Professor Faraday was right on time when he made his way to the front of the class. He always hated the first day of a new semester. It was him aim to skip through all the course overview nonsense and get on with the actual lecture. Get down to the meat and potatoes, his dad might say, but Professor Faraday didn’t eat meat, and potatoes were nothing but starch. He celebrated his sixty-first birthday during the holidays but didn’t look a day over twenty-five, thirty if you wanted to push it. A three-time divorcee with no known kids, he doubted he’d ever marry again, especially after his last wife. Billy Faraday (William as his colleagues knew him) was a free spirit, a drifter back-in-the-day. He never imagined he’d wind up back in Texas teaching at his old university. Waiting for the last few students to trickle in, the professor took his spot front and off-centered.

“Good morning and welcome to History of American Politics,” he began. “I’m Professor Faraday and this is the course that’ll give you a new love for our so-called government.” Smiling, he tapped his fingers on the podium and scanned over the class while his head bobbed from side to side, keeping in rhythm with his drumbeat. Locking eyes with Paige, he silenced his fingers and stood with his hand over his mouth, slowly stroking his beard until a high-pitched sneeze exploded from the front row. Paige jumped and mumbled, bless you. The professor ducked behind the podium.

“Incoming!” he yelled. “Duck and cover!”

Paige laughed and looked around the room, surprised to see the majority of the class crippled with apprehension for the professor, their faces crinkled and confused as they waited for his return. Peeking around the podium, Professor Faraday straightened out his jacket, flipped back his long ponytail and began to speak, interrupted again by the flickering of the classroom lights—off, on, off, on, and then, off.

“Son-of-a… Did they change the times on us again?” Reaching down into his book bag, he pulled out a flashlight and held it under his chin. With a wild grin, his beard glowing like a burning bush, the professor resembled a demented hippie who flew too close to the ganja flame.

“Don’t get your hopes up guys, I can teach in the dark.”

His nonchalant confidence intrigued Paige, and with growing adoration for the professor, she fought the urge to stand on top of her desk and declare her loyalty—O’ Captain, my Captain! She supposed he didn’t need a flashlight to brighten up the room. As soon as everyone prepared for darkness, with half the class also producing flashlights, the fluorescent bulbs buzzed back to life. Paige halfway expected them to stay off for good.

“You sure?” the professor asked, staring at the ceiling. Clicking off his flashlight, he cleared his throat, warned the class that notes were a vital necessity and then began his lesson.

“The system of government our Founding Fathers laid out for us vastly contrasts and, more to the point, is in stark contradiction to the current system…”

Paige sat in awe of the professor as he strolled back and forth across the room, gesturing while he spoke. She would have camped out in the parking lot to take his course, and almost had to since his classes sold out like a rock show. For those students in the know, Professor Faraday used to be known as Billy Faraday, the first and best drummer for Limbo Diver, as far as she was concerned. An original member when the band formed thirty-something years ago, he called it quits after the release of their thirteenth album. The band played on with a new drummer, but Professor Faraday dropped out of the scene until he rejoined the band for a reunion tour fifteen years later.

Paige tried focusing on his lecture but found the professor’s celebrity status distracting. Her thoughts ran wild with speculation. She wondered how a person could go from being in a popular rock band surrounded by drugs and groupies and all night parties to a professor of political science. Makes since though, she thought, they were always a political band, but he sure doesn’t look like he’s in his sixties. Wouldn’t he have to be? If he was twenty-something when Limbo Diver formed, he’d have to be at least sixty-something, right? No way, she thought, that’s impossible. What’s the math on that anyway?  He must’ve had some major plastic sur… Oh crap! Notes, I’m supposed to be taking notes... So far, she’d managed to scribble down, TAKE NOTES. Beautiful. Paige abandoned her runaway thoughts and readjusted her focus on the lesson.

“…and that’s probably the most important point I can make, consider yourselves informed and enlightened.” Professor Faraday checked the clock on the wall and approached the podium, “Okay,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “let’s switch gears. Time for a little class discussion. No need for notes, this is just food for thought.”

Paige copied notes from the chalkboard and looked up to meet the professor’s gaze. She wiped her hand across her forehead and glanced around the room envious of her enlightened classmates. She hoped for a sneeze or a blackout or even a bomb threat to disrupt his unyielding stare, but the professor’s pale blue eyes dissected her, picking her apart as he stroked his beard with slow precision before finally nodding and turning away. Paige rolled up her sleeves, pulled back her hair and continued copying notes from the chalkboard.

