Save Yourself

 

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Chapter 1

The sun shown down over the forest of golden, orange, and brown trees, creating radiance that Maxfield hadn’t seen or appreciated in a long time. He stood at the edge of the overlook and glanced over the side of the railing at the long drop below. The forest spread out before him, a natural scene of calm and beauty he wasn’t used to seeing in the city. He swirled the last sip of whisky in his glass and downed it with a grimace. Turning, his ears adjusted again to the low sound of clinking glasses and relaxing music coming from the guitar and fiddle band on the stage across the field. What a sad looking party, he thought to himself. His eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Maxfield knew almost no one at the party, only the guest of honor.

 

He slowly walked back toward the dance floor and tables. The cake was being passed out. Good, he thought, this shindig must be getting toward the end. The guests were slowly walking back toward their seats to receive their pieces of the magnificent cake that had graced the head table all afternoon. Decorated with fall crocuses imported specially from Europe, the creamy white of the cake glistened under the purple and yellow of the delicate flowers.

 

“Crocuses”, he said laughingly turning to the person next to him, “I wonder, are we meant to eat the flower as well?” The party guest just stared at Maxfield for a moment, giving him a halfhearted smile, then turned back to their desert plate.

Maxfield looked down at the sad piece of cake slowly turning stale in the crisp autumn air.  Crocuses, he secretly scoffed to himself, why go through all the trouble of importing them? Wouldn’t a local flower have been just as pretty? But then again, there really was no expense to be spared for these sorts of things.  Picking up his fork, Maxfield scraped the flowers from the top, leaving them in a pile of petals and gooey white icing on the corner of his plate. Slowly he ate the cake, bite by bite until there was nothing left but those sad crocuses.

 

The sound of dainty golden forks against fine crystal glasses rang in Maxfield’s ears. Swinging his legs from under the table, Maxfield twisted his torso and faced himself toward the head table. There was a gentle scraping of chair legs on the fabricated wooden floor and rustling of silken skirts as the rest of the party settled into position with a view of the hostess. The guests waited patiently for the impending speech as the last notes of the music died away.

 

Slowly and with a calm and grace befitting a woman with no cares in the world, Maxfield watched the hostess rise from her chair and walk into the middle of the dance floor. She wore a strapless ball gown of silk taffeta dyed to a light blue. Maxfield imagined it as the blue of the sky after a stormy night as the sun rose over an endless ocean. The full skirt fell gracefully around her narrow hips and stopped just shy of the ground. When she moved, the hint of her slim white ankles could be seen below the hem of the dress. Her low heels clicked lightly on the floor.

 

Maxfield watched the woman with both admiration and a muted sadness. Her young face shone with happiness and pride as her dark brown hair fell in gentle waves against her shoulders. A light breeze lifted her hair away from her neck and blew the waves out behind her. Maxfield could see the outline of tiny goose bumps ripple down her arms. She must be cold in that dress, he thought to himself.

 

The young woman reached the middle of the dance floor just as a ray of sunshine broke from behind a cloud. She turned her head and lifted her face toward the brilliant light. A woman of no more than thirty-five, her skin shone like painted porcelain. Her bright blue eyes squinted in the sunlight, creating small laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. She wore little makeup. A golden locket, too bulky and heavy for her petite frame, swung gently around her neck, falling almost to her waist. She reached up gently, almost absentmindedly and rubbed the locket as she turned her face back down to the waiting crowd.

 

“Friends, family, everyone who came out to celebrate with me today”, she began. “I want to thank you all for being here. This day has been a long time coming for me”. She glanced down at the locket in her hands. “I hope you have enjoyed the party. Please don’t forget to pick up your party favor on the way out”.

 

Trivialities. Why is she wasting her time talking about such petty things? Maxfield thought.

 

The young woman blushed slightly, lost in her own happy thoughts. “Each and every one of you have made my life so special”, she continued, her voice breaking slightly at her next words. “I’m going to miss you all”.

