and said, “But I would need to be present when one of these recordings is made. In other words...show me.”

  Liz soon brought everyone their tickets and they adjourned for the night.

  “I have another investigation I’m working on,” Jeff said. “I hope we will be able to get to it in the next week or so.”

  Dr. Staples asked Jeff if he could speak in private after everyone left. Debbie gave him an uneasy smirk before smiling at Jeff.

  Jeff returned her smile and said, “Can you wait on me in the parking lot for a few minutes?”

  She felt like a kid asked to leave the room while their parent talks to their teacher. Debbie nodded, frowned at Dr. Staples, and then followed Elvis out the door.

  “Jeff,” Dr. Staples began. “While I wish to participate in this research, I do not wish to gain any notoriety from it...do you follow?”

  “I understand,” Jeff said. “Paranormal research is not held in the best light by some people. Any association with it could hurt your credibility with clients as their psychologist.”

  “Precisely. Very perceptive!” Dr. Staples pronounced. “I would appreciate if you left my name and likeness off any websites or member lists you may have. I wish to remain, what you might call, a silent-researcher.”

  “No problem at all, glad to have you as part of the team,” Jeff said.

  “Dr. Staples...: Jeff began before he was cut short.

  “Ah-ah-ah, it’s Roy, remember?” he said, wagging a pudgy finger.

  “I’m sorry. Roy, are you f
rom Debbie’s mother’s or father’s side of the family?”

  Without missing a beat, Roy replied, “Neither. I have been a friend of the family for years, and Debbie has always referred to me as Uncle Roy.”

  “I see,” Jeff said, placing his laptop back in the case. “You know, I’m glad you mentioned a website. I need to get one up pretty quick since we have a name.”

  “Please leave me off it,” Roy smiled.

  “Of course, but a website should help increase our membership and get us more investigations for our research.”

  “I agree, though I have never used a website for my practice. I guess I’m too old school. Most of my clients are word of mouth or referrals,” Roy said, fingering his walrus mustache.

  “Let me get your contact information so I can let you know about our next meeting or investigation.”

  Roy felt in his pockets for a moment and then sighed, “I don’t believe I have any business cards on me tonight.”

  Jeff started to open his case to rummage for a piece of paper when Roy said, “Here, ... I’ll do this.” He reached in his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He then withdrew a long white strip of paper from the bill slot. It was a receipt, but clear on one side. He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and jotted down his office and cell number, along with a personal e-mail address. His e-mail was santa.saintnickclause753@yahoo.com.

  “That’s your e-mail?” Jeff mused.

  “Yes, as I told you I am not much of one for computers. I was doing therapy for a young boy a few years back who was having some issues at home. The only reinforcement that seemed to work with this young lad was the idea Santa Clause was watching him. The parents came up with the bright idea of sending him e-mails from Santa. Santa would either scold him for his shortcomings, or praise him for his triumphs. I kind of kept the address and adopted it as my own.”

  “Awesome!” Jeff laughed. “Did it work?”

  “Unfortunately, no; I believe the poor lad is serving time in prison now.”

  Jeff placed the receipt in his pocket before they settled their bill and left. When they got outside, Debbie, Elvis, and Pac huddled around the back of Elvis’s black sedan. The Brown and Sons Funeral Home logo, which was a magnetic door sign, was removed for the evening. Its existence evidenced by a clean rectangle surrounded by a light film of dust.

  “Jeff, tell Pac it wasn’t me talking on the EVP,” Elvis said in frustration.

  “It couldn’t have been,” Jeff said. “The sound was only 15 hertz and no human can speak in such a low frequency.”

  Pac was about to retort when his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered. He wished he hadn’t - it was his mother. Only tonight, her tone was not as nasty. There was almost a civility to her voice.

  “Your brother would like to talk to you,” she said.

  “He’s here? When did he get back?” Pac asked. He had not seen him in two years and maybe he could help him get their mother under control.

  “Just come over when you can,” she said pleasantly. “Tonight, tomorrow...whenever.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” he said.

  Pac forgot the bargain he made with himself to have nothing more to do with her unless necessary. On the other hand, perhaps he hadn’t. He did not consider seeing his brother as a violation of that vow. He hung up the phone and, ignoring everyone, hopped in his car. An instant later, he headed for redneck hell. His brother was there ... hallelujah.

  Elvis and Roy left a few minutes later, leaving Jeff and Debbie alone in the abandoned parking of the now closed pizza joint.

  “So, how did you think the meeting went tonight?” Jeff asked.

  “I think it went good. The conservation law kinda went right over my thick skull,” she said, swiping her hand over the crown of her head. She smiled and said, “But I think I have the gist of it now.”

  “Good, I’m glad Elvis came up with it. I think he is going to make an outstanding member in SMS PAST.”

  “I do, too,” Debbie agreed. “He’s sweet. Can I make one little request though?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can we call it ‘past’ for short? The SMS stuff makes it a mouthful.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jeff chuckled. “Officially it will be SMS PAST, but amongst us it’s just ‘past’.”

