SALVATION chapter 2

Salvation
Chapter 2

Los Angeles, California

Herman cleaned the apartment.
He thought about getting somebody to do it for him, but as the day spent he felt himself growing continually more anxious about the 'interview'..
He had kept it as his secret. Not tipping anyone inside or outside the band of his intention..
The 'bitch' was as close as he'd come to letting on..That was a mistake..
A weak moment...It happens when you over medicate. The trappings of wine women and drugs..
Deluding the kind of fierce commitment needed every hour of every day.
Until it finally arrives...That day...
When you can look back and say, "I've got it...I own it..I made it ...I am it...The king of the world."
In the end, everything boils down to just one thing..Where your at, and where you want to be.
Ten years of blood, sweat, and humility solidified his resolve..
Ten years of twenty hours days, dump dives, greasy back alleys, and the constant nagging heart ache of an indifferent audience.
It was 10 pm now and he had busied himself for three hours keeping his mind off the interview.
A hard bound text had arrived in the mail and lay open on the coffee table..
A short handwritten note accompanied the volume.

Your interview is scheduled.
Read the chants indicated to confirm.

He knew what it was..It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand what it was...Anyone could sense it...It stank of evil..
Of dry dead things long since turned to dust..
It was as if the pages themselves were composed layer upon layer of that dust.
Pasted or glued together then flattened into a paper by some dark ritual rolling pin..
Pages that stuck to his fingertips when he touched them...Leaving a feeling of wetness, and of something else. Something moving, crawling, absorbing itself inside him..
Even the type set seemed to move out of the corner of his eye..
He had felt cold shivers up his spine all day giving him to believe he was coming down with a flu.
But now, sitting close to the book he sensed the source of his discomfort..
As he began to read the first incantation the entire room seemed to lose all its ambient heat.
He watched his breath exhale into the room, and was first amazed then startled to see it change from white to fluorescent green..
He bolted from the couch heading to the kitchen.."I need a drink!"...
The green thickened filling the room with every breath..
He giggled close to insanity..."Simple Green!"....
Tearing at a bottle of Jack Daniels like a thirsty kid on kool aid he giggled again..
"Simple Green Machine!"...
The inset lighting in the living room ceiling throbbed dark red against dense green fog..
Herman sat back on the couch gripping the bottle between his legs..
The pages of the text flipped madly in response to a howling wind initiated from the text itself spiraling out and filling the apartment..
Paperwork blew off the writing desk marching in time with pictures swaying and shaking against walls.
Herman's body broke out in a thick sweat.
He felt the couch frame move then heard himself scream as it fell victim to the torrent..
Eyes and head rolled back as sheer G force merged couch and tornado.
Flying in vicious circles inches from the ceiling..Around and around and around the room..
At some point he lost it and the walls of the room suffered an instant make over...Art deco compliments of Jack Daniels.
Herman didn't care...He knew he was going to die...He knew it and dying was all he wished for..
It was at the moment of that wish time stopped. Motion stopped..Sound stopped..Only silence remained.
Herman realized it but didn't not dare open his eyes...He waited..Silent.
Drip, drip drip...He felt tears.."Does a dead guy feel tears?" he wondered...
Then he felt himself shake. Starting at the marrow and working its way out.
His whole body vibrated uncontrollably.."Can a dead guy shake like this?"...He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was no more than two inches from his nose..He cranked his neck lowering one eye ball..
Across the room pictures and papers hung in the air..
He looked closer..Not floating......Suspended.
Herman gasped...And in the gasp his world was set back in motion..
Papers, pictures, and couches, resumed their natural place in the universe, and in doing so, were sent crashing to the ground.
Exhaused, Herman dared not move..The red lighting and fluorescent green fog had vanished..
The apartment seemed 'normal' appearing very much like it did a few hours previous, before he began to clean it..
"Ring, ring"....He vaguely recoznized the sound..."Ring, ring"...He was sure it was the phone, but it sounded far away.."Ring, ring"...The writing desk where the phone usually sat was gone, and so was the phone.."Ring, ring"...He crept off the couch like a hunted animal..Every muscle screamed at him.
The writing desk lay crushed in a heap near the front door.."Ring, ring"..."The bathroom?" he mused..
Equilibrium was a problem..He'd just been on the amusement park ride of his life.."Ring, ring"...
"Definitely the bathroom"...
The shower curtain was shut closed..The persistant "ring, ring" was coming from just behind it..
"That's not possible...That's not fucking possible!"..."Ring, ring" the sound notch up a few decibels..
"Your not fucking possible!" he screamed..."There's no phone jack in here!"
"RING, RING"...His shoulder muscles throbbed desperately supporting a trembling outstreached arm. Standing at the brink, in an act of pure definance, he clinched a fist full of the curtain, and tore it open..

San Diego, California

The rehearsal studio Nick and members of the band INTENT used was located in a rural mountain area
of San Diego County..
Nick used the 94 highway as his route because the road was a good wake up call riding a bike.
Mostly single lanes.
Steady climbing from sea level to 3,000 feet over a 50 mile range of twisting switch backs fronting
the U.S. & Mexico border.
The Harley practically drove itself.. A learned instinct resulting from years and years of familiarity over the same commute.
At 2,500 feet the damp cool cloud cover lay beneath them. Peaks of higher hills crowned with enormous broken fragments of igneous rock appeared as islands bathing in an ocean of white sea.
Mountain sage, Live oak, manzanita, and wild mustard weed mingled to perfume the dry warm air.
He took a turn off and the macadam was replaced by a smooth tarmac of decomposed granite leading into the San Diego/Arizona Railroad Museum.
Once a rusting grave yard of discarded locomotive remains.
Now, a moderately flurishing reminder of early industrial Man's heavy transportation achievement.
Nick rode behind the terminal to the stock yard as great silent gods stood meditating memories of their illustrious pasts.
It is here INTENT hangs it's hat..Nick discovered the faded yellow box car five years ago nested under the shady arms of a giant oak.
Big, strong, secure, and cheap. Only two major rules in the lease agreement.
No rehearsals on weekends. The founders of the museum, retired railroad men themselves, supplement
Historical Society grant funding with tourist train ride excursions every Saturday and Sunday..
The other rule: No over nighters..The folks at the train museum didn't want to risk crossing county vagrancy laws.
Rehearsal times started at 10 am.
Nick was early and glad for it..
Because he was founder of the band, or maybe at thirty five, being the oldest member, business dealings fell like rain into his lap. Promotion, marketing, budgets, contracts, client and A&R interfacing.
Toby, Buck, and Mac all bitched about the lack of gigs..The lack of major record deals..The lack of women, cars, beer, gear, and clothes.
They just didn't want the responsibility of doing anything about it.
Crossing the line to management meant setting themselves up to get bitched out.
In Nick's eyes the other members were just kids..Average age of twenty five..
Still absorbed in the pursuit and persona of the American Rock Star.
These thoughts accompanied him as he slid the kick stand and dismounted the Harley.
The regular fans, flocks of ravens and bluejays greeted him as he assended four steps to the wood deck he'd built up flush with the boxcar's big steel entry door.
He keyed the oversize lock and pulled away the locking bar that ran the entire lenght of the
sliding door. Then leaned heavy into the three foot door handle getting the left to right wheel action going.
Nick stood at the open doorway a moment. The scent of the car filled his nostrils..
Years and years of hauling hay had permeated it's very being..
For the first time today he smiled, and with the smile followed a chuckle..
"Home."