 

A Gentle sob could be heard from a table across the floor, but was then choked back just as suddenly. No one turned to see who it was.

 

The young woman glanced down at the locket that she still hadn’t let go of. A smile broke across her lips. “Please everyone. Thank you so much for coming, but the time has come for you to go. Please proceed across the field to the parking lot, get in your cars, and drive home. On the way I ask that you remember all of the happy times we shared. When you get home I ask you to hug your loved ones. Please remember how much I love all of you!” she concluded joyfully.

 

Without hesitation, the entire congregation rose from their chairs, gathered their belongings, and shuffled slowly away from the gaily-decorated tables and half eaten plates of cake. No one stayed behind to clean up; those people would come later. Only a few lingered behind momentarily to gently hug the young woman or squeeze her hand bravely as they passed by.

 

As a group, the partygoers walked slowly across the freshly mown field toward the parking lot. Maxfield lingered at the back of the pack. Several cars beeped shortly as electronic locks clicked open. Car doors swung open and closed creating a symphony of deep thuds and engines started up with a gentle metallic humming. Out of respect, no one looked back at the hastily abandoned party; no one except Maxfield.

 

Turning slowly to look back, Maxfield’s eyes lit upon the young woman. He watched as she slowly walked to the edge of the overlook. Even from across the field, he could still see her ankles peeking out from beneath the dress as she walked. The sun broke from behind the clouds, causing Maxfield to squint in the sudden brightness. The gentle rays created a hazy glow around the young woman. The details of her face seemed magnified in the sunlight. Maxfield saw her smile gently as a single tear slid down her cheek. Her graceful arms lifted the locket from around her neck. She hugged it to her chest with a motion of deep reverence. She straightened her shoulders with determination as she turned back toward the scene before her.

 

The wind swept through the autumn leaves of the trees below. The sun shone down with a force out of place for the melancholy scene. Her head held high, the young woman gathered up her skirt in one hand, the locket grasped preciously in the other, and lightly stepped herself over the safety railing. Lifting her face one more time, she kissed the locket and clutched it to her chest. In the blink of an eye she had stepped over the side and was gone.

 

Good, Maxfield thought. It is done

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Chapter 2

Maxfield headed South on I-91 through Connecticut on his way back to New York City. He was driving fast because he had decided to take the scenic route. Not that it mattered; no one drove the speed limit these days anyways and no one was waiting for him back in New York. The monotonous stretch of highway loomed in front of him like a winding grey snake.  Trees lined both sides of the road.

 

It was a perfectly lovely party, Maxfield had decided. In fact, it was one of the nicer suicide parties he had been to. Some he had attended were dark, depressing sorts of parties, held in dingy, leaking basements. There was no cake or music or dancing, only alcohol and usually some mild drugs. Everyone would cry until they drank themselves into a stupor and then while no one was looking, the host or hostess would quietly slip away to slit their wrists in the bathroom or inject themselves with a lethal dose of heroine. No one wanted to clean up after those parties.

 

It wasn’t uncommon anymore to have a thousand suicides a day in New York City alone. Demand for coroners and funeral homes was through the roof. Maxfield sighed at the thought of all those promising young lives cut short. Of course not all of them were young, they spanned all ages, races, and genders. Sometimes they would kill themselves quietly, with no party, alone and abandoned at the end of their chosen life. Sometimes huge groups would walk into the ocean all at once with rocks in their pockets, a sort of community of solidarity.

 

Almost no one died of old age anymore.

 

He had lost track of time. All of a sudden the lights of the Holland tunnel rose up in front of him and began passing overhead. He tried to count the lamps as they flashed their dim orange light inside his car. Half way through he lost track.

 

Downtown, Maxfield circled the block in front of his office, searching for the ever-elusive parking spot. On his fifth circle a spot directly across from his building opened up. He pulled a quick u-turn, ignoring the oncoming traffic, and skidded directly into the spot, his front right tire coming to rest up on the curb. He backed up a couple of inches until the car was sitting right again, then, when he was satisfied that the car was perfectly centered, he turned off the engine and opened the door.

