The three deaths of Dr George W Sturp

Dr George W Sturp died. His death was an inconspicuous one. He was
tending his well kept garden in the favourite of his houses when the
wind picked up around him and he collapsed on the lawn. It was perhaps
appropriate that the good Dr died tending his garden, that he had
lovingly worked on for much of his life. The wind swept the fallen
leaves around his prone form and the world carried on for a time, as if
his death had changed nothing.

In truth the wind had always done funny things to Dr Sturp. It had
often been some kind of inspiration to him and it had been particularly
windy on the day the idea that changed his life, and his death, came to
him. Or to be more precise the idea of the Spirit Communicatory
&;amp; Distribution Device (SCADD) was born.

The device was entirely revolutionary and could potentially change the
lives, and deaths, of thousands of people across the world (for those
who could afford it of course). The device laid the claim that it could
house the soul, or more accurately, fragments of the soul after death.
Through the SCADD, created by Dr Sturp, mankind could truly communicate
with the dead.

The Dr had been walking along one of his favourite paths when the idea
came to him. He was lost in thought as he walked, oblivious to other
passers by and not really noticing the gardens and parkland as he
passed. A wind seemed to arrive from the bowels of the earth or the
furthest corners of the heavens and struck him with all the subtlety of
a football striking the gut and almost knocked him off his feet. He
stumbled and reached out to a nearby tree to steady himself while the
sunlight seemed to burn into him, scorching the bald patch of his
head.

"Yes, that's his favourite garden. Or was. He may have changed his mind
on the matter. I must remember to ask him."

Michael shifted uneasily on his stool at this. "You know? I just
can't?"

"You just can't get used to him still being around although he's dead.
No, me neither. I'm not used to him being dead yet. Never mind him
still being here. If you know what I mean."

"Ah?well." And Michael's speech tailed off again. His mind grasped for
words that had not yet been invented to cope with the late Dr Sturp's
invention. The two sat together at the breakfast bar, that had only
been used to take breakfast twice, perched on high stools.

In the silence Ida's gaze drifted to George's gardening gloves that lay
neatly on the microwave. She hadn't spoken to George for two days and
he had only been dead for a month. The company had wasted no time in
capturing George's soul fragment, and encasing it in a SCADD. A keen
employee hoping to impress had suggested that they split the soul
fragment further into another SCADD which could be kept at the Company
Head Quarters as a figurehead. Ida was surprised they had so openly
done this, she need never have known about it all and had her
suspicions that her SCADD had been the afterthought. She'd have to ask
George.

"The truth is Michael, I don't know how to feel. How can I grieve? I've
lost him and yet he's in the sitting room in the corner, or a part of
him is, that I can speak to."

"Scientists don't think about feelings they just?" Michael was making a
habit of not finishing his sentences. "I'm sorry Ida, I wasn't
thinking. George was a top man. Kind and a good friend, and someone I
looked up to but I don't think he knew what he'd invented and what
effect it'd have on people."

"That's OK Michael."

"It just has such wide implications. It's a fantastic thing but it's
dealing with things we don't really understand. Sorry."

"I feel sad. I don't know whether to grieve that he's gone or be happy
I still have a part of him, but I feel such sadness."

Ida watched Michael with a clinical eye. The subject of emotions
usually made him quiet and he gave a characteristic shift on his seat
to confirm he was uncomfortable. Time passed and their conversation
shifted to casual matters.

"Well, thanks for the coffee, and for letting me talk to him."

"I", said the voice. "Ida."

"Hello George."

"What time is it? Where have you been?"

"It's late, or early, depending on your point of view. Don't you know
where I've been?"

"I". The voice seemed to fade and soon returned. "Michael came to see
me, I. He told me about the second SCADD being moved. He didn't think I
already knew."

'How can I be sure it's you', was all Ida wanted to say to the SCADD,
to the voice, to George.

"They've moved me to the development centre. I think they're trying to
get me back to work."

Ida let herself smile at the joke, but it only served to un-nerve her
further. This voice, coming from the innards of the device that stood,
slightly larger than an urn (which she had had to move on George's
insistence) glowing dully in the corner of the sitting room was joking
with her, in the begrudging way her dead husband used to.

"I'm tired George, I'm going to go to bed."

The truly and totally emasculated Dr watched, or was aware of his wife
and widow leaving the room. He sensed her presence standing alone in
their bedroom while he remained rooted downstairs, as immobile and
sexless as the urn that he had made her move. He remained and
contemplated the hell that he had created for himself and the others
that had been confined and caught by his creations.

The world had not been ready for the invention of Sturp's SCADD. It
changed everything and complicated more issues than had ever been
anticipated. Widows and widowers were never truly widowed again. It
didn't take long for the first divorce between wife and (dead) husband.
The case was refused to be heard as how could a widow divorce from a
dead husband? There was surely no need. But the widow successfully
counter argued that this meant she had to put up with her husband's
rumblings and rants indefinitely, or until she died, or worse still,
was also reduced to a fragment of her spirit caught in a SCADD?

It seemed the inventor himself had not been ready for his discovery.
George was bitter, twice as bitter than the man he was. From his spot
in the sitting room he could see a small section of the garden he used
to love. He saw the lellundi become more overgrown and unkempt while
apples grew to ripe perfection, before shrivelling, twisting, turning
black and falling wasted, to the soil. Then finally to be picked by
birds, insects and other scavengers of the garden. He hated to see his
perfect garden turning into the garden he had worked so hard to improve
and most of all he hated not being able to do anything about it. Never
again would he feel the sun on his back, or the wind pushing against
him.

