The Tesla Gate Read Online Free PDF Page B

the mice scurrying up my back again. I stood frozen, unable to muster a response through my emotional turmoil. Finally, Seth spoke again.
    â€œPlease talk to me Daddy,” he said as his bottom lip puckered and silvery tears welled in his eyes.
    My heart melted just enough to manage adequate lubricant to unhinge my jaws.
    â€œSeth buddy, how did you get here?” I asked in a voice that came out squeaky, like a pubescent teen.
    â€œI’ve been here a while Daddy, but you wouldn’t talk to me. I slept with you every night but I guess you couldn’t see me.”
    I walked over to take his tiny hand, which he eagerly raised for me to grasp; it felt gelatinous, like a liquid with the consistency of pudding. I felt a small electrical current run up my arm when we touched, but that was not the worst of it. His hand was frigidly cold, like he had just stuck his arm into a deep freeze. I pulled back with involuntary revulsion.
    He looked at me with a hurt-filled expression, leaving me with the dilemma of whether to give him a comforting embrace or run from the room in terror. A sudden realization came from nowhere, like my brain had just snatched one of the confusing pieces of information floating in my head and enhanced it to perfect clarity.
    Seth said he had been sleeping with me. Ever since the funeral, I had not slept very well, which is understandable given the circumstances, but I have also been severely chilled at night. I first thought it was the air vent above the bed, but when that was eliminated, I assumed I was coming down with something. Could it have been possible that I was feeling Seth’s … what? His ghost? Ten minutes ago I would have dismissed that speculation as inane, superstitious fantasy, but now I wasn’t sure.
    Seeing is believing, but how could I be sure of anything considering the bizarre phenomenon manifesting outside? I had to get my head on straight. I needed to sit down and collect my thoughts. I trudged toward an old rocking chair in the corner, but before I could sit down, Seth spoke again.
    â€œNo Daddy, that one has a broken leg … ’member?”
    Yes, I did remember. How could I forget? I broke it a month ago when I stupidly stood on the seat, trying to change a light bulb in Seth’s ceiling fan. I had been too busy to get the wood glue and just fix it. If he was a figment of my imagination … how the hell did he know that?
    â€œOf course,” I said, feeling shaky. “How silly of me.”
    He smiled a weepy smile. “You can sit with me, Daddy.” He pointed to the other side of the bed.
    I didn’t want to sit on the bed, not that close. I know how crazy that sounds because this was my son. But was it really? If this were a hallucination, it is the most realistic and profound one I have ever experienced, not that I had that much experience with them. I have never done drugs. If this were a mirage, what did I have to lose? But … if this were somehow real, then it was my son sitting there and I had been given a great miracle. Negative or positive, it was my boy, damn it!
    I eased onto the far side of the bed, like I was sitting
by a temperamental dog that might bite at any second. He looked at me with tearful eyes and a quivering bottom lip; I looked at him with apprehensive eyes and a trembling body. I was shaking from head to foot.
    â€œWhere’s your mother?” I asked.
    That was when the silvery tears hanging in the corners of his eyes let go like tiny streams of mercury. They soundlessly struck the navy blue Toy Story bedspread, leaving not a single mark or wet spot. It was as if they passed straight through the bed like a, well … like a ghost.
    He shook his head mournfully and sobbed. “I don’t know, Daddy.”
    My heart skipped a beat and sank into my guts simultaneously when I understood that Ann was gone, not only physically but spiritually as well. Where could she be? My son was here and he