Fresh puddles covered the ground as Paige stepped out into the cold and into the yellow glow from the streetlights. Snow loomed heavy in the clouds as she admired the raindrops glistening in the night on the sharp green pine needles. Inhaling the crisp air, she filled her car with the last supply of gas they kept on reserve until deliveries came next week. She enjoyed the smell with slight guilt and found it comforting, like the yellowed pages of an old book or a dying campfire. Revving up Old Faithful, she let the engine warm and checked herself in the mirror, her thick curls tamed and weighed down with hair gel. She reapplied her favorite shade of red lipstick and powdered-up her face, wondering as she often did, if she resembled one parent over the other. Clueless about her biological parents, Paige’s subconscious mind played with notions she would rather ignore. Something was up, but what it had to do with her parents, or Abbey, or Professor Faraday, she didn’t know. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out of the drive and headed for The Blue Star down on Montrose. She could all but see the energy in the air as she drove southbound on the interstate. The Houston skyline appeared in the distance, hidden behind clouds and cloaked in a white fog as lights from the high-rise buildings illuminated the city. Fearful of passing up her exit, she stayed in the slow-moving right lane and marveled as white flakes melted onto her windshield. She sipped her coffee, turned up the radio and anticipated the night’s main attraction.

Limbo Diver began as an underground art band fronted by the eccentric and elusive, Michael Doucet (Do-say). With crooning vocals, a strong bass line and a prominent baritone sax, the band delivered a slow jazz kind of sound with undertones of bluesy rock-and-roll. She fashioned it the best mood setting music and grew giddy at the thought of hearing it live, the rhythmic groove soon to fill the walls of the dark club, an entrancing collage of instruments serenading patrons into a dreamscape. Most bands quit touring once the energy crisis really took hold, but if a person lived in or near a population center they could still catch a good show now and then.

A perfect treadmill of rumors shrouded Limbo Diver’s legacy but Michael Doucet carried the brunt of that attention. With numerous overdoses under his belt, the singer’s ongoing heroin addiction landed him in The Rock-n-Roll Hall of Cliché. He repelled rehab, possessed a healthy sexual appetite and once famously quoted, if I weren’t so sane, I’d commit myself. The son of Satan belongs in a loony bin. Known for his outlandish gimmicks when under scrutiny from the public eye, Michael left fans and media circuits questioning whether or not they were getting the real deal. He and his family hailed from New Orleans and descended from the prevalent Haitian Creole culture that defined the fishbowl city. The three Doucet siblings who played in Limbo Diver conjured up controversy whenever targeted by a spotlight, where embellished stories about satanic animal sacrifices, black magic and voodoo death rituals came to artificial light. Recent accusations painted them as devil worshipers who drank the blood of babies in order to maintain their youthful appearance. All in the name of rock-n-roll, but one such accusation placed Michael at the scene of a crime. Ten years ago his family’s plantation house burst into flames in the middle of the night, and though details remained sketchy, a dozen or so people died. Michael was investigated for arson but never charged. Limbo Diver, through it all, enjoyed decades of success gaining legions of loyal fans along the way.

Paige watched the flakes of snow increase in size as they fell faster from the sky. She sighed and sipped her coffee as traffic from the left and middle lanes merged into the far right due to a seatbelt checkpoint about a mile down the road. With the show starting in about twenty minutes, the extra time she kept on reserve for getting lost was running out. The in-sight but out-of-reach exit came before the roadblock and Paige checked her directions again, hoping the club was right around the corner where the map showed it to be. Anxious to find Abbey and nervous about seeing Professor Faraday, she thought she understood what her father had tried to tell her. She assumed her adoption played a vital role in his cryptic message, but her sixth sense hinted at something more. Clearing her mind, she skipped to her favorite song and charged the exit ramp, falling in line with the roadblock refuges as they emptied off into a congested carnival of chaos.

Montrose vibrated with people as she took a right onto the crowded strip. The hip place to be in Houston, Montrose offered the finest and most popular clubs and bars. The best novelty shops, tattoo shops, sex shops and pawn shops thrived on the famous street. Nightlife came alive where scantily dressed woman pranced around in a drunken stupor, and guys and girls alike resembled human voodoo dolls with piercings adorning their faces. Club-goers with multi-colored hair, excessive cheap jewelry and skintight clothing tripped down the sidewalk high on whatever drugs they might have ingested. A fashion revival of sorts, the infamous boulevard represented every known trend from past decades.

