Perpetual Motion

By Lari Smythe

In response to the September 2011 terrorist attacks, the Department Of Homeland Security (DHS) was created as a stand-alone entity to unify national security efforts, but who does DHS really protect? The Government? Industry? Or the American people?
When Josh's wife unexpectedly dies, he is left with his mechanical tinkering, mentoring a writing friend and his three most cherished possessions, his children. It isn't long before Josh's tinkering in alternative energy sources draws the attention of DHS. Once on DHS' radar, Josh unexpectedly finds himself classified as a terrorist, but not before sharing his discovery with his oldest son, Eddie.
Eddie helps his father escape to an obscure town in Canada and the safety of Josh's writing friend, Sarah. A recluse for many years, Sarah is thrust into the role of being the lifeline between Josh and his family and the development of their new source of energy. Without her, Josh and his family seem doomed to fall into the hands of DHS' ruthless, Agent Corp.
With the tenacious and cruel agent nipping at their heals, Eddie and Sarah race against time to develop the power source and make it public in the hope that it will save Josh. Despite Eddie and Sarah's less than cordial first encounter, there is something more than a common goal between them.
Hold on for a thrilling ride as Eddie and Sarah face off against the government and seemingly insurmountable odds in this steamy romantic thriller. Are they prepared to pay the price of free energy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lari Smythe
• Release date: Aug 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311098573

Lari Smythe

Lari enjoys many forms of creative expression. Lari's work in computer graphics challenged the limits of technology and yielded the very first computer animation. During that time, Lari continued to work with conventional media, oil, acrylic, and her favorite pastels. Then, in 2000, Lari channeled her artistic talent into writing.Lari's first two novels, Angel and the sequel Survivors, are historical in nature. The stories revolve around World War II and the struggles of a young woman coming of age during that horrific time in history. Although fiction, the stories are historically accurate in detail. As of 2022, Lari has written nine novels that span the genres of Historical Romance, Romantic Adventure and Paranormal Teen Romance.Many authors consider writing a craft, but Lari firmly believes that writing is a form of art. While technique and style can be learned, nothing sets a writer apart more than artistic inspiration. For Lari, writing is a chance to bring an idea to life, to live in the moment, and she strives to bring the same enjoyment to her readers.

Book preview

Perpetual Motion

By Lari Smythe

Cover design by Lari Smythe

Cover Art by Caitlin Smith

Copyright 2014 Lari Smythe

ISBN: 9781311098573

Published by Lari Smythe at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com, or your favorite online ebook store, and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Discover other books by Lari Smythe at Smashwords.com

Lari's books are also available in print at most online retailers.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Connect with the Author

Chapter 1

Eddie shivered as yet another band of sleet pelted his face. He looked across the roof of the limo, where a few yards away, the canvas pergola covering his mother's grave strained at its anchor ropes in the icy wind. It was a day made for funerals, damp and cold even for November in Maryland; the kind of day that punctuates the finality of death and drives the mourners back to the warm confines of the living. Caitlin and Peter were already waiting in the car, but Josh, their father, lingered at the gravesite. Betty's sudden death seemed to age him ten years. His Greek fisherman's cap and dark coat only added to his fragile appearance. With tear filled eyes, Caitlin leaned across Peter and looked up at Eddie.

I know, Eddie said before she could speak. Dad! Dad, we have to go. At the bottom of the gravel drive, the last car of attendees pulled out of the cemetery. Come on Dad.

Men! Caitlin huffed as she climbed out the other side of the car. Grief is not a disease, Eddie. It's not freakin' contagious. She stomped off through the mud toward Josh.

Close the damn door, Peter griped, it's freezing.

Eddie slid down into the car and closed the door as Caitlin reached Josh. She wrapped him in her arms.

What's taking so long? Peter mumbled.

Dad's not ready. Eddie leaned forward and watched his sister and father console each other. He glanced over at Peter, but they both looked away when they made momentary eye contact. Caitlin was right, grief was not an emotion men shared easily. There were a few minutes of awkwardness until Caitlin appeared at the car door with Josh. She helped him onto the front seat, closed the door and then climbed in the back with her brothers. Home James, Eddie said to the driver as she slammed the rear door. Only the crunch of gravel under the tires and then the whir as they speed over the pavement broke the silence, until they reached the southbound ramp to Route 29.

