#honestly a MIRACLE were still friends like its freaky to think about how its almost been a decade

[hallowshumour]

RAD BEAST //ft @rascalteeth 🎵🌀

[shyflameweasel]

The Circus is in Town

This takes from both this and this. Read with caution as there is blood in this.

It’s been few weeks since...the Thing in the alleyway. Maybe a month if you had to guess? You still have no clue what it even was. Curiosity lays at the edges of your mind, poking and prodding to look deeper into the mystery. Shaking your head to dislodge the stray thoughts, you don’t give them a chance to take root. Since that night you haven’t gone out at much as you used to, either by day or by night. Dark places and hideaways were avoided like the plague. (Sometimes you dreamed of floating hands shooting from the darkness to drag you back towards that nightmare.)

You had security system installed. Along with carrying both a knife and taser. A firearm seemed like too much. You’d briefly considered pepper spray but you’re not sure if it would even work without-

Shuddering, that thought’s pushed away (with all the others). You so wanted to believe that it was just your imagination. But with that photo- that damnable photo that you got so close to deleting but couldn’t go through with. Bringing certainty and dread that that night was real. 

So so often you wanted to throw that phone against the wall. Or just factory reset it to stop it from feeling like a brand whenever you held it. Often why you absentmindedly grab the phone for something, you’ll see or feel the crack and everything come rushing back.

Somewhere in your mind, a little voice in your head thinks that you were blowing things out of proportion. Another told it to shut it; isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

But today...some friends had managed to convince you to get out of your sudden self-isolation. No one knew the reason why, no one would believe you even with proof. (You struggled to believe yourself.) When they said that you’d all be going out of town for a carnival was relaxing. Distance would mean less of a chance of a second encounter and have the benefit of soothing your fraying nerves.

Everything was nice...for awhile.

You don’t fully remember how, but your group had ended up lost. The roads unfamiliar and tensions were rising. Which soon gave way to arguments.

Which lead to a crash. Then darkness.

Fortunately, by some miracle everyone made it out fine with just some scrapes and bruising when you regained consciousness. Unfortunately, the car was in no condition to drive and no one had any idea where you were. The GPS seemed unable to lock onto the location.

Something felt...off. Like it was only the slightest thing off but you didn’t know what so it gnawed at-

Someone spotted a large circus tent in the distance. A tent meant people, people meant help. The group’s spirit rose, all except yours. That feeling was still rolling in your gut. They started towards it, joking around that at least they have some entertainment while waiting for a tow. You hesitated in following, that not-quite-right feeling thick in the back of your throat. It dawned on you why you felt this way.

It was the same feeling as the alley.

You didn’t want to go but what other choice was there? A wrecked car, no other soul for seemingly miles. As much as you hated it, there really wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Checking once twice thrice for your knife taser phone you followed. As you caught up with the rest, you placed your phone where the camera could see everything and hit record.

(Your information was already saved into the phone. On the chance that it was found, someone would know what happened to you.)

That feeling grew as you got closer to the ‘circus’, if you could even call it that. From far away it seemed decent enough but once you got closer details were starting to register. For one, there was only a tent. Nothing of the bright lights or rides that would be at a carnival, even the more shoddy ones had something to bring in a crowd.

Another red flag: dead silence. Not a single person or animal in sight. Not even the sound of insects broke the blanket of noiselessness. You held some slight hope that it was due to being in the middle of a performance in the tent. But if that was the case, wouldn’t there still be cheering form the crowd? Or music playing?

The others seemed to catch on to just how wrong everything felt. Like at the drop of a pin this stalemate would shatter into hell. Hands in pockets, grasping onto your only means of defense. False security blankets against the unknown. Apprehension settled alongside that feeling. Waiting.

Once close enough to the tent you could see that it was falling apart. The material was holey, like someone gave up half-way through with trying to repair it. In its sorry state it was so dirty and faded that it was hard to make out any of the original colors. Worryingly enough there were large dark spots on the fabric. Distance was making it hard to tell what they were but their color means that it wasn’t part of the original pattern.

