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Carla R. Herrera
Bubble Gum Bicycle Man
The kids at the park--the little ones--seven and eight year olds--they would run up to him. The old guy riding the adult tricycle with the basket on it.
He looked wrong in our neighborhood. A dirty bearded guy. By dirty, I mean unshaven and rumpled. He had shaggy salt and pepper brows, in addition to the beard, it made him look as if he had just come from a hidden mountain cave. His wrinkled clothing appeared to hang from him, as if too large for his frame. He was thin too, skinny enough to make us all wonder if he was this side of starvation.
The kids didn't care though. Someone would see him riding by the park and the shout would go out.
"Hey, it's the Bubble Gum Man!" Then the call would be put out through the whole area. Kids would run over each other to get to the curb before he passed, so they could get a good look and a piece of Bazooka Gum with the Bazooka Joe comics inside.He had done this for years. When I was ten, I was one of the kids running as fast as my legs would carry me across the park, just to get a piece of gum before he ran out. It wasn't just the gum I wanted.
Like all kids at that age, we have the desire to be scared and safe at the same time. The Bubble Gum Man provided that kind of entertainment.We had all heard stories about him. Some said he really did live in some cave on Mount Baldy and came down once a week, just to lure some lone child back to that cave. There, like Odysseus's Polyphemus, he would eventually cook and eat the child. bones would be strewn across the cave floor.
Countless teenage expeditions hunted for the cave and never did find it, but that didn't stop the story. In fact, with each generation the tale grew longer and more complicated. At some point, the Bubble Gum Man's childhood was introduced and it was said he was so ugly when he was born that hisparents abandoned him on that mountain and he survived only because a mama bear happened to run across him and thought he was a baby bear.
But at fifteen, I no longer believed those old stories. I thought he was some old pervert that rode by the park on his bicycle hoping to find a lone child. That's why he never failed to have bubble gum on him. Though he had never done anything to any of us, that's what most of the kids my age thought. We believed that version of the story enough to keep an eye on the younger ones, from a distance.
"There's that old perv again," said Raley, my best friend Kyle's girlfriend. Though she wasn't my girlfriend, I went out of my way to impress her. Like other boys my age, I hung on nearly every word.
"Yeah," I said, watching the crowd that gathered across the park. "That's why I watch when my little brother runs over. Scared that old perv might do something."
If I was completely honest, I couldn't think of one child who went missing from our area. Though there were plenty of missing kids on milk cartons, they were always from somewhere else. If anyone had taken time to look at statistics, we would have seen our area was safe; not beset with missing children, you would think came from having a child predator who lived in a mountain cave nearby.
Toward the end of the summer of my fifteenth year, life was good. Thoughts of the Bubble Gum Man didn't cross my mind. My friends and I ran like packs through the park, on dark nights, playing spotlight, where we carried flashlights to tag our rivals.
We swam, took our turns at tentative and fragile romances, dreamed of a bright future and shared our hopes about escaping to the city one day. Though the small hamlet of Clearlake Highlands had a crime rate nearing one percent and offered nearly everything a person could need for a good life, we thought of having much larger lives than our parents. We hoped for more and wanted everything.
One night after a game of Spot, Kyle, Raley, a few other kids and I lay on the warm sand, soaking up moonlight, listening to the music drifting over from the nearby bar. We spoke in low tones, about graduating, leaving the Highlands, what we wanted to do with the dwindling days of summer.A perfect night by all accounts until one of the other kids spotted the one person no one wanted to see.
"Hey, isn't that the Bubble Gum Man over there?"
All heads turned to look at the freckle-faced girl pointing to a lonely stretch of beach. We sat up, curious, looking intently, for that familiar and strange figure.Even in the dim light, I knew from the bearded profile, the rumpled clothing and hunched shoulders, it was him, absent the bicycle.It appeared as if he had found something interesting in one of the garbage cans. Though no one had ever seen him going through trash before, the behavior fit with the countless stories we had heard abouthim over the years.
"I think he's dumpster diving," said Kyle.
Raley elbowed him and smiled. "That's not a dumpster, Dummy.
It's a trash can."
Kyle shrugged, glanced back at the man. "Same thing. Ugh. The guy is so gross. I wish he'd just leave."
"How 'bout we tell him to leave," said one of the other boys. I didn't know him well. Kyle had introduced him as one of Raley's cousins, visiting from the city.
"He's not bothering anyone," said freckle-face, an expression of calm marking her features. Sitting there, in her turquoise patterned summer dress, she looked even more beautiful than Raley. I smiled at her.