“What’s the biggest challenge facing us today?” the professor asked. “There’s no wrong answer, I suppose.” Several students responded: The energy crisis! China! The food shortage! Terrorists! Nuclear War!

Paige, in need of redemption, also chimed in shouting, “The water shortage!”

Pivoting on his heels, the professor’s blue eyes cornered her once again. “Care to expand on that, Miss Holland?”

Pushing her sleeves up even further, she answered, “Uh, well, without water, none of those things matter. We’ve been rationing for a while now, with everyone’s water being shut off for most of the day. I mean, come on, we’re recycling sewage waste!” She looked around the room and straightened her posture. “We can convert our energy sources,” she continued, “and we can live without electricity, but we can’t replace water. Without clean water, we can kiss the future goodbye.”

The professor stood with both hands in his pockets and remained silent, appearing distracted before finally acknowledging her answer with a subdued, “thank you, Paige.” Butterflies attacked her stomach.

“Clean water doesn’t matter if we get nuked!” yelled one of the students.

With his eye on Paige, the professor remarked, “Only time will tell.”

At risk of caving under the weight of his bearded stare, Paige ran her clammy hands through her hair and opened her mouth before her brain could interfere. “And what do you think?” she asked. “What would you say our biggest problem is?”

His gaze unfaltering, the professor replied, “Weren’t you paying attention? It’s The Council, of course.” A collective chuckle spread through the room and Professor Faraday dismissed the class with a wave of his hand. Paige didn’t move. She watched the professor pack up his bag and erase the chalkboard clean, but when he turned to find her still seated, she gathered her things and stood to leave. Winding her way out of the classroom, she felt his gaze burn a hole through her back.

Temperatures took a dramatic nosedive as an arctic front paved the way for a mini ice-age. A blanket of clouds imprisoned the sleeping sun and Paige covered her ears, sensitive to the cold wind as she set out to fetch her jacket from the car. With three hours to kill before her next class, she slowed her pace and trudged through the crowd of gathering strangers. She longed for a familiar face.

Paige didn’t have many friends, any really, but the term, social butterfly, wasn’t a bullet point on her resume. An outcast once puberty hit, she morphed into one of those moody gothic rejects of teenage society, but she at least had a small group of friends back in high school. In college, most of the students lived on campus where cliques and circles took shape, but Paige shrugged off her anonymity. Folding her arms tightly against her chest, she avoided eye contact and maneuvered her way through the growing crowd. Students laughed and talked over each other as they gathered in small groups to share the latest gossip, chit-chat with friends or discuss plans for the weekend. A large flock of female students pushed past Paige almost knocking her off the walkway, cackling and violently gesturing with their manicured nails. Never one to stand down, she yelled after them, “share the sidewalk, ladies!” The gaggle of girls laughed and kept walking but when Paige whipped around again, she almost smacked into another student. Stumbling back, she stared at the slender young man who smirked, dropped his head and continued his stroll with his nose grazing an oversized book. The crowds squeezed by around her as she watched the young man head towards a nearby picnic table. She knew him. She didn’t know how or where, but she knew him.

The young man appeared out of place among his peers, a loner, like Paige. He was the epitome of tall, dark and mysterious with high cheekbones, perfectly sculpted lips and a tanned olive complexion. Dark and out-of-control hair framed his crescent moon face, complimenting his mood ring eyes with the air-brushed perfection of a teen dream. He plopped down at the picnic table and continued reading, but as Paige drew closer, determined to put a name with a face, a pale pink light appeared around his frame. Readjusting her focus, she moved in closer. The light intensified, surrounding him with blinding radiance. Abandoning the sidewalk, she quickened her pace and trudged through the wet grass closing the gap to about twenty feet. The young man continued reading, oblivious to the light and oblivious to Paige. She inched closer, but the pale glow dimmed and faded away into natural light as she stood in place debating whether or not to approach him. She almost walked away until the young man threw down his book, sprang from the table and stumbled over the bench. Shaking out his hair, he stamped his feet as if exploding into a full-blown temper tantrum. Paige didn’t know whether to run away or help him fight off the unknown assailant. Approaching with caution, she saw the reason for the freak out.

“Wow, what happened?”

“The bees are dying,” he answered, his voice soft and airy. Looking down, he extracted a bee stinger from the back of his hand and held it up to his face. “Strange,” he said, tossing it on the ground. He cupped his neck and retrieved another bee stinger, once again, examining the pointy stem. “They’re dying before they hit the ground.” A dozen bees lay dead on the picnic table and even more littered the ground around them, and they kept falling. Every ten seconds or so, a bee dropped dead from the sky.