Someone tried to make a joke about it being too early for Halloween. No one laughed. Another suggested that everyone walked back to the car and call for help instead (where it was safer.) It was shot down by a third saying that the GPS wasn’t working and that there was no reception. That paused the argument.

No reception? As if everyone had the same idea, phones were brought out. How...how didn’t you notice that? Were you so out of it back at the car that you never checked? (One of the voices piped in that it worked before.)

Hesitantly, the option of staying in the car waiting for someone to pass. No one said anything, they didn’t have to. After the crash the car had been flipped upside down away from the road. In addition it was already late afternoon. Whatever the hell was going on here, no one wanted to be in the area after dark.

So with all other options tried and debunked, the only one remaining was going towards the tent and praying for a miracle. What felt like forever but was only a few minutes you get within a few yards of the entrance. The curtain was open. (It wasn’t before.)

(Those splotches you tried to ignore before? Its blood. A lot of blood. One the tent and the ground. Out of the corner of your eye you could see a handprint. Instead of four fingers, there were three. Leading towards the entrance, six thin gorges, almost as if- one of the voices hissed at the other to shut up.)

Don’t think about it. It’ll only make is worse. Glancing at the others told you that while they hadn’t come to the same conclusion they still didn’t trust this place in the slightest. You couldn’t see into the darkness of the tent.

“WELCOME! COME IN COME IN THE SHOW’S ABOUT TO START!” rang from the flap. You flinched as it broke through the dead silence. No one moved. Whatever microphone they were using glitched and echoed their voice. It sounded much worse the second time when it sounded far less happy and far more angry.

‘CLOWN SAID COME IN.” Someone started crying and honestly you would be lying if you didn’t feel like that too. Something told you that you wouldn’t be getting another warning. Looking over, the others seemed to realize it too.

There was no escaping whoever was in the tent. One of the others puffed up their chest in false bravado and took the first step then the second and the third into the darkness. And one by one, everyone followed.

It smelled...stale.

Like despite the amount of holes in the place the air remained stagnant. If you weren’t so worried about the voice, you’d worried about getting sick. But underneath that stagnation there was this horrible smell. You almost retched as your foot collided with something squishy that released more of that foulness. If you make it out alive you’re going straight to a doctor. (You did your best not to think about what you stepped in.)

“STOP” the voice range out. Everyone froze. “CLOWN WELCOMES NEWEST PERFORMERS FOR COMING. IT’LL BE A BLAST FOR GRUNTS OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES.” Performers? Grunts? What does that-

A light suddenly came on. Someone screamed about eyes. But to you the world went to static. Because standing right there. Was the Thing from the alley. Or at least, it was similar. (Something in you screeched to run and unlike last time, you couldn’t.)

Standing on a raised platform, standing under the beam of spotlight was a Thing. Only this one was wearing a metal mask. (Was the red shooting up from Its head hair or was it a wig? Your shuddering mind deliriously thought.) Stumbling towards the back of the group you belatedly realize what that eyes comment was about. Dozens if not hundreds stared back at you from the darkness.

The mask’s eyes seemed to move into crescent smiles. You felt your mind trying to break itself but you just barely held yourself together. Dots flash before your eyes as breathing becomes difficult.

In a blink (was it a blink or is your mind having trouble). It’s near one of your friends. “FREAKY.” Grabbing their arm with Its hands It looks closer. When they try to jerk away It just grips tighter and they yelp in pain. The others try to push It off them but It just bats them away as easily as swatting a misbehaving pet. “HAD SOME FREAKSHOWS BUT NEVER ONE LIKE THIS.”

(There was no microphone. This violently shaking monster spoke with distortion and echo in its voice.) 

Someone asks what It is. It looks at (towards?) them still holding the arm of your now shaking friend. “CLOWN IS TRICKY!” Finally letting go of your friend (they’re brought to the center of the group, arm starting to bruise.) It-Tricky-clown flourishes its hands (floating floating floating) “WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS~” in a sing song voice.

Before anyone could say anything, could do anything. It had a gun in Its hands. (There were no pockets just dark grey gunmetal green aND WHERE DID IT COME FROM) Pointed the gun towards the group. Fired. Half threw themselves to the ground. Myself and the rest were frozen in shock. There was no bullet...just a little sign with a bang pattern.