"That's true," I said, agreeing, trying to impress again. "He's not bothering anyone. Just leave him alone."
"He's bothering me," said the cousin, standing now, with hands on his hips. "I see enough of this in the city, don't want to see it while I'm on vacation."
The boy was large. He looked big enough to be on the high school football team, which is something most of the crowd I hung around with didn't know anything about. We were the nerdy adventurous types. We did our work through the year, got good grades, worked on the year book, took journalism or photography classes and wished for adventure. We read National Geographic and Smithsonian.
He began striding down the beach toward the hunched figure, the rest of us rising from the sand like rabbits tentatively poking noses from burrows. A common element of fear and surprise ran throughus. I felt it, glancing around at the faces of those around me.
"What's he gonna do?" asked Freckle-face. That same fear I felt, sounding in her voice.
Without realizing it, I had begun moving, following in the cousin's footsteps. All of us followed, perhaps out of perverse curiosity, to see how this would unfold, but also to stop the boy who would disturb our strange little world with his city ways.
Kyle finally replied. "He's not going to do anything. He just likes to talk big."
I nodded, hoping my friend was right, a tight knot forming in my chest. Wishing I could turn around and run home, tell an adult, or someone who would take responsibility.We stopped far enough away to mark ourselves divorced from the situation, but close enough that we could hear the conversation. The cousin stopped several feet from the Bubble Gum Man. "Hey, Old Guy," he called.
The older man, glanced up, his beard seeming much longer than it usually was. He stopped rummaging, looked at the cousin, waiting.
"You shouldn't be on this beach by yourself this late at night. Go on home."
The Bubble Gum Man appeared to consider this for a moment, then turned his attention back to the garbage and continued his hunt for whatever it was he had been looking for. I noticed a small bag held in one withered hand, probably for his nightly cache--whatever that might be.
"Billy!" Raley called out to her cousin, but he didn't seem to hear her. Perhaps he was just ignoring her, we weren't sure.
"Hey Man, I said beat it. You need to leave now, or I'm going to have to escort you off the beach myself.""Billy!" Raley called again, as she began moving closer to the figures. "Come on now. Leave the man alone. Let's go."
The Bubble Gum Man seemed to have found something, pulling it from the trash and dumping it into his sack. I heard the tinny sound of metal striking metal.
"He's collecting cans," I said, to no one in particular.
"That's probably how he pays for the gum," said Freckle-Face, quiet
ly beside me. I glanced over and saw she was watching Billy with a worried expression.
"We can't let him hurt the old guy. My mom said he's retarded."
This was the first time I had heard that part of the story. So in addition to living in a mountain cave, Bubble Gum Man had become a disabled individual. Was he still a pervert? I didn't know. What I did know, was that despite the stories, this man had lived within, but just outside our community for our entire lives. In reality, he had never done anything malicious to any of us. In fact, he had always been a benevolent figure who simultaneously terrified and amazed. We smiled when we thought of him, but shivered in fear when listening to the tales about him, grateful we were the fortunate ones who had not been taken to his cave.
Billy moved in, just as the old guy reached into the trash can again. Time slowed, the rest of the world fell away from our little group and every bit of my attention focused on that hand reaching for the old guy.I knew then, the Bubble Gum Man was harmless, and trying to fit in the best way he knew how. What Billy intended was worse than bullying. By the look on his face, the grim set of his lips, he wanted to hurt the man.
"Stop it!"
Kyle and I screamed the command in unison. Raley had come up behind her cousin and slapped hishand away. "Stop it right now Billy, or I'm going to tell your mom."
The sound of another can dropped into the sack caused me to glance at the older man. He looked upand met my eye. Nodded. "You a good boy Joe. Tank yoo." He turned and began hobbling up the beachwith a slight limp.His voice held that familiar speech pattern of those who were mentally challenged. Freckle-Face's mom was right. I glanced at her and saw she was watching curiously.Glad for the cover of night, I colored and glanced away, but let her know I was paying attention.
"Your mom was right," I said. She nodded, but remained quiet.
Kyle yelled again, breaking into my thoughts. "Stop him!"
Billy had broken away from our group and sprint down the beach after the Bubble Gum Man. Kyle on his heel, me tagging behind. The girls brought up the rear, screaming for Billy to stop.By the light of the moon, we saw Billy reach the figure limping across the sand. He did not stop running though. Instead, he crashed into the man with an elbow jutting into the back of the old man's neck. Both figures crashed to the ground, aluminum cans clattered in the sack flying across the beach.Kyle was there first, pulling on Billy, who seemed bent on pummeling the old man, who now had his hands up to cover his face, shrinking against the beach floor, as if he could somehow become invisible. The sight fueled my own anger and like Kyle, I grabbed at Billy. Anything I could grab was fine with me, as long as I could pull him from the Bubble Gum Man.