 

The car was vintage. Most people tried to tell him it was just old and vintage was a word used by sleazy car salesmen to raise the price on an otherwise run down vehicle. Maxfield didn’t care, they simply didn’t understand. His grandfather had bought the car and passed it down to Maxfield’s father who then passed it down to Maxfield. Navy blue with chromed wheels and its signature angular front end, the 1974 Cadillac Calais sat like an old cardboard box among the shiny new plastic and metal of the compact cars of the modern day. Classic, he told himself as he looked down at it and rubbed a bit of dirt from the driver’s side mirror. He would have to get the car washed soon. There was entirely too much dirt on that Massachusetts mountain he commented to himself, thinking back to the party earlier that day. It felt like a year had gone by since he had seen his latest client step over the edge of the overlook.

 

Maxfield stepped away from the car and crossed the street to his office. It was almost 6 O’clock and the sun was well below the level of the surrounding buildings. A brisk wind swept down the shadowed avenue, forcing Maxfield to pull his coat closed against the chill. He reached the door and looked up at the white block letters that were beginning to peel away at the corners:

 

MAXFIELD HODGE

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

 

He would get some new lettering after the winter he told himself. He unlocked the door and turned the handle, it swung open with a bang as another gust of wind blasted down the street. Maxfield stepped inside the doorway and pushed the heavy wooden door closed with his foot. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. He was tired. The party and the drive had taken more out of him than he expected.

 

Maxfield was a large man, towering six feet and one inch tall with broad shoulders and a wide chest. His stocky neck supported a stately head topped with a mess of tousled blonde hair. A long time ago, when sports had still been popular, Maxfield had played baseball. His body still retained the sculpted musculature of his youth, but time had taken a toll on his face. Deep wrinkles had sunken into his forehead, set in by long nights of reading and researching in the low lamplight of his office. His skin was pale and patched with a few graying whiskers he had missed on his morning shave.

 

He was dressed in dark denim blue jeans, a button up shirt, and a sweater vest he was pretty sure he had been given as a Christmas gift a few years ago, but couldn’t remember who might have given it to him. His long overcoat hung unbuttoned. He had been the most underdressed at the party, but it didn’t really matter, no one noticed him there anyways. He did have one suit, but he almost never wore it except for the most special of occasions.

 

Opening his eyes, Maxfield started toward his office. The faded hall runner, an ancient Indian rug he had found in the basement of the building, muffled his footsteps as he trudged down the long, dim hallway. One of the bulbs flickered momentarily above his head. He would replace that soon, he promised himself. A single chair sat outside the door to Maxfield’s office. He shrugged off his coat and dumped it on the chair unceremoniously. Walking into the room, he flipped the switch; there was a momentary flash of light then darkness again. Shit, he thought. He would hunt for the breaker box in the morning.

 

In the semi-darkness of his office, Maxfield felt his way around the desk and reached into the bottom drawer. His hands met piles of papers and other odds and ends he couldn’t easily identify in the dark. At the bottom of the drawer he pulled out the hand crank emergency flashlight and radio he always kept around for just these sorts of times. He wound the handle and turned the flashlight on. Setting it on his desk he settled back in his worn leather desk chair. The beam illuminated only a quarter of the room. He glanced at the wall where the light was brightest. His eyes landed on the old copy of Scientific American framed in a cheap frame and hanging on the wall. It was listing to one side.

 

He got up from his seat, intending to fix the crooked frame, but tripped in the shadowed darkness on the edge of the carpet and careened head first into the wall. The frame came loose and crashed to the floor, shattering glass in every direction. Maxfield slowly got up from the floor, taking care not to touch the shards of glass. He would clean that up in the morning, he decided.

 

Picking up the magazine from the broken frame, Maxfield gingerly shuffled back across the room and returned to his seat. Turning the flashlight on himself, he stared at the cover of the publication.

