Phoenix definitely had his own minions. I saw them at the carnival climbing the walls cockroach style—just as the demon-child did in the Roundhouse. All considered, I had a feeling the fallen angel of The Cumberland Circus of the Bizarre was more comfortable with a lie than the truth.
Stoney passed the Tri-state marker and headed toward Joplin. “I want everyone’s attention for a moment.” He paused, waiting for us to look his way. “This could be dangerous. If any of Ishtar’s demons get between us and the book, and it looks like they are going to get to it first—you get behind me and Flower.” Stoney’s face in the mirror appeared stern and matter-of-fact. “Did all of you hear? Get behind me and Flower.”
No one answered him. Stoney probably didn’t want the deaths of some half-witted teenagers on his conscience. He would rather take whatever blow came our way than let us take the brunt of it. In a way, it made me feel wanted. To think someone even considered protecting me at the cost of his own life made me feel a kinship—like a family.
Jimmy’s anger subsided and brooding replaced his outbursts. “Imagine, if we hadn’t stopped at the truck stop when we did, then none of this would have happened. We would be on our way to the rock concert and Rose would be safe and sound. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped there. I could have waited to get gas someplace inside Joplin city limits, but no.” His voice took on a melancholy tone as he looked out the window. “I put us in the middle of all this crap.”
His heavy mood felt contagious. For no reason, a depression hung over me like a dark cloud. “No, you didn’t. Fate took over and arranged for us to arrive at the commune when we did.” I glanced out to where he stared. As I spoke, we passed a road sign saying, Leaving Joplin City Limits. I didn’t even remember seeing the city. Stoney must have taken a trucker’s route to loop around the major parts of the urban development.
Jimmy’s words sounded dreamy. “Right now, we would be sitting on a green hillside listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young with a group of hippie chicks braiding flowers in their hair.”
“What a beautiful drive this is,” Flower commented. “The edges of the road are all trimmed and the hillsides are covered with wildflowers.”
I looked for myself; she was right; tiny periwinkle-blue flowers, Texas Bluebonnets—my favorite—covered the sides of the road back as far as the fence line. An alarm went off in my brain. Bluebonnets in Missouri in August. They are native to Texas and only bloom in spring. I looked again. The sight of them was so pleasant. It calmed my fears and the DEFCOM siren went silent.
Jimmy added, “From Joplin, we would have gone up through Chicago and from there on across to New York State.”
I breathed in sharply. The heavy fragrance of lilac filled my senses, and I exhaled a melancholy sigh. “It was a good plan.” I fidgeted with the fringe on the vest. “You’re right, it would have been wonderful.”
Roger also got a dreamy look to his eyes and replied, “Yeah, and we would have joined all those wonderful hippies. I wonder if they had drugs or if they’re hippies like Flower and Stoney.”
We topped a hill and from the elevated vantage point, we could see the winding road ahead leading to a distant cityscape.
“Is that Blue Eye?” I asked.
Stoney scratched his head. “No. Blue Eye has a population of less than two hundred. It’s a metropolis.” He yawned. “There’s absolutely nothing in Blue Eye but a library, a few shops, there’s an old post office, a park, maybe a couple of gas stations, and a cemetery. Nothing to write home about.”
“Don’t mention home.” My dreadful remorse made me shudder. “It’s the last thing I want to think about.”
We flew by a road sign. Stoney must have been driving 120 miles per hour. I barely read it, but from what I could tell it said something like, Plainfield City Limits. Behind that one, another whizzed by. This one had a mile count to cities ahead, but all I could read was Chicago - 55 miles. He exited onto a freeway heading east. Probably to turn around. I couldn’t figure out how he got so far so quickly.
“Flower, we’re lost,” I exclaimed through my overwhelming desire to forget about the quest and return to being plain old Arland—the boy who never grew up.
Chapter Twenty
Woodstock
“We are not lost. Stoney knows the way,” Flower replied, leaning her head against the side window and closing her eyes.