The boy's hair locked in my fists, I pulled hard, jerking his head back as Kyle pulled an arm. Raley and Freckle-Face moved past us, a glance in thier direction and the girls both told us they were taking care of the old man.
As we pulled him toward the water, Kyle shouted, "Stop fighting," to no avail.
"Screw you guys. I'm gonna kill that guy." There was no doubt in my mind the boy meant what he said. Face contorted by rage, eyes glazed over, he still searched for his prey.
When we reached the water, we glanced at each other and were of the same mind. We pulled him out, Kyle holding one arm, a grip on the back of the boy's neck, me holding the other; every bit of strength I had going into pushing my weight on to his back to hold him down.Billy was large and strong, but working together we managed to keep him under until he stopped struggling. Then we let him go.
Soaked, we moved back on to the beach where the girls comforted the old man. He sat with his sack in his lap, rocking back and forth, emitting a cry that reminded me of a wounded animal, knowing it was about to die.
"It's okay John. It's gonna be okay. We got rid of that guy. He'll never bother you again," soothed Freckle-Face.
After several minutes the old man finally looked up at us standing around him. When younger I hadbeen fascinated with taking in all the details of his dirty beard, the weathered face, the rumpled clothing, but had never looked into the man's eyes before.Like the sound of his cry, this man's eyes were pure soul. The eyes of a child wounded and alone. Years of sorrow dwelt there. I knelt next to him. "No one will ever hurt you again," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "I promise." I meant it too.
Raley glanced out at the figure floating back up toward the beach. "I guess he tripped on a rock or something, huh?"
Kyle and I looked at each other and nodded, unsmiling.Today, the kids know the Bubble Gum Man's name is John. He collects aluminum cans to buy bubble gum for anyone who asks for it. That's why most of us save our cans and set them out on the curb for him, when we know he's coming by.No one really knows when the tradition started, or why, but there are still stories about him. Some say he began giving out bubble gum when he just happened to have an extra piece, and handed it to a child. When he saw the smile lighting up that kid's face, the tradition was born.
Freedom
The screen blinked twice and Ally's lips moved, but no sound issued forth. The children on the screen, stood with hands placed over their hearts. "I pledge allegiance..."
Afterward, she hurried into the bedroom and lifted the side of the mattress. Hurry, hurry, she thought.
They would be coming. She had made a mistake during last assembly and read aloud.
Hurry, hurry.
She pulled the long white roll from the space between the mattress and box spring and began unfurling it. Then began wrapping it around her body. Voices in the hallway. Hurry. Wrapping, round and round.
She laughed when she heard the knock. She had anticipated this. Growing more anxious she stepped to the bedroom window and looked down, then placed the edge of the wrap against the inner sill, clamping the metal rod into place.
Another series of rapping, "Ally Benton! Come to the door. We know you're in there."
This time she laughed loud, "Fuck you!" she screamed and stepped out.
As she fell, she looked at the building opposite and could see her small body, falling, falling on the screen. Someone down there was videotaping. Round and round she went, unfurling and smiling.
"Haha!" She screamed when she saw the letters revealed. That would teach them.
Then she hit the pavement.
Jacob Hinter still videotaping and walking around the scene, got it from each angle. This was the second jumper in a week. Crazy days we live in, he thought.
He panned upward at the banner. There were several symbols. F-R-E-E-D-O-M. He had no idea what they meant.
Stairs
Eyes wide from fear, Veronica pulled the car to the side of a red brick wall and curbed it. She let it idle, keeping her foot on the brake as she looked at the time on the cell phone screen. Four p.m. The girl was supposed to be picked up at three.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror and winced. She looked frightened, pale and thin. She took a breath and looked away from her reflection to the road.
Worse than late, she had no idea where the school was located. One school was across town, but she didn't think it was the right one. She could not remember seeing children playing in the area. She pulled away from the curb speeding toward the only school she knew and wishing she had taken more information down.
Emily, the social worker had said it was a Lindsey School. Not that that meant anything to her. She would not know a Lindsey School from any other school.
She pulled into the parking lot. A few people milled about, coming and going, but they were adults. She hoped it was because the kids had been let out. Maybe the girl was inside waiting for her.