 

NEW DISCOVERY! The headline was splashed across a picture of the original SF2000. The “Soul Finder” people had dubbed it, though the letters in fact stood for the two scientists who had invented it, Dr. Henry Swillinger and Dr. Herman Field. Maxfield flipped through the pages of the magazine until it fell open to the article. The pages were creased and the edges worn with constant holding and reading. He began to read the article again.

 

----N.Y.

The distinction between physical and spiritual has always been quite clear, but two scientists have made a radical discovery that brings the two closer than ever before and blurs the lines of fact and fiction. Dr. Henry Swillinger and Dr. Herman Field have made an amazing breakthrough in their research into the metaphysical side of human anatomy.

“Dr. Swillinger and I first began our research several years ago with the hope of finding physical evidence of and even perhaps locating the human soul. Clearly the scientific community thought we were mad and no one would fund our research”, Dr. Field says. However, all that changed a little over ten years ago when an anonymous donor offered up five billion dollars to the pair to help make their ideas come to life.

“We were working on the principle that everything in the universe runs at a certain frequency. Our hypothesis was that we could measure the frequency of each individual part of the body and compare those with the frequency of the body as a whole. If we had any extra frequencies, those must belong to something…perhaps even something like a human soul”, Dr. Swillinger says.

After three years of intense research and study, the pair made a life-changing discovery. A young woman being studied at the Manhattan Institute of Medicine was found to have a frequency undiscovered in other patients. The frequency, commonly referred to as the “God Frequency”, exhibited a pattern unlike any previously known. Swillinger and Field would later find that this frequency belonged to what can only be classified as a new element. ______________ has not yet been added to the periodic table as debate still rages widely over the validity of the finding.

“Once we discovered________________ we knew we would need to find a way to identify the element visually. We began working on a machine to capture a visual picture of the element in motion throughout the body”, Dr. Swillinger said.

But the pair would soon be out of luck and out of money. Three years of research had completely drained the initial donation and the one time anonymous donor did not step forward to volunteer any more money. Swillinger and Field, still scientific pariahs to most of the medical community, were only able to secure funding from several smaller universities and research hospitals.

But their saving grace came when over four hundred and thirty million dollars came in as donations from the American public.  News of this miraculous and historic event swept over the nation and eventually made worldwide news headlines. Over the next year a staggering 1.3 Billion additional dollars was collected as individual donations from hopeful people around the globe.

After only two more years and copious amounts of trial and error, the SF2000 was born. Dubbed the “Soul Finder” by the general public, the machine was not an immediate success.

“The SF 2000 was bulky and unstable. Our mistakes in the engineering of the machine cost us valuable time and money, but we wouldn’t stop. We couldn’t stop”, Dr. Field said. In a tragic series of events the first few versions of the machine left human users badly burned or disfigured, with two people later dying from the injuries they sustained. When asked to comment on this Dr. Field only said, “The incidents were regrettable, but our volunteers knew the risks of such an unorthodox trial. We had to keep pushing forward.”

After publishing initial results with no conclusive evidence of the new element, the Doctors turned to another avenue for help. A contest was developed for all students and faculty at the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Anyone who could perfect the SF2000 would be given full credit for the official discovery of ______________. Winning the contest would almost assure a Nobel Prize.

The entries came flying in by the dozens, but the most promising result came from a most unusual corner. Joan Blake, an MIT Sophomore, known at the time only for her practice of the Wiccan religion and her uncanny ability to unseat even the most experienced of chess grandmasters, wrote in with a most unusual idea. 

Joan hypothesized that ________ might be visualized as some people were able to visualize what the paranormal community has called auras. She abandoned the original SF2000 and created the sphaerascope, a revolutionary microscope that uses supercharged alpha rays to penetrate the human body. These rays are then reflected back via a series of angled mirrors. Using this method, she was the first to successfully gain a clear picture of __________.

“Swillinger and Field were on the right track, but they were relying on outdated MRI and CAT scan technology with minor modifications. This was something totally new and it needed a totally new way of looking at it”, Blake said.