How many are coming? Josh asked. Do we have enough food? Maybe we should stop—

It's okay Daddy. Caitlin leaned forward and patted his shoulder. Everything's taken care of.

Of course it is. Josh nodded. Missy saw to it. Missy had always been his nickname for Caitlin. The rest of the ride was silent except for Caitlin's sobbing.

Once home, Peter made a beeline for the downstairs bathroom, as Eddie headed upstairs. The cold could do that, and certainly, after spending winters at school in South Carolina, neither was used to the cold. When Eddie returned, Caitlin was in the kitchen getting the food out of the refrigerator, but Josh was no where to be seen. Where's Dad?

He was right behind me, Caitlin said, setting a platter on the kitchen counter. Maybe he's in the living room.

Right, I'm standing in the foyer and I wouldn't see him.

Caitlin spun on a heel and wiped a tear. You want to do this while I look?

Tsk. Eddie mimicked Caitlin's annoying, little head bob, zigzagging his hand in front of his face and snapped his fingers. He got the whatever reaction from her he expected. He glanced around the living room once more, then opened the front door. Josh was standing in the driveway alone and seemed to be watching the limo as it pulled out of the driveway. Did we pay the limo driver? Eddie called back to Caitlin.

I think so, why?

Nothing. When Eddie looked back, Josh was on his way up the front steps. Eddie held the door.

I was just remembering all the times your mother and I watched one of you kids head off in a limo, you know, proms and such. Josh took off his coat, draped it over the railing and set his hat on top of the post.

You up for this Dad?

Does it matter?

There was a knock at the door. Eddie opened it and greeted Mrs. Peterson, starting a steady stream of guests arriving to pay their respects, and eat. Within half an hour, the house was full of friends and relatives.

When Eddie noticed the streetlight out front come on, he realized he hadn't seen Josh in a while. He found him where he expected, in his easy chair in the family room and tapped his foot. What's up?

Not much. Josh dropped the recliner and sat up. It's funny you know. I don't imagine I'll ever see most of these people again.

Why's that?

They're not my friends. I mean, they're you kids and your mother's. Can't say they're really mine. Suppose there was never time.

What about Brian from up the street? He used to come over and hangout with you out in the garage.

You're right, I see him maybe twice a year. Josh's tone was sarcastic, a trait Eddie had inherited. I haven't seen Peter in a while. He was closest to your mother, maybe I should check on him.

The bookworm went upstairs. Eddie said. He's got a big exam when we get back.

He still carrying a 4.0? It's not good you know, he needs to get out more, socialize. He's not like you and Caitlin.

Tell me about it. Hold your bladder, I'll go rattle his cage. Eddie got up and started toward the stairs, but stopped and turned back. About having no friends, what about Sarah?

Right, Sarah. She's what, a thousand miles from here?

Eddie caught Caitlin's glare when she apparently heard the name and let it go. Besides, the more you pushed, the more Josh pushed back even if it went against what he wanted. It was a trait the kids had learned to manipulate during their childhoods. Of course, most of the time Josh got around it by differing to their mother.

Half an hour after the food was gone, Eddie retrieved the last two coats and said goodbye to the Mitchells. Mrs. Peterson was the only one left and she was helping Caitlin in the kitchen.

* * *

Where does your mother keep the containers? Mrs. Peterson asked.

They're in the cabinet next to the frig, second shelf. Caitlin said.

Mrs. Peterson got a plastic container and joined Caitlin at the sink. It was quite a shock, your mother wasn't even fifty was she?

No ma'am, forty-three.

Lydia said it was a heart attack.

No ma'am, she had high blood pressure and the doctors' surmise it was a stroke.

Surmise? That doesn't sound very convincing. You know Lydia had an aunt that died because of a misdiagnoses. There're a lot of quacks out there these days you know.