Inside, turquoise walls bordered in white were adorned with large, elegant splashes of color on canvas. Though it had been several years since she had been inside an elementary school, this did not look like any she had ever seen.
A short, but rotund woman behind the counter and glass window, greeted her smiling. "Hi there. What can I get you for?" The woman rose from her seat with
some effort and moved to the window, sliding it open.
She returned the smile, but already her hand-wringing had started. What could she say? Her stomach threatened to heave its contents and she saw the woman glance at her hands. Another smile.
"I'm looking for my daughter," she started.
The woman moved to a door separating them and stepped out, one hand on her left hip. She looked Veronica up and down, grinned sideways as if she found something amusing about her appearance. "Follow me," she said, moving down a narrow hallway.
The floor was shiny red, walls covered with what appeared to be weaved fabric. Again, she thought this did not look like any elementary school she had ever seen.
At the end of the hall, they moved through a door into an open area, an exact duplicate of the office they had just left. A middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair stood directing a couple of teen boys to move things around. She glanced toward the two women as they entered and nodded at her co-worker, grinned at Veronica.
Veronica glanced at the woman beside her, but she was already moving back through the door. "She'll help you," she said indicating her co-worker and disappeared behind the door.
Suddenly a package was thrust into her hands. She held a large bag of hamburger buns. The blonde woman holding another bag motioned her to follow. “We're having a picnic tomorrow at the park, so we're getting everything loaded tonight. Really appreciate your help.”
Another parking lot sat out front and they moved off the sidewalk, across the asphalt, toward a moving truck with two men standing at the rear. "I just need to find my daughter," she said following the woman. "I'm late. Was supposed to pick her up at three."
The woman stopped and turned to her smirking, "Give that to one of the guys, then you can follow me."
She sighed thankfully and handed the buns over to one of the men and followed the woman back to the office, falling in step beside her. "Do you know where she is?"
The woman glanced at her and pulled the door open. She pointed to an area where several old air coolers sat rusting on the ground. "Can you lift? We need some help moving those..."
Veronica felt her face grow warm. She grabbed the door handle, pulled it open, tearing it from the woman's hand. "Can you help me find my daughter or not?" Frustration sounded and she willed herself not to start crying.
The woman stood back, placed one hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. “I don't think so. Not with that attitude!”
Veronica wanted to strike the smug face. She imagined grabbing the woman by the hair, slamming it into the concrete floor. She turned and walked quickly away. Swearing under her breath as she looked at the time on the phone again, she hurried. She had wasted thirty minutes here and cursed herself for not calling Emily to begin with. She had not wanted to appear in need of help. If she called, maybe the social worker would think she was too stupid to raise a child.
The responsibility felt like too much. The girl was like a weight around her neck, dragging her under. She looked across the parking lot trying to spot the car, realizing she was on the wrong side of the building.
Moving down the sidewalk, she came to a set of concrete stairs. Ascending them, she was suddenly overcome with fatigue and sat down, broke into long sobs of frustration. The thought of the girl waiting for her moved her once again, but she felt herself sinking, drowning. The stairs seemed too tall, had grown too steep.
Still seated, she turned and attempted to crawl up the next step still sobbing. A young man approached and stopped not far from her. He fumbled with his car keys, looking uncomfortable. He was small and thin, a shock of dark hair tumbled from his head. A binder stuck from under one arm as he wrung his hands, played with the keys.
Then he moved again into the parking lot to a small turquoise car. He opened the driver's side door, hesitated still eyeing her. "You'll make it," he said, "just keep moving." Then the door slammed and he was pulling from the space.
She continued to stare at the empty space and a strange thought worked through her.
What if? What if she was someone else for awhile, she wondered. What if she had grown up in the perfect family and had none of the problems that plagued her life? What if she could do everything other people who grew up like that did?
She stood, looking around attempting to get some idea of where she was. Why was she wasting time like this? She was not weak or stupid. She looked at the phone again, opened it and hit the code for Emily's phone.
"Hello?" from the other end. A small woman's voice. A kind voice.
"Emily, I'm in trouble. I've made a huge mistake and need your help."
Tesla’s Secret: Part One
1985 article.
Siloam Springs, AR-- Interesting discovery in historic building attributed to Nikola Tesla
After the purchase of a historic monument and hotel, local developer, Moroni Cally began exploring the basement and found, to his surprise, a strange looking mechanical contraption that appeared dated.
"The previous owners said they rarely went into the basement and when they did it was only during tornado warnings," he said. "They never mentioned this machine--or whatever it is."