But one mystery remained, why could ______________be found in only some people and not all? Needless to say, the religious community came out in full force, citing the saving power of faith as the reason only a fraction of the tested population were found to have ____________. Although the participant information showed no correlation between faith and the presence of ______________, calls to religion could be seen everywhere, the most iconic being the billboard in Times Square that read “Find your soul! Save your soul!”.

As experimentation continued, fewer and fewer people were found to have ___________. The scientific community began to question the existence of the element at all. But four years after the initial experimentation began, a startling and unexpected event occurred. Swillinger’s six-year-old nephew was left unattended in the lab with the sphaerascope. Not understanding the nature of the machine, the boy used the scope to look at his stuffed animal. When Swillinger returned for the boy he found levels of _____________ higher than any he had found in humans.

New experimentations began and _______________was found to be contained in a variety of other objects. However, as with all scientific discovery, more answers means even more questions. Why do these objects contain such high levels of ______________? Why were levels of ____________disappearing from humans? Can ____________________ be transferred from these objects to humans and how?

Scientific debate still rages over the validity of Swillinger, Field, and Blake’s findings. But the idea of the human soul being found has taken hold of the American public and the world. Who knows where the trio will take us next!

 

Maxfield rubbed his weary eyes with the back of his hand as he flipped the magazine closed. He remembered reading the article for the first time as a young man. Thousands of publications had printed millions of articles since then, both denying and supporting the claims of Swillinger, Field, and Blake. Maxfield hadn’t understood it all and right now he didn’t care to think about it.

 

Winding the flashlight up a few more times, Maxfield got up from his chair and made his way over to the sagging old couch he kept against the back wall of the room. Bending over, he slowly pulled up the slotted blinds covering the window above the couch. A single lamp from the street cast a weak illumination down the alley behind his building. It was raining and from the direction of the droplets, he could tell the wind had picked up significantly. No use in going out in this, he thought and plopped down on the couch. Maxfield swung his legs over the arm of the couch and folded himself onto the cushions. He was much too tall to lie out completely so he curled up with his feet hanging over the edge. He didn’t even have time to remove his shoes before he had fallen fast asleep.

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Chapter 3

Maxfield awoke with a severe pounding in his head. The room was too brightly lit with the sunlight that had forced its way through the blinds he had left half open the night before. He reached up with one hand and tried to pull on the cord to lower the blinds. He couldn’t reach. He propped himself up on one elbow and reached farther. The cords were knotted and wrapped around each other, making it difficult to pull. One side fell while the other lifted, creating a cockeyed flood of light on the rug. “Argh!” he exclaimed exasperated. He gave the cord one more yank and the entire blind came crashing down on top of him with a jangle of noise. Just great, he thought. Now I guess I have to fix that too. Pushing the broken blind to the floor with a grimace, Maxfield turned over and shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the brightness of the new day. He was just about to fall back asleep when he heard a low cough emitting from the hallway.

 

Maxfield groaned inwardly as he looked at his watch. Nine thirty it read. He eased himself off the couch with a deliberate slowness. First he swung one leg around until his foot met the ground, then the other foot followed. Using his hands, he slowly lifted his torso from horizontal to vertical. The pounding in his head still had not stopped and it was suddenly accompanied by a faint dizziness. He sat bent over with his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths. The vertigo passed.

 

Taking care not to rise too fast, Maxfield stood up from his seat on the couch. He arched his back and threw his hands above his head in an exaggerated morning stretch. The couch was not a comfortable place to sleep and with no power last night the air in the building had become cold and damp making his muscles cold and stiff. Maxfield brushed some stray dust bunnies from his coat, ran his hands through his hair, walked to the door of the office, and pulled it open.

 

Standing in the doorway was a small, mousy looking woman that Maxfield estimated to be in her mid forties. Her thin frame was made even smaller looking by the dark green oversized men’s parka she was wearing. Her light brown hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and her eyes appeared large and bloodshot, as if she hadn’t slept in a few days.

 

“Are you Maxfield Hodge?” she asked, looking up at him pitifully.