It roared with laughter. Like it had just seen the funniest joke in the world. That next moment the room exploded into deafening laughter. The shear volume brought you back to your senses enough to clutch at your ears. Trying to block it all out.

“BRING IN THE HELLCLOWNS!” It side steps a car that half your size, you knew without a fact that it wasn’t before. Skidding around your group before coming to a stop next to the Thing.

The door ope-DEARR GOD THOSE AREN’T CLOWNS!

A scream rips itself from your throat at the sigh. From the car emerges a dozen small flaming...demon Things. They seemed to honk when they moved. One grabs your wrist and does it burn. All but one of your friends are restrained. The remaining fiery devils seem to set something up.

The Thing in charge grabs the unrestrained, dragging towards a wheel the smaller ones made. It’s hard to focus with the pain burning through your wrist. The world blurs.

Thunk thunk thunk squelch

An ear piercing scream breaks through the haze.

Your eyes refocus on the wheel. It was slowly turning. Attached to it was your friend. And to your friend was a knife to their shoulder. The clown was holding knives. (Like the wheel was a dartboard and your friend was the bullseye.)

There must have been some kind of mechanism as whenever the wheel stopped, it would suddenly spin at breakneck speed. It felt like an eternity. Every time the clown hit them, the crowd would cheer.

Luck must have been on your friend’s side. 3 more cycle and a knife caught them through the eye. They were dead. (Someone was crying out of eyesight.)

The next to go went slower. That-that monster had Its minions crush your friend into a small box in some sick parody of a contortionist. Bones cracked and the screaming turned wet. It seemed confused with arms and legs. At least until It torn them off. They bleed out in a broken mess. (More crying, the sounds of retching follows.)

The third was quick but painful. A pie. It threw a pie at their face. Their face melted off and their neck burst open. (The minions pulled the bodies into the darkness. You have an idea of what you stepped in earlier.)

Throughout this your mind is brought back from its haze of pain with each wail of agony. Slowly unraveling you grasp the edges of your mind with scrambling finger tips.

Fourth was quickest. Forced and shot out of a cannon. The minions had set up a net that glints of metal and fire in the stage light. It goes off, force launching them through the net. Confetti and viscera rain from the sky.

(Someone screams why, why are you doing this! It’s reply bleeds through the growing fog. “BORED. A LITTLE VACATION FROM MY JOB. JUST GET TO UNWIND AWAY FROM NEVDA AND HAVE SOME FUN!” What...what was going on in Nevada?)

Fifth is shot with a balloon gun before being mauled to death by balloon animals.

Your mind is slipping through your hands like water. The crowd cheers louder ever louder. (They’re all flaming clowns)

Sixth...you don’t know what happened. It was one of those strong man gigs. Swing a hammer, hit a bell. Only...they didn’t. They swung and hit the monster square in the face. Mask landing with a thud in the deathly silent tent.

You took your chance.

Wrenching your arm out of the slackened hold (a wave of agony and the smell of burnt flesh violently turns your stomach) you shoulder check the other one to grab your last remaining companion. (If the inhuman scream followed by meaty whacks is to go by)

And run.

You keep running before your fraying mind catches up to you. Nothing looks the same as when you went in. (There. Was. No. Sky. Only red, not like a sunset bu- don’t think don’t think don’tthinkdon-)

Seventh is unknown. As you run in the direction that you’re so sure that the car has to be in, you’re jerk back. You were repeating not again over and over (you never know you were mumbling). A fight breaks out, you’re on the ground with their hands around your throat. Screaming that it’s all your fault. Your mind flashes to balloons bursting like guns, flying pies and bloody confetti.

(The voices argue, one crying and pleading for this to stop. The other hissing and snarls at the attack. The edges of the world go dark.)

You hear the horns growing louder.

As quick as you can, you pull the knife from your pocket.

And stab the seventh.

Seventh falls over clutching their gut wound. You run.

You get farther this time before something tackles you to the ground. It’s back and It is enraged.

