was that!” Abby’s knuckles were still white around the Oh Shit! handle.
“What?” Rev was calm and comfortable behind the wheel. Not a care in the world.
“Don’t ‘ what’ me. That kind of driving might not scare you. You’re already dead, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be.”
“Relax,” he knew he’d made a mistake the second he said it. “I mean, don’t worry. I used to race cars for a living—when I was living.”
“Rev, do I need to remind you how you were killed?”
“That wasn’t my fault. It was my car, and I was driving on one of the most dangerous courses in the world.”
“Well, this isn’t a race. And this isn’t a race car.”
“This isn’t the Phantom, either,” he frowned.
Abby rolled her eyes and stared out the window.
He drove in silence for a mile or so, then blurted: “Man, I love that car. He glanced sideways, shooting her a little bad attitude. “I have an image to uphold, and I can’t be driving this…this oversized tank.”
“It’s a fine vehicle. Besides, we needed something to carry the musical gear. That damn amplifier wouldn’t fit in the Phantom.”
“I still love it,” Rev pouted.
“I know you do.”
At just past mile marker twenty-two, near a sign along the road indicating the city of Prineville was five miles ahead, the SUV slowed to a near stop before turning off. The fastidious side road was hard to miss with a magnificent log hewn arch straddling newly poured asphalt. A black, smooth ribbon in the heart of the dirty and dusty desert. As they passed under the arch, the words THE SINGULATE were clearly legible, branded into the face of the wood. Rev noticed a black Chevy Suburban suddenly following them. Security.
They traveled further, and the landscape began to change noticeably. Abby commented on the greenness. Grass and trees and flowers lining the road, remarkably clean and new. The lush gardens were clearly a part of someone’s homes. Yards and long driveways with tall evergreens and gigantic hedges concealing almost all construction within. Yet there were always small openings where Abby got a glimpse, and when she did she gasped for breath. Palatial mansions. Each of them more opulent, more ostentatious, more costly than the previous. For miles as they traveled into the heart of the lavish settlement, the minivan came upon an area where the houses, still grandiose, sat in the open, streets forming a circular pattern, everything surrounding one, singularly large and splendid property.
The black security vehicle kept pace as the SUV passed a row of especially tall, especially grand lodge pole pines, and, once they cleared the lowest, densest overhanging limbs, the main house came into full and dazzling view. Not a house, but a lodge. And not just any lodge, but a structure built of hand-hewn timber with such craftsmanship and care as to evoke a sense of mouth dropping awe.
Five towering stories. Deep eves and steep gables with decorative corbels outside and ornate cornices and handmade friezes of timeless workmanship. The reclaimed wood had an old-world charm, immense in width, with the main entrance framed by several twenty-foot feature logs, all of uneven texture, roots interwoven through the trunks, creating strange shapes and designs, faintly redolent of creatures not of this world. Creatures possibly Rev and Abby had seen before.
“This is it,” Rev gripped the steering wheel tightly with a solid hand.
“This is it,” Abby repeated managerially. “And I don’t have to tell you how important it is you keep in complete physical form from now on. Only when we’re in the room can you dematerialize.”
“Got it,” Rev took it slow and steady into the Lodge parking lot, a quaint little cobblestone square set to the west of the large, inviting abode.
“Yeah, but I just wanted to go over everything again before we get past the point of no return. There’s no room for error on this one, Rev.”
“Hey, I understand.”
“What?” Rev was calm and comfortable behind the wheel. Not a care in the world.
“Don’t ‘ what’ me. That kind of driving might not scare you. You’re already dead, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be.”
“Relax,” he knew he’d made a mistake the second he said it. “I mean, don’t worry. I used to race cars for a living—when I was living.”
“Rev, do I need to remind you how you were killed?”
“That wasn’t my fault. It was my car, and I was driving on one of the most dangerous courses in the world.”
“Well, this isn’t a race. And this isn’t a race car.”
“This isn’t the Phantom, either,” he frowned.
Abby rolled her eyes and stared out the window.
He drove in silence for a mile or so, then blurted: “Man, I love that car. He glanced sideways, shooting her a little bad attitude. “I have an image to uphold, and I can’t be driving this…this oversized tank.”
“It’s a fine vehicle. Besides, we needed something to carry the musical gear. That damn amplifier wouldn’t fit in the Phantom.”
“I still love it,” Rev pouted.
“I know you do.”
At just past mile marker twenty-two, near a sign along the road indicating the city of Prineville was five miles ahead, the SUV slowed to a near stop before turning off. The fastidious side road was hard to miss with a magnificent log hewn arch straddling newly poured asphalt. A black, smooth ribbon in the heart of the dirty and dusty desert. As they passed under the arch, the words THE SINGULATE were clearly legible, branded into the face of the wood. Rev noticed a black Chevy Suburban suddenly following them. Security.
They traveled further, and the landscape began to change noticeably. Abby commented on the greenness. Grass and trees and flowers lining the road, remarkably clean and new. The lush gardens were clearly a part of someone’s homes. Yards and long driveways with tall evergreens and gigantic hedges concealing almost all construction within. Yet there were always small openings where Abby got a glimpse, and when she did she gasped for breath. Palatial mansions. Each of them more opulent, more ostentatious, more costly than the previous. For miles as they traveled into the heart of the lavish settlement, the minivan came upon an area where the houses, still grandiose, sat in the open, streets forming a circular pattern, everything surrounding one, singularly large and splendid property.
The black security vehicle kept pace as the SUV passed a row of especially tall, especially grand lodge pole pines, and, once they cleared the lowest, densest overhanging limbs, the main house came into full and dazzling view. Not a house, but a lodge. And not just any lodge, but a structure built of hand-hewn timber with such craftsmanship and care as to evoke a sense of mouth dropping awe.
Five towering stories. Deep eves and steep gables with decorative corbels outside and ornate cornices and handmade friezes of timeless workmanship. The reclaimed wood had an old-world charm, immense in width, with the main entrance framed by several twenty-foot feature logs, all of uneven texture, roots interwoven through the trunks, creating strange shapes and designs, faintly redolent of creatures not of this world. Creatures possibly Rev and Abby had seen before.
“This is it,” Rev gripped the steering wheel tightly with a solid hand.
“This is it,” Abby repeated managerially. “And I don’t have to tell you how important it is you keep in complete physical form from now on. Only when we’re in the room can you dematerialize.”
“Got it,” Rev took it slow and steady into the Lodge parking lot, a quaint little cobblestone square set to the west of the large, inviting abode.
“Yeah, but I just wanted to go over everything again before we get past the point of no return. There’s no room for error on this one, Rev.”
“Hey, I understand.”
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