 

“Yes”, he mumbled, and then cleared his throat and in a louder, clearer voice repeated, “Yes, I’m Maxfield Hodge. What can I do for you?”

 

She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the front door, which Maxfield was kicking himself for having left unlocked last night. Then turning back to face him she asked, “Can we talk about this inside your office?”

 

“Come right in,” Maxfield replied. The woman walked into the office with small quick steps and, after looking around the room for a few seconds, settled herself in the appropriate chair across from Maxfield’s desk. Maxfield pulled the door shut behind her and walked over to his old leather desk chair.  Plopping himself down unceremoniously he folded his hands on the desk and waited for her to speak.

 

His direct gaze seemed to make her uncomfortable because she started to readjust herself in the chair several times. She took one more quick glance over her shoulder and then began to speak. “Mr. Hodge,” she started. “My name is Penelope Winter and I understand you are a man who is good at finding things.” She added slowly, “all sorts of things.”

 

“Ma’am if you want me to find your soul, that’s what I do. I run a flat fee of $400 for the scan and initial interview, it’s $200 per week until I find it, plus travel expenses,” Maxwell spat out the words with a certain monotone indifference.

 

The woman sat upright in her chair wide eyed and visually startled. Her back was flat against the back of the chair as if Maxwell’s words had pierced her as darts pierce a dartboard. “I…I…,” she stammered.

 

Maxfield gave an exasperated sigh. He didn’t need this this morning. His head still hurt with a low throbbing. “Ma’am,” he began with heavy breath.

 

“Please, call me Penelope,” she interrupted gently.

 

“Okay, Miss Penelope,” Maxfield began again. “I am a very busy man and I have plenty of paying clients that I need to attend to today. Would you like my services or not?”

 

“Mr. Hodge, I’m not sure you understand. You see, I’m in a bit of trouble,” she said quietly.

 

Trouble? Maxfield didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of trouble?” He asked hesitantly.

 

“Well…” She paused. “I…I don’t want to say exactly.”

 

“Ma’am”

 

“Penelope,” she corrected him.

 

“Yes, Miss Penelope. I would be happy to help you if I can, but I can’t be mixed up with anything illegal. It’s bad for business you see.”

 

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She looked down at her hands tightly clasped in her lap. “I’m so sorry I have taken up so much of your time Mr. Hodge. Thank you for speaking with me. I will leave you now.” She rose slowly from the chair, appearing as if she were choking down a sob rising in her throat. “Good day Mr. Hodge,” she said after gathering herself. Then she turned on her heel and walked softly to the door. Gingerly, she cracked the door open a few inches and peeked through the gap. Satisfied that the hallway was empty, she glanced back at Maxfield, gave a short nod of her head in farewell, closed the door behind her, and was gone.

 

Maxfield, who had been leaning forward heavily on the desk as he was speaking, sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. He was embarrassed by the way he had acted toward the woman. It was clear that she was in great need of help, but Maxfield had refused to notice or care. This wasn’t like him. He gave another sigh, his shoulders rising and falling heavily. He had lied; Maxfield’s last client had stepped off a cliff the day before. He had no one to work for and nothing to find.

 

A low grumbling in his stomach interrupted his thoughts. He looked down at his watch again, 9:50AM. He picked himself up from the chair and stepped around his desk. Something crunched under his foot, the broken glass from the picture frame. He glanced over at the empty space on the far wall, suddenly remembering why his head was pounding. He would clean that up when he got back. Looking around, Maxfield scanned the office for his coat. He had left it on the chair in the hallway he realized, the foggy memories of yesterday slowly coming back into his head. He picked up his keys from the floor next to the couch where he had dropped them after taking them out of his pocket during the night and walked to the door. Something suddenly overcame him and mirroring the woman who had just left, he opened the door only a crack and peeked through at the hallway. Hmmmm, he thought. I wonder what she was looking for? Shaking the suspicious thought from his head, Maxfield picked up his coat and left his office, making sure to lock both doors behind him.

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