“You okay?” she asked. “You’re not allergic to bees are you?”

“Don’t know,” he answered, “never been stung before. Doesn’t really hurt, just a mild numbing sensation. Why, is my face swelling up?” Paige reassured him that he didn’t look like a blowfish and almost asked about the dead birds in Denver, but a bee brushed by her shoulder, startling her.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get out of the line of fire.” Grabbing his backpack from the table, he shook off a few bees and threw it over his shoulder. They left the suicide bombers behind and walked together in the same direction toward the West Lot with Paige still trying to place him.

“I’m Abbey, by the way, and you?”

“Oh, it’s Paige. Paige Holland.”

“Nice to meet you, Paige Holland. I didn’t know we were doing last names. Mine’s Brava, Abbey Jude Brava.”

“Cool name,” she replied, gaining momentum to keep in step with him. “You even threw in your middle name. Abbey Jude, like The Beatles, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m told. I think my Dad picked it out. Speak of the devil,” he said, stopping to check his phone. “Yup, dear old dad,” he confirmed, stuffing the cell back into his bag. “So, Paige, you hungry? I was thinking Greek.”

“I could eat,” she shrugged.

“I know a good place.” He nudged in closer letting a group of undergrads breeze past before continuing. “You’ll love it, once you’ve tried some fried falafel dipped in tahini sauce, you’ll crave it forever.”

“Falafel?” Paige asked. “Sounds like something Dr. Seuss would eat.”

Abbey stopped dead in his tracks. “You owe me an apology, by the way.”

“For what?” Distracted by an uproar behind her, Paige turned around to see a petite female student getting frisked by an armed guard.

“For almost bulldozing me down,” he answered. “And just so you know, black backpacks are banned.”

Paige frowned and shook her head, “What do you mean?” she asked. “Is that code for something?” The hulking round guard dumped the bag’s contents onto the ground and slung it across his shoulder before escorting the girl away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” exclaimed Paige. “What’s wrong with black backpacks?”

Abbey grabbed her arm and pulled her along as they resumed their brisk pace. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked under his breath. “Only terrorists carry black backpacks.”

The constant sound of hammering defeated Paige. A sharp pain shot across her forehead and pounded in synch with the ongoing construction. She fell dizzy. Her eyes and ears throbbed as an overwhelming ache spread through her shoulders and crawled down her back. Hoping to find some medicine in her bag, she glanced around campus and noticed armed guards stood at every entrance eyeing students as they walked past. Pulling her dark gray bag closer, she held off searching for the pills.

Paige spent most of her time watching television during the holidays. Her father lorded over the clicker subjecting her to black-and-white sitcoms or movies from the fifties and sixties. He incessantly complained about the state of the world and mourned for the good ole’ days, the days before The Council of Six took over. Paige knew things were bad, but a sheltered life shielded her from what her dad called, a failed civilization. Kicked back in his trusty recliner, he’d grumble that fear ruled the airwaves these days, insisting that safety measures did more harm than good. Out in the real world, stationed on the front line, Paige felt like a character from The Twilight Zone, his all-time favorite show. Rubbing her temples, she lagged behind Abbey and looked down at her shoes, challenged by the act of walking.

“You okay?” he asked, waiting for her to catch up.

“Fine,” she answered. “Just hungry, I guess.” Eager to get to the car, grab her jacket and take some aspirin, she pushed forward. The sickness, however, pushed back.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Abbey said. “You look really pale.”

His voice sounded remote and distorted, and although she’d never fainted before, Paige sensed that fainting was on her near horizon. Her vision blurred as she followed Abbey and collapsed onto a nearby bench. A high-pitched hum filled the air and the pink glow returned, emanating heat and casting a bright spray of light around his body. Hunched over, she shielded her face and covered her ears as the cold wind cut through her clothes worsening her headache. She searched her bag for aspirin, relieved when her fingers clasped a small plastic bottle. Abbey handed her his unopened water, pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. The wind settled dirt across the quad and Paige buttoned up, noticing the old green army coat was ripped at the elbow and bore a patch of the American flag on the sleeve. Smiling, she gently ran her fingers across it.