After some research, a local reporter found that the dating of the machine corresponds to a lengthy stay at the hotel by Nikola Tesla, a Serbian-American inventor.
"Sometime in 1893, Tesla had come into the area and found the place to his liking and decided to stay for awhile. Unfortunately, it was to the detriment of the hotel owners as he was a very demanding guest according to the notes found in the (previous) owner's journals and reports in a small local newspaper called the Sun."
A collector of Tesla objects and artifacts, Chin Trine, examined the machine and reported that though it probably could be attributed to Tesla, the machine was unlike any of the inventor's other contraptions, which generally had to do with energy production.
He also offered to purchase the machine from the new owner. Currently, the machine remains in the basement of the hotel. The owner has no intention of selling, but has said that anyone who would like to examine it, may do so by appointment.
Since the 1985 discovery, the mystery machine fell into obscurity with the hotel changing hands three more times. The machine has remained where it was initially found, probably because the thing looked so forbidding. I happened to find out about it, because one of the hotel owners, a regular at the corner coffee shop, overheard me mention a story about Nikola Tesla.
A conversation ensued and from that, an invitation to view the machine.
Gloria and I arrived at the hotel around noon, on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. The owner of the hotel (preferring to remain nameless) escorted us to the basement, but asked us not to take photos. Thankfully Gloria brought her Iphone and managed to sneak a couple of shots.
“I have no idea how the contraption works,” said the woman. “There is no electricity down here.”
I moved closer to a console which looked to me, like something out of a 1950s science fiction movie. Glancing across it, I noticed several buttons, but no visible cords or wires. Given the absence of power, I did not see how the thing could work. A large red button, sitting at the end of the panel seemed to call to me. Not sure why I did it, but I pressed the darn thing.
A whirring sound, from somewhere in the guts of the beast sounded loudly. Gloria backed away toward the basement door.
"Mom! What did you do?" she yelled over the cacophony of sound that ensued. The owner of the hotel bolted out the door, shoving Gloria aside, nearly knocking her over.
I stood looking at the thing and wondering what just happened. The whirring, was now eclipsed by a loud hum and vibration directly under our feet. "What is that?" I asked.
Gloria and I exchanged a look. "Mom, lets get outta here." She motioned for me to come with her, but I could not move. I had to know what the inventor had done.
My father had begun telling me about Nikola Tesla when I was but a pup. If this truly was his work, it could mean something crazy w
onderful for the world. A new technology never before tapped.
Though he was not in the soundest of minds, especially during his later years, I wondered about many of the projects he had worked on. Most specifically the material and equipment the government confiscated after his death. Could this be something he had tried to hide?
I glanced back at Gloria and shook my head. "I've gotta know Honey. You go." I waved her away. "I have to know..."
She must have thought I had gone insane. The conflict showed on her face. Something between shock and curiosity was quickly replaced by anger. "Are you nuts? This thing is doing something--"
She was cut off by a sudden wind that blew through the room, hitting me full in the face. I went to my knees, smelling and tasting metal.
"Mom!" Gloria, her voice shrill and down on the ground, pointed to the wall behind the console. I peeked around the console and saw that part of the structure fading in and out. It was there, then it wasn't. Replacing it was a large, dark hole.
My immediate thought was that Tesla, in all his wisdom had created a black hole. Could he have? I felt sick with the thought, but knew I had to get out of there quick.
The wind stopped. The room grew silent but for our heavy breathing and the whirring of the console in front of me. I looked back at my daughter standing again near the entrance, clutching the door frame, as if afraid she would blow away.
I held up a hand to indicate I needed her to wait a moment. Obviously the thing had stopped working for some reason. But then a motion in the hole caught my attention and I panicked. I meant to hit the red button again to shut off the machine, but instead hit a white button next to it. Suddenly, the hole lit up and I saw it was not a hole at all, but a tunnel.
Behind me, I heard Gloria's exclamation. "My God! What is it?"
Moving to the other side of the room, afraid to get too close, I needed to get a better look. There was no 'light' at the end of the structure. In fact, it appeared to be a replica of one of those carnival fun house tunnels, with light panels imbed into the side. It also appeared to rotate.
"Hello!" a weak voice called from the tunnel.
"What the--" Gloria appeared even more startled than before. Her eyes grew wide as we both saw a tall figure emerge.
As we stood there, rooted to our respective spots, the late, great Nikola Tesla stepped from the tunnel. I recognized him only from his height and stark features. The man was hardly the fastidiously dressed individual I had read so much about. Neither was he the aged Tesla I would expect to see. But a younger, less vibrant specimen of what Tesla had been.