In a world ruled by turmoil, Paige was amazed that nightlife could go on, unconcerned and oblivious it seemed, the crowds talking and laughing and dancing as if food and water were abundant and the American Dream lived. Her pulse pounded when she reached the front door and entered the dark club alone, All Access pass firmly in hand, the Blue Star set ablaze with energy. The atmosphere consumed her, the air, electric, as she ventured inside and pushed through the eager throng of intoxicated fans. Black walls covered in art décor surrounded her as she sidestepped her way to the stage area.

A large bald man stood blocking the stairway leading to the VIP lounge and special access area. Paige cautiously approached the body builder and held up the piece of paper confirming her right to passage. He eyed Paige’s golden ticket, looked her over from head to toe and gestured for her to go on up. She reached the second-floor landing, surprised at the overwhelming number of people admitted, and trudged forward. Barstools and bistro tables decorated the outer lobby as the VIP crowd sipped cocktails and peered over the balcony at the ground-floor masses. Unsure of where to go next, she remembered Abbey said she’d pass through three sets of doors. Looking over to her far left and spotting a set of double red doors protected by another bouncer, she assumed her position. The second bouncer looked identical to the first, and after repeating the same process, Paige entered the barricades.

Dim table lamps lit the way as she scanned over the small pockets of people searching for Abbey. A circular bar sat in the center of the room while black sofas and red chaise lounges offered more private sitting areas. Large canvases decorated the walls where surrealist paintings transformed familiar and mundane items into a twisted new world. Wondering toward the back of the room, Paige walked across the red cement floor and filed passed a pool table where two men stood at opposite ends. Leaning on their pool sticks, beers in hand and pensively silent, their poker faces suggested an intense showdown. Two doors came into view and Paige made a beeline for the one that read WOMEN, but a man appeared from around the corner stopping her.

“Got the time?” he asked, stuffing a gold pocket watch into his vest.

Wearing a yellow fedora hat and a gray wool suit, the stranger’s trimmed goat-tee and deep inset eyes complimented his prominent features. Paige told him she thought it was about nine o’clock. Blocking her path with a gold-handled walking cane, he smiled a tooth-filled grin, pulled out his watch and began winding back the arms. Paige strained to breathe upon hearing the stranger speak.

“Who’s afraid of duh Big Bad Wolf?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You lost in duh woods, little girl, an I come tuh cast light.” He stepped closer and Paige noticed a deep scar running down his left cheek. “Let me tell yuh somethin’” he said, holding up a bony finger, “dizzy spell gonna keep comin’ back, an I tell yuh somethin’ else, I’m muddy red, an he’s pink, but you little girl, you all over duh map, if yuh read me. You readin’ me girl?”

Paige hesitated and looked around the bar before answering, “Sure, yeah, loud and clear. Excuse me.” She cringed as she hurried past the tall stranger. He reeked of burnt chemicals and his metallic breath lodged in her nose as she scurried over to an undiscovered door, unguarded and unmarked. She heard the stranger laugh and a whisper invaded her ears, but when she whipped around, the man had vanished, retreated back into the looming shadows of the VIP lounge.

The door closed behind her and she stood in a long hallway. Iron sconces highlighted the graffiti-covered walls and she almost admitted defeat, confronted by a seven door corridor. She spotted a hand-written note taped to the last door on the left with the words, Limbo Diver, scrawled out in red ink. Turning the unlocked knob, she opened the door and stepped inside.

A fog of smoke welcomed Paige as she stood in place letting her eyes adjust to the dark room. The sound of people talking and laughing echoed from somewhere off to her left, and among the thick cigarette smoke, she caught the pungent smell of marijuana. As her eyes switched into night mode, Paige followed the voices with a pounding heart and unsteady hands. The tall stranger she’d encountered haunted her. Every bone she possessed begged for retreat as her father’s speech played through her head, but she ignored instinct and ventured forward. Curiosity killed the cat, she thought, inching her way along. She recognized a female’s southern drawl and braced herself when the voice spotted her.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t…wait, what was your name?” A bright spotlight targeted Paige, blinding her as she followed the voice into the opening.

“It’s Paige. I’m supposed to meet Abbey here?” she answered, blocking the light with her hand.

“Come on over here, honey, sit down next to me,” Regan said, motioning with a flashlight. Wearing a black skin-tight dress with a red tailored trench coat and black high-heeled boots, she sat cross-legged on a red chaise lounge. Her curls were ironed away and replaced by thick strands of straight hair, and a marijuana joint rested between her long red nails. Paige flashed a weak smile and sat down across from her.