“You okay?” he asked.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath and tasted the change in the air. Subtle yet undeniable, she recognized the nagging feeling, the strange sensation that lifted her pores and tickled her scalp, the same uneasy feeling that kept her awake at night during the winter holidays. Her headache eased as she relaxed her body and attempted to quell her troubled mind. Something’s wrong, she thought. Opening her eyes, she looked at Abbey to find the pale pink light diminished, but the sky appeared unnatural, the heavy clouds tinted red as if a forest fire burned in the nearby distance.

“Paige, you okay?”

Nodding, she answered, “Yeah, yeah just hungry, I guess. I could really go for some, uh, fla… flaf…”

“Falafel,” he grinned.

“Bless you,” she replied.

The wind kicked up again and thunder rolled in the distance as the encroaching cold front gained new ground, intensifying with each strong gust. Abbey and Paige resumed their trek and headed for the West lot until Professor Faraday appeared. Marching toward them with his long blonde hair draped over his shoulders, he smiled, raised his hand to his forehead and saluted an armed guard before calling out to Abbey.

“Mr. Brava! A word?”

Abbey rolled his eyes and stumbled to a halt. “Morning, Professor. You’re looking quite the rock star today.”

Stiff postured and tight lipped, the professor glanced at Paige before asking, “Where were you this morning? You missed my class.”

Abbey glared at the professor, his pale blue eyes turning three shades darker. “Sorry,” he shrugged, “forgot.” His bright green backpack vibrated and he identified the caller before looking at the phone. “Guess I should take this,” he said. “What’s the point in hiding? They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, right Billy?” Abbey excused himself and wandered off a short distance to answer his call. Professor Faraday sighed and turned to Paige, his scraggly brown beard camouflaging any wrinkles if they existed on his untarnished face.

“Miss Holland,” he nodded. “I hope you enjoyed my class this morning.”

“Yes sir,” she answered, “even registered early. You know what they say, early bird gets the worm.” She wanted to kick herself. Nerves were a cruel enemy.

“Am I the worm?” he asked, his mouth gently lifting.

“No! Of course not,” she answered. “No, I just, it’s just a stupid expression.” Mortified!

The professor’s eyes gleamed as he replied, “Yes, I’m familiar with it.” Glancing at Abbey again, he stroked his beard and studied Paige before asking, “Your parents, their names are Justin and Allison, correct?”

“Yes sir,” she nodded. “Why, do you know them?”

Glancing at Abbey again, he smiled and answered, “Used to, back in the day. Tell them I said hello, will you? And that I hope they’re well.”

“Sure, yeah, I’ll let them know.”

“That’d be great,” he murmured. Looking up and gathering more authority, he said, “You two should take cover soon, looks like a storm’s rolling in.” Glancing at Abbey again, he politely excused himself and marched off toward the nearest building, his long blonde hair a wind-tangled nest under his yellow ski hat. Paige fought the urge to call her dad, impressed that he knew a member from her favorite band but suspicious as to why he never told her. A drop of rain grazed her face, and as the wind blew hard, she tucked her head into the old green army coat. A clap of thunder shook the ground and she looked up, startled to see Abbey standing beside her.

“Come on,” he said, “we should go.” He grabbed her arm as they sprinted across the quad toward the West Lot with Paige holding her dark gray backpack tightly against her chest.

The red-tinted sky gave way to dark blue clouds as Paige and Abbey sought shelter in, what she liked to call, Old Faithful. A hand-me-down from her father when he reluctantly upgraded, it sported a few dents and dings but never failed to start. Slamming the car door shut, she reached behind the seat and pulled out a candy bar from her sack lunch. Abbey watched with shameful eyes, sighing with disappointment as she tore into the wrapper. Distracted, Paige started the already started car and then talked over the inevitable screech that followed.

“What?” she asked. “I’m hungry. You want some?”

“No way,” he said. “You’re eating poison, you know that, right?”

“It’s good,” she said with a mouthful. “Sure you don’t want some? Speak now, your window of opportunity is closing.”

“That’s quite alright,” he replied, “I can wait.”

Paige moaned and took another bite, savoring the poisonous mix of peanut butter and chocolate before swallowing it down. “You’re so dramatic,” she said. “Let me guess, you’re the kind of guy that reads food labels before even buying a pack of gum.”

“I don’t chew gum,” he answered.

“So you’re a health nut.”

“Not really,” he said. “I just try to keep it natural.”

“Chocolate’s natural, so is sugar.” Paige tossed the candy wrapper in the backseat, wiped her hands on her jeans and inquired about their route. Abbey pointed them in the right direction and although temporarily fulfilled, her stomach really hoped it liked falafel.

