Chapter 33 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Static on a Saturday Night

 Chapter 33 – Static on a Saturday Night

A minute before the government car carrying F.B.I. agents Murrey and Farrow crested the ridge leading down to Happy Meadows, I had left with my group of companions. Rico was driving Jerry’s hearse and Jerry was riding shotgun. In the back rode Joey, Sal and an extremely relaxed Frank. We had Carmen sedate him again so that we could easily walk him from his room to the back of the hearse.

Frank was now a bit more verbal now, but I could tell that he needed medical attention. He was a little disoriented and sometimes he would slur his words. I wondered if we had made the right choice with another round of sedation but Frank, even in old age, was a very large and powerfully built guy. I doubt that even all of us together could restrain him if he decided to resist transport.

The spirits of the dead continued to follow us down the dirt and gravel road as we turned onto a two-lane blacktop leading into town. The air around us was charged with energy. Bursts of static electricity were visible and danced on the hood of the hearse momentarily, only to disappear in the blink of the eye. It was both hypnotic and unsettling…as were the periodic sighting of the spirits themselves.

There were more spirits trailing after the hearse now. Many more of them. Perhaps several hundred. Many were physically distorted, often lacking a complete form. They were hazier and more blurred than the ones I had seen earlier. Perhaps these were older spirits joining the more recent ones. These looked more like energy masses with vague human details such as arms and legs. The ball lightning was all around us. The orbs were now commonly two feet in diameter. Some a bit larger. Like glowing beach balls hovering in the night air.

I was riding shotgun in Fenton’s Chevy. Clara was sandwiched between us. We had delayed leaving to hose off pieces of the assassin known as Cutter from Fenton’s car. The carnage was ramping up Fenton’s anxiety more than it seemed to bother Clara and Sal. They borrowed a hose from Happy Meadows and the three of us were able to sanitize Fenton’s car to the point he could climb into it.

During this time, Tony Accardo’s clean up team arrived and removed Zack ‘the Hack’ Coleman’s body. It was this team that assisted some of the residents of Happy Meadows in moving Zach’s odoriferous partner Artie Best outside and placed him under the front porch. Artie was told in no uncertain terms that his life would be forfeit if he talked to the police or F.B.I. about the events leading up to his unfortunate circumstances.

 Joey had a brief conversation with the team. He indicated that we suspected that Frank had sustained a stroke and would be checked by a local medic before being transported up to Chicago. The word would be passed to Tony Accardo.

We followed the spirits of the dead at a speed of about twenty miles an hour. They seemed to now glide along, or more accurately were almost magnetically drawn behind Jerry’s hearse. The flashes of light were so intense at times that you couldn’t even see the vehicle. As the dead crossed a small iron bridge that spanned a tiny creek, now swollen with the recent rain, the entire bridge lit up. It glowed and pulsed as the army of spirits accessed it.

“Look at this!” I murmured as we rolled over the ancient bridge which had been constructed some thirty years before my birth. Static electricity was now arcing between the support structures lighting up the night in brief flashes.

“I don’t see how we are supposed to get to the bookstore without attracting public attention.” Fenton said. He looked haggard and tense. I could tell that he was very “not okay” with the events of the evening so far.

“This caravan is lit up like a Christmas tree.” Clara complained. “I’ve seen Mardi Gras parades that were less conspicuous.”

As we neared the little metro area of Kildeer and the location of the bookstore, Fenton’s car engine sputtered a bit.

“What was that? “Fenton fussed. “I just had this thing tuned up last week.”

“Sounds like your car’s stalling a bit. Clara said. "Maybe some bad gas?" She looked past me, out of the passenger side window at a huge ball of static. It burst. I could hear the pop. It sounded more like a gunshot than a toy ballon rupturing. We both yipped and flinched in surprise at the volume of the explosion. Fenton’s car bucked again but then the engine smoothed back out.

“It might be the “spook show” outside. Maybe static is disrupting the ignition and the timing.” Fenton reasoned. “How many ghosts are in this procession. It seems like there are a lot more of them right now.”

“There might be a few more of them now. I haven’t been counting.” I said slowly, trying to downplay the number. Fenton was already upset and was driving over a series of bridges. I didn’t want to stress him any more than necessary. I had remembered that Rico or Jerry had said that there might be thousands of spirits manifesting before dawn.

“Look at that, up ahead.” Clara took off her glasses and put her face down. “Cops!” she slowly massaged her eyes.

A Kildeer Police Department cruiser pulled in front of Jerry Gonzales’ hearse. The siren sounded briefly and night was pierced with flashing red and blue lights.

“Fenton, drive around them! We can scrunch down in the front seat. You can just let us out a block or so down the street and then we can walk back…like we just bumped into Rico and Jerry. Go home. You don’t have to get involved in this mess any further.” Clara suggested.

“No.” Fenton said bravely. “I’m not bailing out on my friends. If I don’t have my reputation and self-respect, I have nothing.”

Clara gave him a quick peck on the cheek. I could tell that she was feeling guilty about getting all of us into trouble…potentially legal hot water.

“Crap, it’s Phil Jennings.” I shook my head. A second police car did a U-turn on Hastings Street. It stopped by the hearse as well. Tucker Davidson emerged.

Fenton pulled up behind Jerry’s hearse. The three of us got out. Fenton left his car running reasoning that he might have gotten some “bad gasoline” when he filled up at Synder’s Service Station last week. He was hoping to keep the engine running lest he have problems restarting his Chevy.

I felt a tingle all over my skin as the dead spirits separated and surrounded the scene. I realized the static was making my hair stand straight up as I caught a side long look at some of the phantoms.  The static illuminated them only momentarily. But the rest of the light show was brighter and noisier than before.

Both Clara and Fenton wore their hair short. My blonde locks were fully charged by the ambient electricity. "Clara, Look, even my hair is up for whatever happens next!" I laughed.

"Oh my God Jax. You look like a Troll doll." She replied, unsuccessfully trying not to smile.

“You know, this level of intense static energy might be problematic for the entire town.  Fenton said. “I remember something Mr. Tenneson said in physics class one day. It could explain my car problems.” Mr. Tenneson still taught science in our high school. He was probably the smartest person I knew.

“Is it my imagination or do the spirits have an anger thing Jennings and Davidson.” I said it more to hear for myself. More to hear if it sounded crazy than for social validation. But Fenton agreed.

“It’s our emotions.” Fenton deduced. “They somehow are feeding off our emotions and turning it into static electricity.

“I'll bet it’s Frank’s emotions. Clara said. “He hates cops, remember.”

At that precise moment the flashing lights in the police cars stopped. Then they exploded. The police car engines shut completely down. Then I heard Fenton’s car engine stop at the same moment.

Fenton took his glasses off and cleaned them as he looked up with a smile. “An electromagnetic pulse. Mr. Tenneson was right.”

Both Jennings and Davidson ran back to their police cruisers to assess damage and radio for back up.