“Welcome to the other side,” Regan remarked, blowing a cloud of smoke into Paige’s face. She offered her the joint and then passed it to her son when Paige declined. Wearing a red velvet jacket, Abbey held Paige’s gaze and took a long toke off the half-smoked joint.

“I’m glad you made it,” he said, exhaling a white cloud. “Want to hit this?”

“Nope,” she answered, “I’m good.”

Shrugging, he took another hit and suffered a violent cough attack before passing it back to his mother. His hair fell into his eyes as he choked and reached for a tall glass of wine on the coffee table.

“Is it snowing yet?” he asked in a weak voice.

“Starting to,” Paige answered. She glanced around the room and attempted to suppress her growing discomfort, and though she impressed herself by showing up alone (an altogether bad idea), she fought the sudden urge to flee. Awkward social situations are normal battlegrounds for nerves and insecurities, but something else bothered her; something she couldn’t pin down but knew its origin nonetheless. With intuition on high alert, Paige wanted nothing more than to leave the special access area and join the drunk-masses downstairs, but she remained seated despite her unease, the cane-wielding stranger still fresh on her mind.

Popping up from his chair, Abbey held out his hand, “Follow me, I’d like to show you something.”

She hesitated, glanced at Regan, and then accepted his offer. Sliding off the couch and stumbling over the coffee table, she lunged for her purse as Abbey dragged her away. They retreated deeper into the room where a wooden ladder led to an open attic space. Pulling herself up and over the top landing, Paige noticed the club’s color scheme persevered even in the smallest of spaces. An old red trunk and a black futon sat before a single-paned window that overlooked the cityscape. Amidst the abstract shadows, Paige thought she saw a dark figure clutching a gold-handled walking cane. She choked on her breath and flinched back, humiliated when Abbey approached the figure and turned it on. The antique floor lamp could pose a threat however, as the vintage wiring might very well incinerate the Blue Star. They plopped down on the futon and looked out the window, impressed by the animated crowds packing the streets below.

“It’s a madhouse down there,” she remarked. “Can’t wait to drive home. This is what you wanted to show me, the view?”

“Well yeah, isn’t it nice?” he asked, stretching out his arms as if to present the scene.

“Sure, there’s Houston in all its glory,” she answered. “Makes me want to fend for myself with the country folk, you know? Run for the hills and get out while I still can.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I know what you mean. No, it’s not the view. I wanted to get you out of there. You seemed tense.”

Paige refrained from mentioning the man packing a gold pocket watch, as well as her unwarranted disdain for his pot-smoking mother, but Abbey’s perception was right on target. She admitted to feeling out of her element, and while Regan inspired tension and discontent, Abbey felt like home. She smiled as he sipped his tall glass of wine and accused her of being a home-body.

“But this is good for you,” he said. “Just relax and try to enjoy yourself.”

“I know,” she answered, “this is good for me. I should get out more.” Leaning back and crossing her legs, she asked, “You know what else would be good for me? A sip of that wine you’ve smuggled up here.”

Abbey smiled and held out his drink before yanking it away. “You’re not of age yet,” he said. “I’m sorry, you want some grape juice instead?”

“Oh, get off it,” she laughed. “you’re not twenty-one yet either.”

“I’m old enough,” he said, enjoying another sip. His thick dark hair grazed the rim of the wine glass and Paige figured she was either dealing with Dr. Jeckel or Mr. Hyde. When she called him out on his hypocrisy, scorning her for a candy bar while he drank alcohol and smoked weed, Abbey smiled and held his hand against his chest.

“Who, me?” he asked. “Listen, I only smoke when I drink. Addiction will rob you of yourself. Partake in moderation, that’s my rule,” he said, gulping down the rest of his wine.

“Ah, so you’re his doppelganger,” she replied.

Abbey set his empty glass down, crossed his arms and glanced at the trunk positioned against the wall. “I’m not an evil twin,” he said.

“And what about your dad?” she asked. “If green army coats piss him off, I can only imagine what he would–”

“He knows I drink and smoke,” he answered. “We have an understanding. I am sorry though, I know he can be pretty scary. He’s not the most pleasant person to be around.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Anyway, let’s change the subject. Let’s talk about you.”

“Let’s not,” she replied. “It’s a rather boring topic.”

“Tell me more about your dream,” he said. “I’m intrigued.”

