You’ve Gotta Save My Soul

Winter 1988

The bar beckoned Goods Blaylock. He ordered a whiskey and water. His red trilby hat absorbed the smoke from the cigarettes and cigars in the train car. It didn’t matter. It already smelled of booze and ashes. A cutaway starched, white shirt fit him to a T. His tie showed paisley in blue and gold and a full Windsor knot. A navy blue suit jacket and freshly pressed steel gray trousers and brown wingtips completed the ensemble. Blaylock, brown skin with a short, cropped Afro underneath the hat, sat and contemplated how he made $50,000 the day before for his work.

He was a private investigator who solved crimes of the spirit. For those people who had become wayward in their minds needed to have their consciousness revived, he was the man to help them rediscover their passions, drives, and souls.

Blaylock had found a man’s soul with the mere touch of his hand to his head. He was no psychic or mystic. He only used rational means. So when he brought his hand up to the man’s head, it was to check if he had a fever. The physical circumstances of heat exhaustion the man encountered had produced a misunderstanding deep in the spirit. With the knowledge that the man was busy working, taking care of his three kids by himself, and had not had an hour of rest, compounded the malady and he further made himself ill. Blaylock ascertained that if the man had only brought an ounce of joy to his work, parenting, and carved out some moments to himself, he would find his soul again. And of course stay hydrated.

The PI continued to hydrate with what you’re not supposed to imbibe for a fever. With a last sip of his drink, he then finished it with a smooth gulp. He laid down five dollars and headed to the luxury car. He noticed a woman. Her face looked like it should be carved in White Statuario marble. She wore a smart black dress and five inch stiletto heels. Her body looked like a viola. She had slight makeup and her flaxen hair looked in place. She slept fitfully, thrashing about in her seat. Other passengers read the paper or talked on brick cellular phones. Blaylock sat in his seat. It was right next to her. She had appeared at the stop in Wilmington, Delaware while he nursed that whiskey and water.

With his hands ready, he waited for her to awaken. Then the train lurched. That drove her from her dreaded dream. She looked about, left and right and settled on Blaylock. She batted her eyes as blue as the waters off the coast of Bali.

“I know you, you’re that PI,” she finally mentioned.

“Goods Blaylock,” he took off his hat and replaced it. Then, he handed her his card.

“Melody Lowe. Everyone calls me ‘Mellow.’ You’ve got to help me, Mr.—”

“Just call me Goods,” he replied.

“Well, sir, I’ve no idea how I got on this train and I have no ticket. My ex is an engineer, but he must be somewhere in the South now. I don’t know.”

“No ticket? How’d you get in luxury class?”

“That’s just it. I have no clue. Ever since I’ve had lucid dreams about failing.”

“Falling?” Blaylock asked.

“No, failing. Like not being my best self.”

“Okay. I see. What do you do?”

“I‘m a pianist.”

“And you sense that you will not be able to perform?” Blaylock asked.

“Exactly,” she held her head as if she had an ache.

“Did someone slip you a roofie and prop you up on this train?”

“Yeah, that’s not coming to me, either,” she responded. “Are we going faster?”

“I think so. Now, I want to correct this situation. You’re going to have to continue to try and remember the last few hours.”

“I’ve said—okay, we’re definitely going faster!”

Blaylock peered out the window and saw the scenery whizzing by like an out of control zoetrope. “Jesus,” he said.

“Do you believe?” she asked.

“No.”

“I don’t either. Is that why I am not able to fight these night and day terrors?” she wondered.

“Not at all. All of it is reality-based,” he replied.

Melody sighed. “I just…I want to know why I’m all dolled up. I remember wearing jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Whoever it was who put you in this car must’ve wanted you to get to Philadelphia faster than usual. What we can do is try to figure out what is going on in this sped-up machine,” Blaylock explained.

“Like a team?”

“Sure. We’ve got two mysteries going on here. Once we figure out why this train is going out of control.”

“It’ll give me temporary relief from my own problems.”

Blaylock raised from his seat. “C’mon,” he extended his hand to the woman.

Melody took his hand. “It’s like a quest,” she struggled to grin. A tear fell down her cheek.

“No need to cry, ma’am. We can do this,” Blaylock said. The both of them walked from the luxury car to the engine. An attendant guarded the door.

“Tickets, please,” Attendant Barrymore Roscoe said.

“We left them in the car. I’m an investigator—”

“You’re Goods!”

“Yes.”

“That’s really cool, man. Are you trying to get to the engine?”

“Yes.”

Melody’s eyes darted from one man to the other. She smirked and then quickly frowned.

“As much as I would like to allow you to go in there I—”

Blaylock peeled off a hundred dollar bill.

“Okay, I see you, sir. Look, just say that I had stepped away from my post. I don’t know why we’re going so fast. We’re going to go right past Philly! Here, let me unlock the doors.

Melody and Blaylock entered the control room. The engineer calmly guided the ferociously speedy train. He turned around.

“Colin?!” Melody gasped.

“How do you know this man?” Blaylock queried.

“He was my boyfriend…we broke up recently…he wanted me on this train….” Melody said, her memory showing sparks of life.

“Yes. I slipped a Spanish fly in your drink and then put you on this train. Without you I can’t live so I’m destroying as many lives as I can. Now you, the PI, the rest of the people on this train will be obliterated once we reach the station in Philly. Hope you’ve said your prayers,” Colin replied.

“We don’t do prayers,” Blaylock knocked Colin unconscious with a swift fist.

“I’ve had training in the Marine Corps as a pilot. This should be simpler.” It wasn’t.

“It seems as if Colin boobytrapped the controls. It’s going to take some time…time we don’t have,” Blaylock pointed out.

“What can I do?” Melody asked.

“Hum me the scales,” Blaylock said

Melody’s soft register permitted Blaylock to concentrate and focus on unravelling the different controls. He didn’t rush but followed Melody’s humming. He typed in the coordinates to address the braking system. The train did not jerk to a violent stop, but slowed evenly as Melody ended her simple song. The train pulled into the Philadelphia station with all souls saved…save for one.

“You did it!” Melody threw her arms around Blaylock and kissed his mouth. He then called for the constable. Colin still remained without a recognition of what had happened as the police hauled hin away.

Spring 1989

Blaylock and Melody sat by his pool, he with his signature drink and her with a piña colada.

“How are you going to celebrate the recovery of your soul?” Blaylock asked.

“I’m just glad I’m playing again. That harrowing experience really allowed me to see my life in perspective.”

“Once you go to that piano, you are again empowered to strike those keys with passion and in truth. Going through those kinds of situations will deliver you,” Blaylock commented.

“Indeed,” she smiled and clinked with her beau.