Paige thought she remembered Abbey from the reoccurring dream she kept having. The revelation came to her when she put on his jacket and noticed the patch on the sleeve. She knew something bad happened in the dream, something about the jacket, but beyond that, she couldn’t remember the details. It was Abbey though, she thought, no doubt about it. Still fighting off a mild headache, she shied away from thinking too deeply about the strange dream, opting instead for casual conversation.

“So, why do you think the bees are dying?” she asked, stopping at a red light.

“Disease, probably,” he answered. “Scientists call it Colony Collapse Disorder, could also be pesticides or even GMO crops. See Paige?” he smirked. “The honeybees, they like to keep things natural too.”

“What’s a GMO crop?”

“Fake food,” he replied.

Paige decided to bring up the recent bird deaths her father mentioned earlier that morning. She expected Abbey to shed some sort of light on the topic, an explanation as to why birds were also falling to their deaths, but his answer threw her for a loop.

“I did hear about that,” he said, crinkling his brow. “Scientists call it a Flock Freak-Out. See, the blackbirds have been severely depressed lately. They’re committing mass suicide left and right.”

They hit another red light and Paige noticed a homeless man staggering toward them on the sidewalk. Talking to himself with a blistered mouth jerking and twitching beneath a matted gray beard, the stranger aggressively gestured into the air to no one in particular. His tattered clothing draped off his boney limbs and she observed that his mismatched shoes looked to be on the wrong feet. They sat idle, waiting for the light to turn as he limped closer. She could almost smell the alcohol leaking from his pores and cursed the traffic light for mocking them, but the light went unchanged, a god-awful red. Turn green, she panicked. He inched closer. Checking again to make sure the doors were locked, she glanced at Abbey who calmly sat with his hands in his lap watching the stranger approach. He stumbled by anonymously until reaching the back windshield. Without warning, he then spun around and charged them, his palms held up as if delivering two high fives. Body-slamming the car, he began licking the passenger-side window, his tongue dragging up the glass exposing patches of dried puke in his matted beard. Paige was in the green before the traffic light gave her the go. She struggled to keep her foot on the gas as her body trembled from head to toe, but the homeless man eventually disappeared in her rear-view mirror. Pale and straight-backed, Abbey only nodded when she asked if he was okay. They continued driving in silence, the passenger-side window cloudy and stained.

Fast food bags, weightless and abundant, swirled through the air as a steady wind blew debris across downtown Houston’s one-way streets. Paige felt the car rock from side to side as another strong gust tore through the high-rise buildings. Rain had yet to arrive, save for a slight drizzle, but the dark clouds maintained their ominous presence. A strange vibe coated the air as Paige thought again about her dream. She remembered being among painted faces in a dark club. Abbey had fallen ill and needed help, but she couldn’t get to him in time, he was out of reach, he was lost. Stretching out her arms on the steering wheel, she tried to pinpoint a nagging detail she couldn’t quite decipher. She remembered him from somewhere else, somewhere besides the dream, somewhere lost in time, and then it hit her.

“Hey, you know who you look like?” she asked. “I mean, it’s a striking resemblance, you could be his twin brother or something.”

Abbey sighed, “I’ve got a pretty good idea. Gabriel Cross, right?”

Paige nodded, “Yes! Exactly like him!”

“Surprise, surprise,” he scoffed, “like I haven’t heard that before.”

“Hey,” she said flashing a nervous smile, “take it as a compliment.”

“A compliment?” he asked. “I hate Hollywood. Bunch of mindless celebrities with inflated egos.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, “but Gabriel was different.” Gabriel Cross, she thought, the beautiful Gabriel Cross.

While Limbo Diver satisfied the need for a favorite band, Gabriel Cross won the title for Paige’s all-time favorite celebrity. A child star loved by millions, Gabriel’s presence on the silver screen captivated fans across the globe. Although labeled and sold as a teen dream, he proved to be anything but a typical Hollywood actor. By the time he hit sixteen (with numerous awards and recognitions to his credit), he turned his back on the big wigs of Tinsel Town, calling it a soul stealing industry and vowed to only appear in small low budget movies. He became the prince of indie films and also developed quite a loud voice of opposition to, what he called, the puppet masters behind the scenes. He increasingly spoke out against a satanic secret society that he said controlled the entertainment industry as well as every other industry. He alleged to know about hidden agendas and evil plots, unknown truths that affected each and every person on the planet, but few people took his message to heart. Gabriel suffered ridicule from all angles but held firm to his beliefs, even making a documentary that exposed secrets he claimed to have uncovered. He died before the film was released, and although red tape almost silenced the documentary, his family released it to the public a year later. Barely causing a ripple, critics shrugged it off as the result of a drug induced state of extreme paranoia from a disturbed and delusional young man. The Hollywood machine that once embraced the young star disgraced his legacy after his premature death at age eighteen, but Gabriel’s cult following tripled in size. Thirty-something years later, his cult following continued to gain new members.