I don't think—

I just thought maybe you should speak with a lawyer. Mrs. Peterson put the container with the remnants of the macaroni and cheese in the refrigerator and then grabbed a dishtowel off the handle of the stove. Are you at Clemson now?

Yes ma'am, all three of us.

Really, I thought Eddie graduated high school with Michelle?

He decided to stay for grad school.

How odd.

Odd?

He was quite a terror as a little boy, I would've never picked him for grad school. Well, I should be getting along. When do you all have to go back?

We have a flight tomorrow. Caitlin was obviously tired and had successfully coaxed Mrs. Peterson into the foyer.

So soon?

Caitlin helped Mrs. Peterson with her coat. Be careful, the temperature is dropping; it might be slick.

Thank you dear. Tell your father to call if he needs anything.

I will.

Well, goodnight.

Caitlin closed the door and sighed. It had been a long day. She checked on Josh, who was sleeping in his easy chair, and then headed upstairs to change. Peter flagged her down as she passed his room. Whatever it is will have to wait until I get out of these pantyhose. Caitlin said in passing.

Peter turned to Eddie. She seems like her bitchy self.

I didn't see you down there helping, Eddie shot back.

It's not my job, besides, I have to nail this next test or I'm going to get stuck with a 'B' in statistics.

Right, that 4.0 is more important.

What's up? Caitlin said as she plopped down on the old beanbag chair next to the television. Jeez Peter, like don't you do anything else but study and play video games.

Duh, what's your GPA?

3.72.

Oh right, Peter came back, in what, finger painting?

Grow up you two, Eddie cut in, or I'll pound you.

Caitlin flopped back in the chair in a huff.

What the hell! Peter complained as Eddie punched the remote and the television went off in the middle of the sports broadcast.

We need to discuss Dad. Is he still downstairs?

Yeah, Caitlin replied, he's asleep in that crusty, old chair.

Good, Eddie said, kicking the door partially closed. We need to figure out what we're going to do with him.

Do with him? Caitlin gawked. You make him sound like a commodity.

Oooh, commodity, Peter mocked, is that a 3.72 word?

Caitlin smirked and flipped him the finger.

You know what I mean, Eddie said, Mom did everything, Dad's clueless—

How can you say that? Caitlin said.

How? Peter answered. It's easy. He told me last summer he's never used an ATM. Sound like he's ready to manage expenses? I just don't get the whole 'artsy-fartsy' thing.

Just because we're creative doesn't mean we're morons. I'm sure he'll do just fine.

Like you're handling college expenses so well, little miss 3.72. Peter taunted.

Knock it off! Eddie shouted. Plans needed to be made, and as the oldest, the responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders, but this was turning into another sibling squabble. Both Peter and Caitlin slumped back looking quite irritated. Caitlin had that searing, female 'You'll burn in hell' glare, and Peter his defiant 'I don't give a crap what you think' grin. All right children, this is the way it's going to be. Obviously we can't do much before we leave tomorrow, but I'll check with Dad to make sure he knows what bills have to be taken care of and when. Hopefully I can get him to run everything by me.

Why does it always have to be you? Caitlin groaned. Cause you're the oldest?

Yeah, Eddie snapped, tired of the bickering, I'm going to take him for everything and leave the two of you out in the cold.

Caitlin scoured and folded her arms across her chest in anger, but couldn't keep a tear from running down her cheek.

You better hurry, Peter added, before he burns down the freakin' house and everything in it.

What's that supposed to mean? Eddie said.

When I took out the trash, I noticed a big soot mark up the wall in the garage.

Who said Dad did it? Caitlin said, obviously still fuming. Maybe it's from one of Eddie's old projects.

Right. Eddie replied. He got up from the foot of the bed and glanced at his watch. It's late and we've got an early flight.

Fine, Caitlin said. It's the same old same old, we discuss stuff and then you do everything. She stomped out of the room.

Eddie followed her to the door, but turned back when he heard the television click on. If you're going to maintain that 4.0, you better lay off the video games. He was surprised to see Caitlin waiting outside her room as he started down the hall. Problem?

I'm sorry, she started, it's just I'm worried about him.