Now that the mask is off you can see Its head. Similar to the other one in most ways. The head a sickly green. An exposed brain. Sweet smelling rot that’s too much. Half Its face is ripped, exposing teeth and muscles. (It does have hair)

It was dead. But it was still moving.

You didn’t hesitate, you grabbed your taser and slammed it down onto the gray matter as hard you could. (The smell, the sound it makes will haunt you. But you can just add it to the list.)

It stopped moving and you weren’t going to miss this chance. Wooziness took control as you stood up. Only a few steps were taken before consciousness left.

You woke up.

Apparently a car had come down the road and found the wreck. Took you to the closes hospital. Of a group of 8...only 1 was found.

Honestly everything felt like a dream with the painkillers coursing through your veins. Questions were asked that couldn’t be answered. All you could tell them was that the rest were at the circus with a clown named Tricky.

And when you were finally alone...you laughed. Laughed until you cried. Laughed until you hurled. Laughed until you could barely breathe. Until you sobbed. Sobbed for your friends. Sobbed for what you all went through. Sobbed as you had your answer after a month.

As you lay there in laughter filled waves of agony, with your bandaged arm (a handprint) and the hours of video of your friends being tortured and killed you found your answer.

Whatever they were, they brought suffering and madness. Some fractured part of your mind knew that this wouldn’t be your last time seeing them.

[ayearofpike]

Strange Girl

Simon Pulse, 2015 413 pages, 19 chapters + epilogue ISBN 978-1-4814-5058-4 LOC: PZ7.P626St 2015 OCLC: 936552329 Released November 17, 2015 (per B&N)

There’s a new girl in school, and something about her is unbelievably interesting to Fred Allen. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself. Maybe it’s the way she refers to herself as merely a vessel for conveying the knowledge she seems to have about our greater nature. Maybe it’s the remarkable power she commands, the way that happiness and healing ride in her wake everywhere she goes. Or maybe it’s her sweet ass. Whatever it is, she seems to connect with Fred just as quickly, elevating him to a greater happiness than he’s ever known. Of course, as with any powerful girl that people don’t understand, this happiness is fated to flee just as quickly when she pushes herself beyond what her body can handle.

Or, shorter: It’s Sati. It’s Sati set in high school with teenagers. It’s Sateen.

Part of the reason I took on this project is that I felt like my own writing was stagnating. Time was I couldn’t sit down without pumping out a thousand words of my own universe, my own characters and plots and desires and ideas. But at a certain point, I started to try to focus on bettering and refining one of my main tales, one I’d revisited off and on since sixth grade ... and I just burned out. I realized that I simply could not rework this story again, that it wasn’t ever going to be what I wanted or do what I wanted, or at least not in this fifth attempt in ten years. I couldn’t keep talking about the same thing again.

This might be indicative of why I’ve had a hard time pushing through as A Year (And A Half Now, Almost) Of Pike has approached its end point. There’s no denying that the man is a killer storyteller, and that some of his ideas and worlds were stunning and even revolutionary within the genre. But thirty years is a long time to stay in the game, especially when you’re pumping out more than three books a year for the main part of your popularity. It’s admirable that he was able to keep that up for so long without resorting to the James Patterson model of hiring someone else to write the books that have his name in large type across the top. But then, when you’ve only got one brain working on all these extensive ideas and under these onerous deadlines, you’re invariably going to start to repeat yourself. 

Almost everything Pike wrote after the start of Spooksville (I can’t even be charitable and say after his car accident) has repeated or revisited some major theme from an earlier work (mostly his own; I see you, Black Knight). And as I’ve pushed through and read every single one of his published works, I’ve started to feel that same fatigue that I had when trying to rewrite and repair something I’d spent so much time on of my own. See, this is why I can never actually be an academic despite being a composition teacher: so much of studying English is finding your niche and continuing to write about the same topic for your entire career, and I don’t think I could ever devote that much of my professional life to writing about the same thing. I just got tired of my ill-researched writing about the complete works of my favorite childhood author, for fuck’s sake. 