  “That’s chicken sweevy,” Debbie said.

  “Chicken sweevy?” Jeff asked.

  “Yep, it’s something my grandpa used to say. He said it is Southern for chic and suave.”

  “I do love your expressions!” Jeff proclaimed.

  “I got a million of ‘em,” Debbie said, crinkling her nose.

  Jeff finally decided to go through with why he had asked Debbie to stay. His brain had told him no, his sense of professionalism had told him no, and his gut had told him no. His heart trumped them all.

  He nervously cleared his throat and asked, “Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

  Debbie gazed at him with wide eyes. Was it shock, or perhaps even horror he saw swimming behind her green eyes? She didn’t say anything for several moments, causing Jeff to break out in a cold sweat.

  “I...don’t think so, why? Do we have an investigation?”

  Jeff shook his head cleared his throat again, almost choking as he swallowed. “No...no investigation; I just wondered if you would like to go to dinner tomorrow night and maybe a movie or something?”

  “Or something?” Debbie asked.

  “I’m sorry; I knew it was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have asked, ... please forget I said anything.” Jeff blurted and then said, “Good night, Debbie.”

  He started toward his truck when he felt a soft hand grasp his forearm. He turned to see Debbie gazing at him with a girlish grin. “What time?” she asked.

  Jeff stared at her stupidly. He felt as if someone had stuck a pin in his head and let all the air out along with his vocabulary. “What?” was the only word he could rally.

  “What time do you want to go to dinner?”

  Slowly the air returned to his head, initiating a verbal avalanche.

  “What food do you like? A new Italian restaurant opened last week, it’s supposed to be pretty good. Or maybe steak, there’s a great steakhouse I know downtown. Oh, there’s also a good Mexican restaurant right around the corner, I hear it’s pretty good too. Or maybe...,” he was cut off by a firm, but gentle squeeze to his forearm.

  “Whatever you decide is good with me, I’m not picky. Just let me know what time.”

  “Does six sound okay?” Jeff asked, a little breathless.

  “Sounds great,” Debbie said, releasing her grip on his arm.

  “Great! Well...I’ll see you then. Have a good evening Debbie.”

  “You too, Jeff ... I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  They walked to their respective vehicles and climbed inside. Jeff had to sit there for several minutes to let his racing heart catch up. Asking women out had always been a nervous proposition for him. It’s probably why he hadn’t gone on any dates since his engagement ended. He waited until Debbie waved and pulled out of the parking lot before reaching in the glove box and retrieving the pack of cigarettes. He hadn’t had one since their first meeting and his nerves were screaming for it tonight. He lit up and inhaled a deep drag, feeling the smoothing calm of nicotine rush over his nerves.

  His heart continued to hammer as he shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

  A few blocks away, Debbie’s heart was hammering too.

  Chapter 15

  DEBBIE ARRIVED AT HER appointment five minutes late Saturday morning. She did not have a sleepless, nightmare-infested night; quite the contrary. She had one of the most peaceful night’s sleep she had enjoyed in a while. In fact, it was so deep and peaceful she slept right through her alarm.

  She was in a good mood this morning. She had a date tonight. Yet, she was still apprehensive. “Could there be complications from dating a coworker?” she thought. The thing is, they were n
ot really coworkers. It was not as if she were dating another teacher at her school. This was someone who shared a common interest, the very definition of people who we choose to date. Of course, she had to remind herself this was only a date and they are not dating. Perhaps it was merely an opportunity for two like-minded people to share thoughts about the paranormal.

  As she drove to Dr. Staples, her excitement began to slowly intermingle with her apprehension. By the time she got there, she was an internal emotional mess. The doctor noticed the difference immediately when she walked in the door.

  “You okay this morning,” he asked.

  “I am!” Debbie answered resolutely.

  “Is it Jeff?” he asked, not quite grinning.

  “How did you know?” Debbie gasped.

  “I would not be very good at my job if I were not good at being perceptive. I could tell by both of your body language last night. He asked you out, didn’t he?”

  “You’re scary,” Debbie said.

  “No, I’m perceptive,” Dr. Staples chuckled. “Why don’t you lie down on the sofa and we’ll get started today.”

  “You want me to lie down?”

  “Well, you can sit up at first, but when we get started, it will be necessary to lie down.”

  Debbie trudged to the sofa like a person walking to the guillotine. The fear of the unknown and the violation of her privacy raised her anxiety faster than a thermometer in a boiling pot.

  Debbie sat on the sofa and placed her purse on the floor. She turned to face Dr. Staples who now sat in the leather chair. She regarded him with her mouth pursed into a thin line and her eyebrows knitted with worry.

  He sat his notebook on the table and folded his hands over his fleshy tummy. “I would like to explain what I intend to do to help you, Debbie. I hope it will relieve some of your anxiety. I need you to be relaxed so we can work through this, okay?”

  “Are you going to hypnotize me?” Debbie croaked.

  “No,” he said with such resolution, it made Debbie blink. “Hypnosis is unreliable and would be an extreme last resort.”