Eddie wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug, trying to conceal his awkwardness. Don't worry, I'll handle it. Best thing you can do is call him once in a while. After all, you're his favorite.

Me? Are you kidding, you're number one son.

Nah, you two have that father daughter thing going. You've got to help me keep an eye on Peter too.

Peter?

Yeah, Eddie said, stepping back. Peter was the closest to Mom. I think his anger is this whole thing boiling up inside him. We can't let that get out of control.

Caitlin rose up on her toes and gave Eddie a kiss on the cheek. I will. What about Dad? Should we just leave him downstairs?

He'll be fine, he's used to sleeping through NASCAR races in that old chair. Listen, Eddie said, grabbing his crotch, I gotta pee.

Ah! You can be so crude.

Eddie gave her a wink and headed for the bathroom across from Peter's room. When he came out, Caitlin was sitting on the bed next to Peter talking. Eddie went to his room, closed the door and stretched out. It had been a tough day. He'd managed to stay strong, but a tear found its way down his temple and disappeared into his sideburn.

* * *

Eddie woke up staring at the ceiling though a red halo. He'd forgotten how bright his old, digital alarm clock was. He rolled over and glanced at the crimson numerals. It was one o'clock in the morning. The soot mark in the garage kept going through his thoughts; so unable to get back to sleep, he finally got up. At the end of the upstairs hall, the master bedroom door was closed, and sure enough, when he got downstairs Josh was no longer in his chair. Eddie flipped on the florescent lights in the garage, and opened the door. The first thing he noticed was the Ninja Turtle bed sheets covering the 1931 Ford coupe. Odd, he thought, stepping into the chilly garage, it's on mom's side. She would let Dad use the entire garage during the summer, but when the first frost came, she wanted her car inside. The right side, where the 31 usually sat, was cluttered with junk around a workbench situated in the middle of the bay. Damn! Eddie groaned as he stubbed his toe, headed for the bench. He sat down on the stool and turned toward the back of the garage. His grandfather's old Sears lawn tractor was pushed up against the door in about the same shape it seemed it had always been in. Josh liked to tinker, but he was cheap when it came to his things, and they always seemed to stall when it came to spending money. Of course, he also put everyone else's projects ahead of his. Behind the tractor sat what looked like the carcasses of three microwave ovens. They were something new. Hey now, Eddie said as he flipped on the light over the bench and spotted the lathe against the wall. Talk about something new, wonder when he got this?

A couple months ago.

Jeez Dad, Eddie said, spotting Josh at the door. You scared the crap out of me.

Thought I heard someone down here. We had some good times out here didn't we?

Sure did. I see you still have my old mini-bike.

Yeah, not much gets thrown away. Besides, maybe one day I'll have some grandkids that can have some fun with it.

While Josh made his way over to the bench, Eddie scanned the cluttered top. There was a carburetor that had been cut apart, a few miscellaneous electrical parts and an object about the size of a football in the center covered with a rag. To the left, a similarly shaped wooden object, obviously scorched. That must be what put the soot on the wall, Eddie thought. So Dad, Eddie said, reaching for the rag covered object, what's—

Josh turned Eddie's stool toward the lathe. Couldn't justify a metal one with college tuition and all. Josh patted Eddie on the back. Remember when we dropped that crate motor in your 85 Monte?

You kiddin', that was my first; a damn fast car. It was obvious Josh didn't want Eddie to see what was under the rag, but why? His Dad was usually quite talkative about his projects. It was how he brainstormed ideas. Eddie turned back toward the bench and noticed Josh glance down at the object before pulling a modified lawnmower out from under the bench.

Remember this?

Eddie stooped down next to Josh. Sure, I remember this from when I used to cut the grass.

Pretty good memory seeing how you maybe cut the grass twice.

What's all this? Eddie asked, motioning to the engine. Is that what I think it is?

Got it out of your mother's old microwave.

I thought the one in the kitchen looked new. How'd she talk you into that?

She didn't, exactly. I found a website where some college kids claimed they built a lawnmower that ran on water converted to steam with microwaves.