I mumbled, “Yep, we’re lost.” I ducked my head and sat quietly, waiting for us to get back onto the road we came in on. Stoney made several breakneck turns going either east or north. Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. My melancholy morphed into apathy. Finally, a sign blurred by, and I could have sworn it said: Welcome to the Great State of New York.
I glanced around, and to my surprise, only Stoney and I were awake. The others were sleeping as if we’d been traveling for hours on end. I leaned forward and started to ask why he was so far off course when the congested traffic brought us to a standstill. He weaved through two lanes of the standstill traffic to pull onto the grassy roadside where dozens of cars were parked. He threw the stick shift into neutral and pulled on the parking brake before loudly calling out, “We’re here. All out.”
Piling out of the van, we stood on the roadside, stretching and breathing in the country air. It felt different from Kansas air and held the slightest tinge of salt. The day was bright and sunny. Just as it had been in Texas the day we left on this journey. We weren’t anywhere near Blue Eye, Missouri, but for the oddest reason, it didn’t matter. I felt we were right where we were supposed to be.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I jerked my head to see if it was Mr. Dark, but the impression I got was far bigger than I’d ever seen him take before. Perhaps he had grown. The dark form slid off the back of the van and ran through the turf, parting tall grasses as it scurried off.
“Where do we go from here?” Flower asked.
Roger pointed at an open field. “Let’s see where those people are coming from.” There, in the open field, a line of hippies walked toward us. “They’ve been there. I’m sure of it. That’s the direction we need to take.”
We walked for a while; the hippies meeting us like congested two-way traffic on the highway. We greeted them and walked on until we found an encampment where dozens of hippies had set up tents. They were selling everything from candles, T-shirts, and even brownies. Roger wanted a brownie. It had been at least an hour and a half since he’d eaten breakfast; or had it been longer? I didn’t know for sure. I wanted a T-shirt with the word Woodstock on it. Flower found a vendor for herbs and made several purchases too.
After visiting the tent shops, we topped another hill. From there we could barely hear the music. It sounded like a single screaming guitar playing something similar to The Star-Spangled Banner—if it had been written while Francis Scott Key was on acid. People were congregated in sparse groups all over the hillside. Some were dancing and some were sitting staring at the sky. A purple haze, and a slight smell of burned rope mixed with Eau de Skunk, hovered over the landscape.
I turned to Flower. She wasn’t there. I looked back. She was dancing with a bearded hippy. She moved her feet in an unusual pattern, taking a step forward, and repeated the motion. It was beautiful, almost like a ceremonial dance from a foreign country. For the briefest moment, we made eye contact, and I felt her joy. Happiness like I’ve never known before bubbled over inside of me.
I hurried to catch up to the rest as they topped the next hill. From there we could see everything. It was exactly what I expected to find on the last day of the concert. It felt better than good—it felt perfect. Groups of hippies sparsely covering a vast meadow that stretched across several rolling hills and a tiny stage, so very far away the musicians looked like rock star figurines. The line of people leaving congested the path behind us, and yet so many kids were still here. It took my breath away to think what it had been like that first day; the day we stood in the Serve-U and made plans to run aw
ay.
“This is what we were so excited to get to?” Roger complained. A bit tipsy, he staggered sideways. “I can barely hear the music and look, there’s no hope of getting close to the stage.”
Jimmy said, “It’s not at all what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” I asked.
“I thought we would at least be able to get closer to the musicians,” Jimmy said, “and that the people would be… Hell, I don’t know. Just not this.”
“It’s everything I thought it would be.” I thought for a moment. “Except, I had heard it was raining here. Yes, I expected rain.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, the clouds covered the sky and the rain fell like a deluge.
“Thanks, Arland, the prophet,” Roger fussed. “Next time call a ham sandwich into existence, will ya?”
“You think I did this?” Everyone turned to look at me. Even Flower came up the hill and stared.
Stoney said, “Yes. You might not have meant to, but you made it rain by the command of the prophet.”