Paige explained her strange dream with as much detail as she could remember. The dark club, the painted strangers, the loud music and crowds of people donning outrageous costumes, she described her sense of doom and urgent need to find him. She remembered spotting him by the backdoor exit of the club, she’d followed him outside just in time to see him collapse onto the sidewalk and then, she woke up.

Abbey stood from the futon, almost hitting his head on the low slanted ceiling, and turned his back to Paige as he gazed through the small window.

“Your dream was about Gabriel,” he said. “Surely you know that. He died outside of a club from a drug overdose. Everyone knows that.” Turning around, Abbey held her stare as she processed the information and considered his blanket statement, everyone knows that.

“Guess I forgot,” she said, blinking her eyes into focus.

Smirking, Abbey tilted his head and replied, “It’s okay, but you might try laying off the weed. Damn wino.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she countered.

The dream haunted her. Abbey haunted her, like a ghost from a long ago past, he reminded her of a happier time in history, one that never belonged to her but that she embraced nonetheless. His presence reminded her of a forgotten movie where each frame joggled the memory, scene by scene, reel by reel, until the overlooked ending unfolded once again. Abbey leaned against the wall in a Marlon Brando kind of way, sulky yet cool, brooding yet kind—his resemblance to Gabriel disturbed her. Unless they were long-lost brothers, no two strangers looked that identical, but Paige fooled herself into believing that the man on the moon existed and the cow really did jump over him. Pushing himself off the wall with his shoulder, Abbey strolled over to the antique lamp lurking in the corner. Sticking his hand into the red beaded shade, he adjusted the light bulb until its dim glow brightened and reached full capacity.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” she asked.

Shaking his head no, Abbey placed his hands in his pockets and strolled back to the futon. “What else?” he asked. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Your family,” she said, folding her arms. “I want to know about Professor Faraday.”

Abbey slapped his knee, “I knew it, the truth comes out!” he exclaimed. “You’re hot for Professor Rock Star!”

“Am not,” she said, “but I’d like to know why he hasn’t aged, and don’t tell me it’s his genes cause that’s plain nonsense.”

“Well that’s the only answer I have,” he laughed.

“Okay then, riddle me this, did he know my birthparents?”

 Abbey’s eyes turned a glow-in-the-dark green. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, I was adopted, and there’s something I’m not being told, and I think Professor Faraday knows something about it.”

“Why would you think that?” His penetrating gaze suggested he held a broader understanding of her troubles. His eyes demanded consideration. Paige shivered before responding.

“Just something my dad said,” she answered. “But even before I talked to him, I don’t know, it just feels like something’s happening, you know, like something’s in the air.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…something.” The lamp flickered and steadied as Paige turned away from Abbey and his probing green eyes. She felt dizzy again and involuntarily recalled the stranger’s curse, dizzy spell gonna keep comin’ back. Her stomach churned out a somersault when she thought about her father’s last minute speech, his restless leg tapping the ground urging her to stay home–the last place she wanted to be.

The winter holidays transformed home into a prison. After television lost its charm, Paige retreated to her room where Limbo Diver played on repeat. She passed the time sketching out mundane images from her head, but the abandoned cities and lonely barns were destined to go unfinished. She counted down the days until the start of her first college semester, but her mother had been against the idea from the start. Her mother didn’t see the need for college, regarding it as a huge waste of time and money. Paige disagreed, and after meeting Professor Faraday, she saw it as money well spent. He awoke something in her, as did Abbey. Stay close to him tonight, her father had said, he loves you like his own. She needed to see the professor.

Mulling it over, Paige took the plunge and brought up the pink and blue lights that had surrounded Abbey and the doomsayer. She expected laughter and a shrewd remark, but Abbey watched her with careful eyes and merely listened, nodding his head and patiently waiting until she finished.

“It sounds like you saw our auras,” he said. The old lamp flickered off and then on again as Paige searched his non-expressive face for signs of deceit.

“Auras?” she asked. “I’ve never seen auras before.”

“Been a lot of energy in the air lately,” he replied, “maybe that’s why you can see them now. I see them too. Each color has a different meaning. They change depending on a person’s mood.”

“Kind of like your eyes,” she remarked. “I’ve seen them go from bright blue to bright green to gray. Anything else changing colors I should be aware of?”

Laughing, he replied, “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but no, I believe that’s all.”

The city approached full throttle as a Friday night frenzy coursed through the streets and penetrated the small single-paned window. Paige looked away from the busy street and reached for the red trunk positioned against the wall. Attempting to move it closer, she slid the old wooden box across the floor and disregarded Abbey’s sudden protest.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he exclaimed.