Dad, that stuff's dangerous—

Let me finish. Josh groaned as he stood up. The old knees won't let me stoop down like that for long. Anyway, I had this old mower sitting around so I figured I'd give it a shot. The website had a little blurb about if you didn't believe you could flash water vapor into steam, try this. So, I vented your old vaporizer into the microwave for a few seconds, closed the door and hit start. Boom! Damn near blew the door completely off. Well, your mother came running, ranting like she always did. I told her I was heating up a solution to degrease the tractor. She hated that old tractor.

You should run that kind of stuff by me first, you could have gotten hurt.

Well anyway, I was convinced so I figured what the heck.

And?

"It kind of works.

How much did 'kind of' cost?

Josh shrugged. Maybe fifty bucks. I could never get the mixture right, and the damn magnetrons keep burning up.

Microwaves can be pretty dangerous Dad, did you—

Burned my arm once, didn't even realize it. Your mother was furious, but I said I got it up against the tractor muffler. She hated that old tractor.

Eddie stooped back down to examine the modifications. Josh had used part of a propane canister as a reservoir, the piezo chip from a vaporizer to generate water vapor, and the venturi from the original carburetor to direct it into the engine. He looked up at Josh. So you said it sort of works?

Yeah, I just replaced the magnetron before—want to see?

Sure.

Josh poured a cup of distilled water in the propane canister, connected the magnetron to a car battery and gave the pull cord a few tugs. It takes a bit sometimes. I'm not sure if this magnetron is the same power either. Josh blew into the carburetor a few times and gave it another pull. This time there were white puffs of steam from the exhaust pipe. Josh stood with a proud smile. There you have it, a lawnmower that runs on water. Can you imagine the implications? What if you can do the same thing with a car engine? Can you imagine a microwave steam-powered car?

What happens if you disconnect the battery? Eddie said as he kicked the positive terminal loose. As expected, the engine quit. What you have here, Dad, is a complicated electric lawnmower. Sure the blade is being spun by steam, but electricity is driving it. You might as well just drive the blade with an electric motor. I think you can buy one at Sears.

Josh's smile melted.

And the magnetron, ever put a foil wrapped burger in the microwave? That's why it keeps burning up. I think you get the idea. Eddie hadn't intended to be so callous, but he hated all the crackpots and self proclaimed engineers that went around claiming to have discovered a new concept. The Internet was full of them. Eddie felt a sudden pang of guilt and stooped back down to examine the carburetor. You did a real nice job on this Dad. You should post a picture on that site where you saw this.

Don't placate me.

When Eddie stood, Josh glanced back at the object in the middle of the bench. Eddie reached over and yanked the rag off. How much did this one cost?

The wooden one caught fire I—

That where the soot came from?

Yeah, the website said it generated a considerable amount of heat. I didn't much believe them but, well, you see what happened. Your mother smelled the smoke and came running. I told her the tractor—

Yeah, I get it Dad. Eddie ran his fingers over the surface of the wooden model. Diesel?

10W-50 motor oil. They said the original used cooking oil because of the heat, but you know, you can't believe everything you read on the Internet.

Now you're getting it. Eddie spotted the pump connected to some tubing. Another electric engine?

It was supposed to run on its own once you got it up to speed.

With the electric motor?

Guess that makes it just a fancy electric pump, huh.

If something was out there, I have no doubt you could build it, but free energy is just a myth. I'm just sayin' that with mom gone, you're going to have to be careful with money. Tell you what, why don't you get rid of all this junk and buy yourself that zero-turn riding mower you always wanted? Get the big one with all the bells and whistles.

I might.

We were talking earlier about you moving to South Carolina. It was always the plan.

I just lost your mother, not sure I'm ready to lose the house too.

Makes sense, maybe in the spring. You tell Sarah about mom?

Josh turned away. Eddie flipped off the light over the work bench and followed his dad into the family room.

You know that project you're working on in school? Josh said as he settled onto his favorite chair. I was thinking detents, like on the tractor's transaxle, might do the trick. You could—

Don't change the subject.

Josh started to get up.

Come on Dad, in a few hours you're going to be alone.

Josh sat back down, his gaze fixed on a picture across the room.