“Nobody has power over the weather,” I said. “Not me. No one.”
Flower stomped up by me. “This pouring rain came on suddenly. Almost like—” She turned to stare at me. “Arland, you didn’t.” her tone accusing, and for the first time since I’ve met her, judgmental.
Jimmy stretched and reached his hands outward, breathing the moist air into his lungs. “It’s not so bad. Since when did getting wet hurt anyone?”
Someone called me by name. It came from the direction of the staging area. I strained to see who it was, and the rain stopped as suddenly as it started. The sun appeared from behind the clouds, casting light on the concert-goers below.
There, I heard it again. It was a woman’s voice. “Hey, guys over here.” We looked across the meadow crowded with more people than I ever remember being in one place, and there in the far distance was a girl waving her hand in the air trying to catch our attention. For a mere second, again the sun went behind a cloud, casting a shadow on her.
The hair on the back of my neck raised, and a shiver ran down my spine at the mere thought it might be the Nymph Calypso, but when the cloud passed, I could clearly see the face was wrong—recognition washed over me like a flood. I knew the face. Without a doubt, it was Rose. I stood dumbstruck.
“Who waved?” Stoney asked.
“It’s Rose. I know it is,” Jimmy replied, jumping and waving his hand.
I couldn’t believe it. The odds of finding Rose here at the concert were about the same as me overhearing Jimmy and the Sheriff talking in the meadow, without the aid of the angel Reuwel. Strangely, my fears vanished. Seeing her made me so glad. I couldn’t even remember why it had worried me.
“Come up here, Rose,” I called. In the next instant, she was standing beside me.
Jimmy threw his arms around her neck. “I was so worried. Some kid told us you had been kidnapped.”
“What? Me, kidnapped? I don’t think so,” Rose’s tone was cold.
“Didn’t I see you in a cell at the County Animal Shelter?” I asked.
“Not me. Arland, you’re mistaken.” Rose’s words sounded hollow. “I knew you guys would come this way, so I left before you.”
Jimmy looked sad. “Why? Why did you leave without me?”
“I wanted to get here first, silly. Why else would I leave without any of you?” Rose replied.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Why would you?” My brain felt foggy. Something felt wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
Roger greeted Rose with a bear hug before he set his sights on the stage and ran through the crowd to get as close to the musicians as possible.
Rose pulled a blanket from an oversized purse she carried and spread it on the ground. Jimmy plopped down on it and she gracefully sat beside him. Arms locked around his neck, she wasted no time before showering him with kisses.
Flower’s bearded hippie danced up the hill, took her hand, and they danced back to where his friends were sitting.
Stoney raised his eyebrow at Flower’s departure before turning to me and saying, “Since we’re here, you want to explore a little?”
I had no reason not to, and besides, I felt like a third wheel while Jimmy and Rose sat on their blanket giggling and kissing between taking bites of the picnic lunch she produced from her oversized purse.
Stoney led the way through the crowd. We ended up some forty yards from the stage, and under one of the massive scaffolding towers supporting an amazing number of McIntosh speakers. People had climbed up onto the tower to see the stage acts better. In front of me, the dense crowd gathered around a security fence separating the rock-gods from their screaming fans.
By this time, Joan Baez had taken the stage and was singing about her Sweet Sir Galahad. The haunting melody echoed in my head and crowded out all thoughts except one—lose myself here and forget my troubled home life.
Enjoy this day. The voice in my mind commanded. It was a strange voice I’d never heard before. It sounded sweet and innocent, like the voice of a child at play.
I closed my eyes and let the music flow over me. It bathed me in warmth. The rain clouds began rolling away. It promised to be a beautiful, cloudless day. The song kept going, Joan sang the first verse again and then another chorus. On and on, the melody lulled me into a relaxing state of mind.
To my surprise, when I glanced around, the crowd had thinned out. In only a few moments, blankets and trash had replaced the excessive mob of hippies. I must admit I felt somewhat relieved. The massive number of people made me claustrophobic. At least a part of the hillside behind me remained visible, although the crowd in front of the stage was still too dense to maneuver through. I scanned where we had walked in from—back to where Jimmy and Rose sat having their picnic.
