The Tesla Gate by John D. Mimms

Author:John D. Mimms
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

I took the final swig from my glass and sat it on the table in front of me, staring at the milky film coating the inside of the glass. I could feel the flame in my gut again, trying to rebel against the lactic acid onslaught. I might save myself a lot of worry and aggravation if I could just accept and appreciate the way things are instead of constantly asking why. Maybe I am not meant to know, or maybe I am just incapable of comprehending. Maybe it’s both.

I got up and washed my glass in the sink then set it out to dry. I pushed the questions and the worry to the back of my mind as best I could and focused on tomorrow. Seth and I would be resuming our trip in the morning, and that made me happy; that soothed my stomach better than anything. I got in bed and slept relatively peacefully, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It had nothing to do with Seth, of that much I was certain, but it was something close. I awoke to the distant sound of someone sobbing. I couldn’t tell if it was outside our window or somewhere in the house. I sat up and listened. I heard it again, this time I could tell it was the unhappy sobs of a woman. Could it be Miss Chenowith? I swung my legs over the side of the bed and quietly slid to the floor. I looked at Seth and Jackson. They were still resting peacefully. I silently dressed and tiptoed to the door. I listened intently, and when I heard the crying again, I could tell it was coming from just down the hall, maybe the kitchen or the crystal ball room.

I opened the door as carefully as I could; every muscle in my body was stiff with anticipation as I tried to move without being heard. Now that the door was open and I was in the hallway, the sobs were much more pronounced and I could tell they were not coming from the kitchen, but the room with the crystal ball and radio.

It dawned on me how silly I was being and I instantly felt like some kind of perverted voyeur. Why was I trying to sneak up on sweet Miss Chenowith in her own home? If she was upset I either needed to give her privacy or attempt to comfort her. I decided that since I was this far committed, I should see if I can help her. She had probably heard me opening the bedroom door, anyway.

I walked past the kitchen and entered the doorway to the room where Miss Chenowith was sitting at the table with the crystal ball, her back to the window. Her head was buried in her hands as she continued to weep copiously. As I slowly approached and my eyes became accustomed to the morning light streaming in through the window, my guts twisted like someone wringing a towel and my heart leapt into my throat.

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