His tattered suit, an old standby of mid-nineteenth century business men, was not only worn, but ragged. Pieces had been ripped from the gray fabric and large tears showed in the legs. Threads had come apart at the seams. He appeared to be nearly bald, but I noticed clumps of hair had been taken from his head. As if, like the fabric, something had ripped it away.
Despite his slouching posture, he stood over six feet. His thin neck craned forward, bird-like, looking at us from eyes gray with age. Though younger, there were 'aged' traits to his appearance. He limped and I thought for some reason, this to be a result of the process that had brought him here.
Standing just outside the tunnel, he did not move forward. "Who are you?" he snapped.
Gloria had let go of the door frame. "Is that T-T-Tesla?"
I glanced back at her and nodded. "I don't think it's really him though. It's some kind of hologram or advanced imaging." I shook my head, disbelieving. "How could he have done this back then?"
"Of course it's me!" The Tesla image responded looking directly at me. "And you have used my Resurrector to bring me back. What is it you want?"
"Resurrector?" Gloria wondered, stepping closer behind me.
The man swiped the air in front of him, as if swatting a fly. "Yes. I have created a device that can tap the ether and bring back the consciousness of those who have passed over. Unfortunately, is--ggg-- not a-gugugu-- per--gugu--fect process. gugu-- problems." A gurgling began to sound in his voice.
A resurrector that could bring back the consciousness of the dead. What did that mean? "What kind of problems?" I asked.
He glanced down at himself and spread his hands, which appeared to be withering in front of us. Flakes of skin rose like dust and floated away. "We gugu--an still feel our bodies, despite the fa--gugu that we have been dis--gugu--orporated. And the body that I'm in is ban--gugu--rupt. I am fading."
He paused as if exhausted, then looked back up at us and smiled sadly, shaking his head. "I am a failure eh?"
"No sir!" I said. "You are a legend Mister Tesla. Everyone knows who you are, as they did when you were alive. But today people see that some of the things you spoke of like the wireless technology... well, it has come true."
His smile grew wider at that, then his glance fell on the console in front of me. "I gugu--annot move gugu--loser, or the effects of the tunnel will dissipate. I will be blown to bits." He gestured to the console. "You see the bla-- gugu-- nobs with numbers? There are green and red lights over them..."
I nodded. He swatted at the air again and I wondered what it was he saw that I couldn't. The thought caused me to pause and I hoped I would never find out.
"Turn those nobs to increase the amount of energy needed to amplify the effe--gugu--ts of the tunnel. Turn the bottom nob to six."
I reached over and noticed this was the highest setting. "What will this do?" I asked, hesitant.
"Woman!" He snapped at me, swatting the air once more. "It will gugu--eep me from falling to pieces. Please..."
I turned the nob and noticed an immediate rise in sound of the whirring from the console. The man in front of us changed. He stood straighter, tattered clothing repaired and he took a breath.
"That's better. Now," he gestured to the console once again. "to call back someone specifically you must have a photo of that individual and use the thought connector." He waved toward an area of the basement that was unlit. "You will place it on your head and use the photograph for visualization."
Gloria stepped next to me now. "You mean we can call anyone we want?"
He nodded. "Yes. You must have a clear image of an individual in your mind, or you will get me again."
"Kind of like a default consciousness," said Gloria, beside me now.
Tesla nodded, his head full of jet black hair now. "The consciousness you call last is stored in the machine. If you have no other individual, you will get that consciousness."
He swatted at the air again and I realized his hair was thinning once more. So the effect did not last long. "How long do we have before people we call begin falling apart?"
Shrugging his thin shoulders, "I don't know. Not long. Perhaps five minutes. Some are worse than others. "I suggest you do not call Friedrich Nietzsche or other disturbed individuals. They are unstable and may somehow escape the tunnel. In that case you could have problems."
"Ahhhh...agghhhh..." He groaned and put a hand on his chest. "Please let me go back now. Turn the power all the way down or hit the red button." The gurgling in his voice again caused me to shiver. I did not want to know what caused it.
I had to know one more thing. "How is this powered?" I asked. "There are no wires. No cords. Where does it get the energy to run?"
"The... a-ay--air!" He waved his hand in front of him. Energy is everywhere Child. Now let me-me--me-- go!"
I hit the red button and the man vanished. The tunnel disappeared. Gloria and I were alone again and rain had begun to fall outside.
The Free Indie Reader #1 Page 3