Paige felt a connection to the troubled actor and saw him as something more than just a pretty face. His eyes revealed passion, sadness, and kindness unmatched nearly half a century later. Put simply, in Paige’s view, Gabriel had been the perfect man. She marveled again at Abbey’s resemblance to the deceased star, but his eyes were different. Not in a bad way, she thought, but not Gabriel’s.

In tune with Abbey’s discomfort, she decided to drop the subject and reached over to turn up the stereo. Another celebrity came to mind after hearing the rhythmic tribal drums of the first song’s intro.

“Limbo Diver?” he asked. “Should’ve figured.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, readjusting positions in her seat. “They’re pioneers of an entirely new genre of music. Gothic blues didn’t even exist until they hit the scene.”

“Calm down,” Abbey said, “it’s not an insult, but I must tell you, your little crush on Professor Rock Star is weird on so many levels.”

“What?” Paige exclaimed. “I barely even know him. Besides, he’s like, sixty-something, so you’re right, that would be weird.”

Abbey smiled and shook his head, “You’re a bad liar, Paige Holland. By the way, he’s sixty-one, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re attracted to old dudes with beards.”

Paige ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m not attracted to him,” she said. “I just enjoy his music.”

Smirking, Abbey replied, “Okay, whatever you say, but just so you know, he stays pretty active for a geezer…Oh, turn here!”

Paige spun the wheel sharply to the left. “There’s absolutely no way he’s sixty-one,” she said. “Besides, how would you know about him?”

Abbey peered through the stained window and murmured something under his breath. Paige asked him to repeat himself, and speaking more directly, he confessed that the professor was actually his uncle. Paige fought to contain herself. She inquired about the rest of the band, losing her grip on self-control when Abbey admitted to knowing the lead singer, Michael Doucet. Unable to bite her tongue, she asked about the rumors, the tall-tales that accused the band members of drinking blood in order to stay young. Abbey laughed and gave her his full attention.

“You think they’re vampires?” he asked. “Well, I guess that’s logical. Tell you what, they’re playing a show tonight down on Montrose. Meet me there and I’ll get you in for free, introduce you to everyone.”

Paige broke the sound barrier. Her headache pierced her eye sockets and Abbey jabbed his fingers in his ears when she accepted the offer. At the expense of both their health, she attempted to curb her excitement and asked again how Limbo Diver maintained their youthful appearance.

“Don’t know,” Abbey shrugged, “awesome genes, I guess. They can also read minds and move things by thought alone, but that actually is from drinking blood.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, “Mock me all you wish,” she said, “but Professor Faraday’s appearance is definitely not natural.”

“You got me there,” he replied. “Oh, and just to be clear, It’s not a date, but just in case you do get lonely, Professor Rock Star will keep you company.”

Paige held up her arm and pretended to backhand the celebrity look-alike. “Way to make things awkward,” she said.

She thought about mentioning her dream, but a man standing on the sidewalk holding up a sign derailed her train of thought. She slowed the car to read the cardboard warning suspended high above his head: THE END IS NEAR! FIND TRUTH! FIND GOD! He didn’t scream or rant and rave. He didn’t act crazy or look crazy, but he did appear displaced, like a stranger out of time. Dressed in a black concert tee-shirt with a long-sleeved flannel shirt, ripped up jeans and black army boots, the middle-aged man wore a blank expression and refrained from speech—his homemade sign did all the talking. Dead bees, falling birds, black backpacks, maybe he’s on to something, Paige thought. She looked through her rear-view mirror to steal one last glimpse of the doomsayer, his weathered trumpet bent by the wind and a soft blue light surrounding him.

Trash scattered into the air and littered the streets as they pulled into a parking garage and found a spot on the third floor level. Paige had expected a restaurant, but Abbey insisted that the best Greek kitchen (this side of the hemisphere) was none other than his friend’s condominium home, or as he proudly called, Matthew’s Caribbean Cuisine. After explaining they were good friends of the family, tattoo artists for the band, Paige agreed to get out of the car. They located the elevators and waited in silence until Abbey shook his head and chuckled to himself. Paige grasped for the invisible punch line.