The sunshine beamed down onto my face. I leaned my neck back to get more of the warmth from the brilliant rays. I felt odd; there was no warmth in the sunlight. The music didn’t sound right either. It was the echo. In an open field with rolling hills, there shouldn’t be an echo. I opened my eyes and reached my hands to the sky to better feel the wind and sun. The August wind should have been warm, but I felt nothing.
I glanced across the crowd, the hippies around me were clapping and singing along with the music. At the edge of the stage stood my parents, Norman and Irene Loveless. I grimaced. They were smiling and waving at me. I awkwardly waved back. On the stage, the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Country Joe and the Fish.” They sang about love being like a rainbow. I didn’t remember when Joan Baez left the stage. What happened to those few minutes in between? Surely this band wouldn’t have had time to set up. Where did all those instruments come from?
“Arland. Arland, can you hear me?” I could barely hear the gravelly voice of Mr. Dark over the screaming music.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Dark. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy myself? This is what we started out to do. This is what—”
“Shut up. Listen to me.”
“Why should I? Phoenix told me you were everything bad in me and you lie.”
“That’s not exactly what he said. But what’s most important right now is for you to understand—if you die, I die. You need to listen to me because if you don’t this will be the end of your life and mine.”
“We finally made it here. Even Stoney, Flower, and Rose came along.”
“No. You’re not where you think you are. I would have been here earlier but for that hag, Calypso. Wrestling with a Nymph is not as much fun as it’s made out to be. By the time I escaped, they had taken you away to this unholy place. I almost didn’t find you.”
“Looks like the beautiful meadow I saw in the newspaper photo,” I replied.
“Don’t be so gullible. You’re far from New York. In fact, our connection became so thin it looked like a thread as it spanned the distance of space and time. Dude, you’re in an alternate spiritual plain. This is not Woods
tock.”
“Sure it is. Jimmy and Rose are up on the hill having lunch. Stoney climbed up this Public Address scaffold to see the bands better and Roger is here somewhere.”
“Oh no, there’s a storm coming.”
Sure enough, in the distance brewed a violent wall cloud of ferocious, angry wind and blazing lightning.
“I see it. It won’t get here for a while.” I glanced up to where Stoney held onto the P.A. scaffolding, There, sitting beside him was Kelly Carter. I waved. He smiled at me and waved back.
“How could Kelly be here? How could you have gotten here so fast?” There was no mistaking the urgency in Mr. Dark’s voice, and what he said registered in my brain. Still, I ignored his warning because everything was exactly as I expected it.
“It’s coming faster than you think. Look around. Look past the surface. Take a serious look at the hippies.”
I scanned the crowd. I saw nothing other than what I would expect. Nothing indicated what Mr. Dark warned about. “You’re being overly protective. You’re as bad as my mother.”
“Do you still have the object Reuwel gave you?”
I pulled out the pocket watch-like thing the Seraphim gave me. He called it an acrocrometer. I pushed the watch-like stem, and the lid popped open to reveal the face of the gadget. The single watch hand spun around and around. I assumed the thing was broken. When I pushed the golden lid shut, it shocked me.
“That should do it. Now, look up.”
I casually glanced up to where Stoney sat on the scaffolding. Sitting beside him wasn’t Kelly from the carnival, but an odd creature. It looked almost human—on its bald head were three eyes with no nose or lips. Strips of flesh zig-zagged across its fang-ridden maw. Scarring from countless victories riddled its misshapen body. Two slithery tongues flicked and caressed Stoney’s face as they slid out from between the fleshy bars. The monster’s wart-ridden arms gripped the metal scaffolding with three-fingered hands. Its back legs looked painfully contorted. The brute, at some time in the past, had ripped its own feet off and replaced them with the hands of one of its victims. I knew instantly the demonic thing came straight from hell.
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