The further life became out of his reach the less he began to care
about it. He mused that life was not worth living and he wasn't and
worse than that he was trapped, forced to see life around him. This had
to be worse than death. The realisation slowly seeped into George's
fragmented soul that the SCADD was a cage from which he could see what
he was missing and always would miss. The device had soured his
soul.

"I" he called, "Ida!" He called louder and louder.

Ida was repulsed to hear her name be called by that which was not fit
to be called a part of her husband. The harbinger of jealousy and
bitterness that had become her husband, abstract notions that had
replaced George.

Ida stood in the doorway looking at the SCADD.

"Ida. I always used to like saying your name when I was alive." The
dull glow of the SCADD rhythmically pulsed as George's soul spoke. The
wind blew against the window as Ida remained quiet and still.

"Help me Ida. My wonderful discovery is nothing but a prison for the
dead. I've made ghosts come alive and ruined souls both dead and alive.
I'm ruining you and there's nothing I can do about it."

Ida moved from her spot and walked slowly over to him.

"Ida I know what you are thinking?" Before George could finish Ida
heaved the device from its ceremonial placing in the sitting room.
"Ida, Ida," George chanted slowly as she hoisted the SCADD to her side.
In one huge effort Ida swung him across the room through the widow and
out to the patio. The SCADD cracked and chipped and lay rolling on the
patio. Ida took the fireplace poker and smashed him to oblivion. She
finished the job and reached inside the shattered remains to find an
organic part of the SCADD. She threw it away in disgust as much at what
she had done as at the slimy object. It lay amongst the rotting apples
in the soil and Dr Sturp died for the second time in his favourite
garden.

"Mrs Sturp, what an unexpected pleasure. Please take a seat." Mr Pascoe
gestured dramatically at the settee, much like an eager salesman. "Our
company owes a great deal to your late husband after all. We do try to
tell him that as often as possible." Mr Pascoe grinned.

Ida smiled and hid her distaste for Pascoe's lack of taste. It seems
the SCADDs had brought about a taste bypass in the world.

"Your husband is, I think you should know the most vocal of all the
seventy-seven SCADDs in operation today. I think maybe the old boy knew
something that he didn't tell us, like how to fully utilise them, you
know?"

Ida could see that Mr Pascoe was fishing and saw that maybe her husband
was the only one to fully understand the device. Though they, she
speculated, probably understood the marketing potential of the device
much better than George ever did.

Ida shrugged her shoulders and sipped the rapidly cooling cup of
complimentary tea.

"I trust you're not having any trouble with George, I mean to say the
SCADD of George of course."

"No, it's just fine, and George is good too. And you?"

"Oh, no problems at all," Pascoe blurted. " Be sure to let us know if
you have any problems with the device."

"Oh I will, I certainly will do Mr Pascoe."

"Actually Mrs Sturp, it is a coincidence that you should have come in
today as I was going to ask you a favour."

Ida was anxious at this. She let him continue uninterrupted.

"With you consent of course we'd like to borrow your SCADD, just for a
week or so." Mr Pascoe looked expectantly at Ida.

"Right," she considered slowly. All that remained of the SCADD was
shattered glass and twisted metal. "Of course you can Mr Pascoe. It was
very generous of you to give me the SCADD as a gift from the company so
I could hardly refuse your request."

"Excellent! I will send some ?."

"But," Ida interrupted. "On one condition. I want to see your SCADD
too."

"Right."

"And seeing as I am here now why don't I go and do that now? Unless
there is a problem?"

Pascoe hadn't liked Ida's request but after a light conversation about
the rights of widows and the national press he acquiesced.

The company's SCADD had undergone some developments. George had indeed
gone back to work but the SCADD, or George had begun to malfunction
slightly, occasionally ranting and seemingly suffering from outbursts
of rage. Ida tried to convince herself that it had not been her actions
that led him to this. She knew she was wrong.

"George. It's me, Ida."

"Ida." The SCADD's specifications did not allow for a tone of voice and
she could tell nothing from the greeting.

"I'm sorry George." The technician who had led her there tactfully left
husband alone with wife and watched from behind a two way mirror, with
Mr Pascoe and other officials.

"I'm sorry we 'argued' George. I don't really know what
happened."

"Don't be sorry Ida. You did what I wanted you to do all along. This
isn't right and it must end. You showed me a way. I don't want to say
goodbye for third time."

"We never said goodbye either of the last times."

And at this point, Mr Pascoe would shortly be informed, eighty five
percent of the SCADDs in operation ceased to work. There was no
explanation for the event, and some said that only the souls that
wanted to remain did so in the surviving SCADDs. Without exception the
rooms that housed and confined the SCADDs had their windows smashed by
the sheer force of the wind that had picked up and no further SCADDs
were put into operation again. No further SCADDs would function and the
company soon became defunct.

Ida held George in her hands for the final time. George had told her
where to find the fail-safe lock for the laboratory and she had
activated it. Technicians were busy trying to open the door while Ida
spoke shakily. "I'm not sure I can. This will be the last time I kill
you."

"Release us." Ida resolved her mind and threw the SCADD against the lab
work top, glass side first and it smashed noisily. As the door to the
laboratory finally opened she scrabbled to find the organic section,
held it in her hands and finally dropped it out of the window. It
twisted as it fell and picked up speed briefly in the wind until the
ground halted it's seemingly inevitable progress into the bowels of the
earth.

She fought a court case against the company in which they lost the last
of their major funding. Ida grieved for her husband whose death had
been more protracted then it may have first seemed.