“Hope that guy doesn’t run into our homeless friend,” he remarked, brushing the dark hair from his eyes.

“Huh?”

“The Doomsayer,” he laughed, “hope he doesn’t run into the Glass Licker. He might think he’s some sort of demon, just start wailing on drunk homeless guys left and right.”

Paige frowned and shook her head, “You’re kind of morbid for a Naturalist. You know that, right?” Boarding the elevator, Abbey pushed the tenth floor button and they ascended towards lunch.

A tall muscular man with salt and pepper hair answered the door and greeted Abbey with a warm bear hug. Covered in tattoos, he looked to be in his mid to late fifties. After inviting them inside, he unleashed another warm bear hug onto Paige and patted her on the back as if they were old friends. The inside of the loft was impressive. Hardwood floors spread throughout the vast living area, which offered an open-space floor plan with a spiral staircase leading up to the second level. A brick wall led into the stainless steel kitchen where Paige and Abbey seated themselves at the bar. The interior walls were painted dark red with long windows in the back revealing a sprawling Downtown Houston. Paige admired the view and thanked Matthew as he served them their plates, the already prepared Greek cuisine looking and smelling scrumptious. She picked up her pita sandwich and noticed, amongst all the vegetables, some sort of fried golf ball-sized patties that appeared green on the inside. Must be falafel, she thought, and sank her teeth down.

“What do you think?” Abbey asked after swallowing his first bite.

“It’s actually really good,” Paige mumbled with her hand over her mouth. She ate her entire sandwich and was forced to admit her new fondness for falafel when Abbey accused her of scarping it down.

She followed him around the corner and down a dark hallway until she came to the last door on the left. Bigger than her bedroom at home, the bathroom featured a ceramic claw-foot bathtub positioned by the back wall where she thought she heard a voice call out to her. Come, relax, stay awhile, the bathtub persuaded, but Paige resisted the enticing draw. She walked across the black-and-white checkered floor, washed her hands in the sink and noticed that the beauty products lining the vanity were the same brand her mother used, Valley of Beauty. She wondered how old you had to be before wrinkles became an issue. Glancing in the mirror, she cringed at the appearance of her bleach-blonde hair and searched her pockets for a hair tie. She cursed the relentless wind for turning her head into the tail of a champion show poodle. No wonder it’s not a date.

Paige followed the voices to a large sitting area by the wall of windows in the den. Abbey and Matthew sat on stools behind a tall round table, and a dark-haired woman sat on a black leather loveseat across from them. Stepping down into the sunken living room, Paige took Abbey’s seat after he sprang up and plopped down beside the woman. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and scooted in closer, draping her long slender arm around his slumped shoulders. He hesitated before calling her mom and then introduced her to Paige.

“Just call me Regan,” the woman said. “I hate Ms. Doucet, it makes me sound so,” she stopped and sized up Paige for a spell, “so old,” she finished. Regan possessed an exotic beauty, stunning with her long thick curls and dazzling green eyes, she moved and breathed confidence. Abbey fell silent, his eyes studying the floor and his discomfort obvious to Paige. A surrealist painting hung on the sidewall to the right of the loveseat. It depicted a chaotic, apocalyptic scene with hundreds of look-alike-men dressed in blue jumpsuits charging down an empty street. Abandoned cars with wide-open doors lined both sides of the street while splashes of pink, orange and red colored the sky. The working-class drones disappeared into the horizon leaving observers of the painting with one pressing question, and Paige was no different—I wonder what they’re running from.

“It was a dream he had,” Regan said, glaring at Paige. “They’re running from the truth.”

“Huh?”

“The painting,” Regan said, “you know, the one you’re staring at? Ashley Brava created that dreadful thing. Speaking of,” she said, turning to her son, “I like to avoid Mr. Artsty Fartsy whenever possible. Tell Robin she can come out of hiding.” Smiling, she kissed Abbey on the forehead and glanced at Paige before standing to excuse herself. “I’ll see you later tonight,” she said, walking briskly to the door. Her red stiletto heels hit hard against the wooden floor, a penetrating sound that echoed throughout the spacious flat. Matthew bid her a polite goodbye but his grim facial expression contradicted his pleasant tone. Although he resembled the kind of guy who might hang out in the parking lot of a rundown strip joint, underneath the tattooed tough-guy facade, Matthew was a teddy bear.