Still, if any book was due a revamp, Sati fits that mold. It was his first adult novel, it kinda got buried to all except his most devoted fans, and maybe it would be timely to publish a book about kindness and introspection and acceptance just as the muckrakingest American election in recent history was getting underway. But most of all, it’s still a relevant look at how we act and what we think about when we consider faith and religion and God. Considering how audiences and the book market have so drastically changed in the last thirty years, it totally makes sense that Pike might want to revisit the concept for a new generation. And honestly, I’m a victim of my own age and literacy here — nobody else who might be interested in this YA book in 2015 is reading its spiritual predecessor from 1988.

I’m mostly going to blast through the summary, because it’s been more than three weeks since I finished the book and I don’t actually want to reread it to remember specifics. Fred is a high-school musician living in Elder, South Dakota, and just like any other teenager in a small town is dreaming of escape. His parents own a hardware store and just barely maintain a rocky marriage, though all we know about that is what Fred specifically tells us. His best friend Janet, the presumptive valedictorian, has her own messy home life, but they always have each other’s backs, which is why Janet pushes Fred toward the new girl.

This is Aja, a beautiful Brazilian who relocated to South Dakota for some reason three months ago but didn’t start school until today. The teacher in the class they share is unreasonably mean to her for apparently no reason, but it doesn’t put Fred off buying her lunch and trying to learn more about her. He’s unsuccessful, largely, but she does learn about him and his band and their work before she takes off. They’re doing a gig at a nearby Air Force bar on the weekend, and everyone knows Fred is the real talent and pressures him to perform a little more of his original and quieter work at the show. This here is Fred’s difficulty: he wants it, he has the talent and the drive, but he second-guesses how much people actually want to hear his voice.

Aja gets kicked out of the class they share when she’s accused of cheating on her entrance exam (what?), so Fred doesn’t see her again until after their gig. The crowd is getting raucous and angry, and the drummer doesn’t take well to that, so the evening is just starting to devolve into a brawl when Aja stands on a table and tells everyone to calm the fuck down. She also helps out one of the servicemen, who has taken a whiskey bottle to the head but now isn’t even bleeding. Weird, right? 

A local reporter sure thinks so. She posts a video of the event, with a suggestion that maybe Aja is more than she appears to be. Can she heal people? The folks at their next gig have the same question, surrounding her and generally pestering until Fred manages to pull her away. They drop her off at home, the biggest house in town, and Fred finally asks her out, sort of, by responding to her question about his unhappiness by saying she should stop accepting dates with other dudes. Like, possessive much already? But on his way to work the next day, he sees the teacher in the cemetery, near her son’s grave, and decides to talk to her about Aja. This opens a floodgate: the teacher blames herself for her son running outside and getting hit by a car, and apparently Aja knew more than she should have, which was why the teacher was so salty with her before. So what else does this girl know?

Fred goes to pick Aja up for their first official date, and ends up talking to her guardian, where he finally learns more about her past. It seems that Aja was a feral child living near a village in the Amazon, and she had a reputation as a magical healer and talent. The guardian was compelled to the village for some reason, and appointed herself the caretaker of the girl, and only uprooted them to South Dakota because Aja said they needed to go there. The guardian only has a vague idea why, but she’s pretty sure it’s related to Fred.

They go back to his house, because his parents are out, and he plays her a song almost off the top of his head that she’s inspired. Before they can start gettin’ freaky, Fred’s phone rings, and apparently his hot-headed drummer has gotten into it with some drug dealers and cops in a nearby town and is in critical condition in the hospital. So Fred and Aja go there, but when he calls the guardian’s valet (or whatever this dude is; it’s kinda muddy) to tell her what’s up, he gets pissed and freaked out and orders Fred to make Aja leave the hospital. Only he can’t find her. And when he does, she’s all dizzy, and passes out on the ride home, and when he drops her off the valet screams at him and slams the door in his face.

But the drummer wakes up, and when Fred goes to see him, he hears a story of two beings visiting him, and his realization that this was the end, only he wasn’t ready to go because it would cause too much pain. This is the only real mention of the subplot that the band’s bass player is gay and in love with the drummer, and even though the drummer is straight (I mean, I guess he could be bi, Pike doesn’t really go into details, but the point is they don’t end up together) he cares too much about his friend to just kick the bucket. So the smaller of the beings picked up on that and touched him, and then he woke up. 