“Calm down,” she said. “I’m just moving this so we can prop our feet up. What’s in here anyway?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged. “Junk, probably.”

Paige smiled and rubbed her hands together, “Let’s open it and find out.”

“It’s probably locked.”

“Nope, it’s not.”

Unhooking the latch and lifting up the lid, Paige reached in and pulled out a faded American flag wrapped around a leather-bound Bible. Blue jeans, tee shirts, hats, books and a stuffed toy frog made up the rest of the trunk’s contents, but underneath the toy frog rested a green spiral notebook. Opening the worn-out and half-filled spiral, Paige suspended her breath as she held the treasured jewel closer. Hand-written words immortalized in black ink captured her eyes as she began reading aloud, “I can feel it in the air again…”

“Feel what?” Abbey asked.

“It’s Gabriel Cross!” she exclaimed. “You know, my knight in shining armor. This is his notebook!” Paige’s excitement continued climbing to new heights the more she recognized her find. “I can’t believe this! This is his stuff!”

“How do you know?”

“It says his name right here on the inside cover,” she said, and then finished reading aloud the first entry. “I can feel it in the air again. Desperation hangs low with the night fog. I am in my weakest hour in the arms of freedom. FREEDOM IS FEAR…I can’t believe this,” she said again.

“What’s the big deal?” Abbey shrugged. “He was just another pampered celebrity.”

“No he wasn’t,” she snapped. “It wasn’t about being a celebrity to him. It was about truth. Like he always said, I’m an advocate for truth.”

“You talk like you knew him.”

“I’m a huge fan.”

“You’re pretty good at being a fan, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” she said and continued reading aloud from the notebook. “They’re coming for me. They’re coming for us all. Mankind will meet its demise in the coming decades, but they’re closing in on me, and I’m, once again, stuck in that viscous cycle of plastic clouds and synthetic sleep. God help me …This must’ve been one of his journals.”

“It sounds like paranoid fear-mongering to me,” Abbey said. “You know, most people thought he was completely off his rocker.”

“Maybe,” she replied, “but I think he was on to something. Have you ever seen his documentary? At the time, I’m sure people did think he was crazy, but nowadays, I don’t know, it’s like he’s been vindicated.” She continued reading aloud, “Thirty years from now, if I’m still around to watch colonies collapse and bees disappear, I’ll head for the hills and stoop to my knees, cuz I’ll know judgment is near.” Paige shivered as she closed the notebook and placed it on her lap.

“Whatever that means,” Abbey scoffed.

“It means we need to start heading for the hills,” she said. “Everything he warned about is coming true or has come true. That doesn’t peak your interest?”

“Science peaks my interest,” he answered, “not overly-hyped hypocrites and conspiracy theorists who thrive off people’s ignorance. He knew what was going to happen because he was on the inside.”

“Well yeah,” she said, “that’s where he claimed to have gotten his info, from the inside.”

Abbey swept hair from his eyes and shifted positions in his seat. “Look, just because we resemble each other doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

“Alright, I’ll let it go,” she said. “It’s sad the way he died though, and in my dream, it’s just so real, like I’m actually watching it happen. I guess it’s weird that I’m dreaming about dead celebrities.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I just admire him so much,” she said, looking down at the notebook, “and it’s just so tragic to me.”

Stone-faced, Abbey replied, “It’s easy to admire someone when they’re dead, they can do no wrong.”

“You got a point there,” she said, ripping out the first page of the notebook and stuffing it in her purse.

An explosion of light flooded the room with a spray of colors. With Abbey’s help, Paige threw open the window and craned her head out to see a spectacular view of red and green lights electrifying the cityscape as if the heavens celebrated Christmas a month late. In awe of the brilliant colors dancing over the skyline, they watched the streams of light expand and swell, like an unstable sunset on some rogue planet. Crowds of speechless on-lookers gazed at the sky in wonderment until loud popping sounds filled the air, prompting screams of panic. Bright flashes of blue and white light spread throughout the city as transformers, one by one, blew out—a familiar sight to Paige. During the last hurricane when she ventured outside before the rain arrived, transformers popped out all throughout her neighborhood due to high winds. She’d never seen anything like it before in her life, nor had she ever seen the Northern Lights, until now. The two attic refuges remained spellbound until the lightshow faded from view and darkness rolled in like a storm surge—threatening and unstoppable.