“So, what’s next on the agenda?” he asked. “Dessert?”

Abbey glared at the front door. “See what I mean?” he asked. “She’s taking things a bit too far.”

Matthew nodded, looked around the room and covered his mouth with his hand. Paige pulled out her cell phone, checked the time and then stood to leave until a female’s voice echoed from another room, interrupting her planned goodbye.

 “Finally! How long is she in town for anyway, and why in the world is Abbey calling her Mo–”

“Honey,” Matthew said, smiling at Paige, “we still have company.”

“Oh…well, no one told me the pla–”

“Honey!” Matthew exclaimed.

 The voice trailed off and a hip older woman appeared from the hallway and into the living room. Petite with bleach-blonde hair cut short and spiky, she wore long beaded earrings and a low-backed shirt that revealed a colorful butterfly tattoo spanning her shoulders. Paige choked on her overwhelming perfume. The older woman kissed Abbey on the top of his head and whispered something in his ear while hugging his neck, but Abbey remained unmoved. Matthew’s wife and longtime sweetheart, Robin, introduced herself to Paige and without inhaling a breath, carried on about her marriage, renewing her vows, and how much she loved her husband. Was Paige dating anyone? Did Paige want kids? Did Paige enjoy being single? Paige, at risk of being late to her next class, offered polite but short answers to the barrage of questions. She wondered if Robin rehashed the Q&A session with every new face she met. Thanking them for their hospitality, she asked a long-faced Abbey if he needed a ride back to campus, he didn’t, but insisted on walking her to the car.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Find what out?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said again. “Listen, the show starts at nine, it’s at the Blue Star. You’ll need this to get in.” Reaching into his pocket, he handed her what looked to be a press pass that read, ADMITTED ACCESS: LIMBO DIVER. “Meet me in the far back room,” he said. “You’ll go through three doors, look for a note.”

She stuffed the plastic card into her purse and decided to ask about his mother. Regan’s last name didn’t go unnoticed and Paige attempted to decode the family tree, deducing that his mother must be the sister of famous rock god, Michael Doucet. Abbey sighed and rolled his eyes, confirming her suspicions. He also explained that his father and Professor Faraday were brothers.

“We’re technically Faraday’s,” he said. “My dad changed his last name to Brava years ago, before I was born.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it was before I was born.” He turned to leave but Paige grabbed his arm and thanked him for the jacket before handing it over. Shivers wracked her body as she embraced herself and watched him from behind, his hands in his pockets and a dim light outlining his frame. She thought she heard him speak, but he stood silent by the elevator, the dim pink light becoming a dull mustard-brown.

“Hey,” she called out, “you were in my dream last night. You and your jacket.”

Letting the elevator door close, Abbey turned and took a few steps forward. “How do you know it was me?” he asked. “How do you know it wasn’t Gabriel, your night and shining armor?”

“Why would I dream about him?” she asked.

“Why would you dream about me?”

Tires screeched from around the corner and a black sports car with dark tinted windows pulled in beside them. Taking up two parking spaces, the driver killed the engine and popped open the door revealing a gorgeous specimen of a well-dressed man. With short dark hair and a black silk tie draped around his neck, he wore a designer pinstriped suit and appeared no older than twenty-five, although his air of authority aged him. Chiseled around the edges by maturity, he looked like the grown-up version of Abbey, debonair with an aggressive edge. The sharp dressed man slammed the car door shut and brought his wrath upon his son.

“Where the hell have you been?” he yelled. Mr. Brava’s eyes gleamed a pale blue and a thick vein protruded down his forehead.

“Ash…Dad, I told you I was coming over to Matthew and Rob–”

“You told me you’d be with Billy! What are you wearing? Where did you get that? Take it off, now!” Mr. Brava grabbed Abbey by the arm and yanked the jacket off his shoulders. Holding it to his nose, he gently placed the army coat on the seat of the car, slammed the door shut and turned to Paige.

“And what do we have here?” he asked.

“Paige Holland,” Abbey said. “She was just telling me about the dream she had.”

Laughing, Paige glared at Abbey and slowly backed away. Mr. Brava glared at Paige and stepped closer.

“Care to share?” he asked.

Gripping her keys, she shook her head no, tossed her purse in the car and jammed the key into the ignition. The light drizzle turned into a downpour as she peeled out of the parking garage and sped away from the scene. Checking the rearview mirror every few seconds, she expected to see a black sports car with a well-dressed man waving a shotgun.