There’s also a reporter there trying to talk to Fred and his best friend about the miracle that Aja performed, and they do their best to brush her off only she isn’t giving up. In fact, she’s using a YouTube channel to promote the idea that Aja is a goddess or something, with a video of the way she ended the bar brawl and testimony from a nurse in the hospital that she touched the drummer not long before he arose from life-threatening injuries. Fred agrees to meet with the reporter and actually gets more information than he gives up: namely, Aja has been curing and healing people since her days in Brazil and that she spoke with all of the villagers about her decision to leave for the US, saying there was an important reason to do so.

Before he can confront Aja and her handlers about it, her guardian dies. The valet says she’s written a letter to Fred, but he can’t seem to find it. So while we wait, let’s go on a date! Only someone in the restaurant recognizes Aja and insists she heal her daughter. And this is where we find Aja’s limitations: she can’t help this girl; her fate is to live for a short time. 

In blasting through the summary I might be glossing over Aja’s description of her connection to the cosmos and how her powers and abilities work. A lot of it ties back to the same things Pike loves to revisit when thinking about metaphysics: the oneness of Buddhist nirvana, letting go of desires and selfishness to connect to the unity of humanity, and being able to tap into superhuman powers once you’re linked. Aja calls the overarching all the “Big Person,” and her abilities come from what the Big Person tells her is necessary. She can act out of her own human desires, respond to the Little Person, but when she does it takes a toll on her health, which is what happened with the drummer. But how does someone so young get tapped into a consciousness so vast and lose her childish selfishness? We’ll get there.

Anyway, Fred goes to a band rehearsal the next day and is stopped on the way by a family who has another sick kid in the hospital, desperate for him to put them in touch with Aja. He doesn’t want to do it, knowing what he knows, but his friends accuse him of being overprotective. The best friend compares a lot of what Aja has said she does with practices she’s learned through yoga and meditation, to draw an explicit line for those in the audience who haven’t just read 94 other Pike books and didn’t look more deeply into Eastern religion because of it. And then Fred’s phone rings, and it’s the family, and they already talked to Aja and their daughter is feeling better so he doesn’t have to put himself out. What? The kid was in the hospital in another state. Aja explains that she’s not actually the vessel: the Big Person does the work, and all she’s doing is making it aware and asking the question of “can we?” 

The will reading for Aja’s guardian comes up, and in addition to splitting her (holy crap immense) wealth between Aja and the valet, she has also left instructions with her lawyer that Fred should get an audition with a record label in LA. The laywer also has the letter, which basically says that Fred can’t protect Aja from the infirm and ill, and he shouldn’t try. I guess this lady would know, right, having taken care of the girl for something like ten years. But word is getting out, more and more people are asking Aja for help, national reporters are starting to show up, Fred has a weird encounter with a spooky fortune teller in a graveyard, and he can’t help but be concerned. So he helps the valet hire a private security firm to keep these people away from Aja, which (when they follow her to school on Monday) prompts an emergency community meeting about the disruption of education by these horrible rumors.

As it turns out, this is actually a racist move by the principal, who has a reputation as an evangelical Christian and has unfairly targeted minorities (especially our drummer, who is Mexican) for years. He’s trying to get a lynch mob together without exactly saying as much. Only too bad for him a lot of people in the community (the more open-minded ones, the ones who have actually spoken to her) already support Aja, because of their own first-hand experience with her help. But enough people are screaming about Jesus that they’re just about ready to light up torches and drive Aja out of town. Until she reveals the racist principal’s big secret: he had a child with a black woman, and could never reconcile his love for them with his love for pointy white hoods or whatever, and then the kid died and he has always regretted it. And Aja holds his hands, and talks to him, and suddenly here comes the creepy fortune teller who it turns out was the mother of Racist Principal’s child, and they embrace and apologize and forgive, and the meeting is suddenly over.