It's not like you're going to jump into bed with her; not that there'd be anything wrong with it, I'm just sayin'—

I don't want to talk about it, okay?

No, it's not. Eddie could tell Josh was getting angry, but he continued. I know you and mom weren't that close. Almost as far back as I can remember, you were always out in the shop or running us to classes, while mom was doing laundry or watching her soaps.

Like you know anything about relationships. When was the last time you went out with the fairer sex?

It's going to be like that?

We brought you three kids into this world. Made a good home for you and saw you through college. I don't know what you've got to complain about.

Eddie looked up directly into his father's eyes. Maybe you gave up too much.

You ungrateful—

You know that's not true. Anger was Josh's defense mechanism; it was obvious Eddie needed a different tactic, maybe the direct approach. Listen Dad, I'm just sayin' that Sarah is your friend; and in times like this, you need to reach out to your friends wherever they are. There's no magic waiting period, that's a load of social crap. If you need her, reach out to her or one of us. We just need to know you'll be okay.

Josh rubbed his eyes and stood. I'll take you all to the airport in the morning.

We can take the shuttle.

I'll take you. It's important for Missy.

For all of us.

Josh patted Eddie on the shoulder and headed for the stairs.

Mind if I have a look at your drawings?

They're in the tube labeled 'Clem', but don't get to caught up; it's just a bunch of Internet hocus-pocus. Josh half waved and went up to his room.

It was raining when they landed in Greenville. A cold dismal day, the kind of day made for funerals.

Chapter 2

Josh flexed his fingers before typing his password, not because they were stiff, but because he was stalling. He'd been terrible to cut Sarah off with no explanation. Outside of a few vacations, this was the longest they'd gone without emailing. He knew she'd understand, his grief at Betty's death and all, and while that's how it began, the truth was he was starting to realize he might have feelings for her and frankly, that scared him. His email account came up with one hundred and forty messages. After deleting the obvious spam, he was left with twenty; ten of them from Sarah. The last five titled;

Are you alright? What have I done to upset you?

Then he spotted an email Betty had obviously sent before the stroke. He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to read it, but curiosity finally got the better of him. It was a quick note about a rush project she was finishing up at work and that she'd be a few minutes late. Would he please turn the crock pot down to low. That was dinner, he thought. Guess I never really thought about how much she did, the cooking, the laundry, all the household planning. Selfish bastard, always thinking about how much I did. He shook his head and sat back with tears streaming down his cheeks. After a few minutes, he clicked his favorite playlist, the one that took him to his writing place, then went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. Caitlin called while he was eating, but except for a few pauses, he felt he kept his emotions in check. When she hung up, he poured another glass of diet root beer and walked over to the window. Despite a bright sun, the withered vegetation was a clear indication of an early winter. It suddenly occurred to him that he could now keep the house as warm as he wanted, no more battles with a menopausal wife. He noticed his favorite song was playing, closed his eyes and soaked in the music and the afternoon sun.

He opened his eyes as a crow swooped down and landed on Peter's rusty, old basketball hoop. Another followed, perhaps his mate. The sun coaxed their wings to hues of blue that reminded him of Sarah's hair. He lingered until the birds flew away then topped off his drink and returned to the computer. Still feeling guilty, he ignored the email and opened her picture. The essence of her Native American heritage, straight, black, shoulder length hair framed her face, and her eyes of china blue lifted his cheeks with a smile. He sighed and opened her first email. It was the final revision on the last chapter of her manuscript. As he scanned through it, the phone rang.

Hello... Oh hey Ed... no, I was getting to it. As a matter of fact I was checking email when you called.... Caitlin called a little while ago. She sounded all right, but you keep in touch with her and Peter... I know, but sometimes silence is worse than getting it out. Did you get a chance to try that detent idea from the tractor we talked about?... Great, like I always say, if you want answers to the future, look to the past.... I know already, you're worse than your mother. I'm going to email Sarah as soon as we get off the phone. How do you think I should tell her, just say it straight out?... Yeah, I'm the writer.... Alright then, I'll talk to you later.

Josh took a long drink of his soda, hesitantly clicked 'compose', and let his heart guide his