Somewhere in all the Aja hullaballoo, the best friend took off to New York to live with her mother. She won’t answer Fred’s calls, she won’t respond to texts, and Aja (the last one to see her before she left) insists that she can’t be the one to reveal her confidences. So Fred goes to see her dad and try to get more info. Now this isn’t the first time Best Friend has left with the mom: the first was right after they got divorced, only she moved back a year later without any explanation. And the divorce was just as sudden and explanation-free, only the dad just accepted it. And Fred realizes, while he’s standing there in the living room and picking up hints from the dad and looking at old pictures where both women look uncomfortable: he’s a sexual predator. He touched his daughter inappropriately, because his wife and her mother was somehow loveless (leading to the girl coming back the first time) and so he partook of some fucked-up urges. Only the girl has never been able to accept that it wasn’t her fault, and in talking to Aja and exploring herself is she just getting there. So of course she needs to not LIVE with the motherfucker while she’s coming to grips.

Fortunately for Fred so he doesn’t stab a bitch, the trip to LA is nigh. Aja goes with him, and he plays his demos live, finishing with the new song he’s still writing for her. Of course that’s the song they want, and they hustle him into a recording session with an engineer to lay down a single. On the way back, Best Friend calls and asks if she can stay with him and his parents long enough to graduate high school with her friends, and as their flights land within a couple hours of each other in Sioux Falls, they plan to drive home together. Fred and Aja get there first, and he has to intimidate the dad away from the airport before his friend gets there. Only that can’t work for the whole state: he’s waiting for them to drive out of the parking lot, and attempts to run them off the road to take back his little girl.

Did I mention that it’s winter in South Dakota? The interstate is a sheet of ice, and these assholes are playing chicken at 100 mph. Of course they wreck the cars, and the kids get off with minor bumps and bruises. The dad isn’t so lucky:  his car has overturned and trapped him inside. Now the best friend is upset with him, but she’s not a sociopath and he’s still her dad, so they work to pry him out of the car before it explodes. But the way he’s bleeding and choking, he’s probably going to die anyway, so she wants Aja to heal him. And this is Fred’s great test of faith: do I argue against this and risk losing my best friend, or do I go along and risk losing my girlfriend? He finally agrees to let her listen to the Big Person.

Of course Aja collapses immediately upon laying hands on the molester. But by the time emergency response gets to the accident, he’s feeling better and Aja is fading fast. She can now finally tell Fred about her childhood, her past, which she has long avoided. It turns out that her dad was a drug dealer who stole from his bosses, and as punishment they sent three strongarms to kill the whole family. Only when they murdered Aja’s mother, her soul fled her body, leaving a gap for connection to the Big Person. The female enforcer sensed this and took the kid and ran ... and this female enforcer ended up being Racist Principal’s baby momma. No, I don’t know how it works, get your own globe. 

But now she’s given her all to Molester Dad and is on her way out. Still, her reason for coming to South Dakota was a good one: love. She knew that Fred needed her, and she knew that he would benefit from the connection she might provide to the Big Person. And even though her time was fated to be short, she feels happy that she completed her mission of love, and trusts that Fred will continue to spread the message. One last kiss, and she’s gone.

They end up at a hospital, and of course they want to do an autopsy on Aja to see why she died so suddenly and unexpectedly. The valet is firmly against it, and manages to get custody of the body and take it home, where he and Fred say one last goodbye before he lights the shit on fire. It’s a good thing she already filled out a will, that gave all her money to Fred, and that the lawyer has a copy of it!

There’s a long-ass epilogue that talks about what happened to everyone. The best friend has kids of her own and almost never talks to her dad, the two other band members founded a holistic medicine company in San Francisco and got married but to other people, and Fred himself was never able to leverage his meeting and audition into his own performing career but now writes hit songs for other people. But I guess none of them are about Aja, because now he had to write a book about it? And it’s done! The end!

See what I mean? This shit has been done before, almost beat for beat, and by the SAME AUTHOR. Now I’m not averse to reading a book again (cf. this whole goddamn project), but at least I’m going into the book knowing it is what it is. I’m not expecting to see something that is labeled a new work that actually retells a previous story that I literally just read. Maybe James Patterson can get away with that, but I don’t read his books either. 

At any rate, this post is finally done. I have this monkey off my back, and maybe now I can reflect and give some closure on the whole project. But I’ll save that for another post.