Excerpt 2: Macon Bacon

"While the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, a peach remains fastened in its orchard, never forgetting where it came from."

Thunder was heard like the calm before a volcanic eruption, emitting small shocks throughout a stout exterior. Shaken and a sudden fear of drowning, all of a sudden Scott's eyes widened as if he was reliving his near death experience play by play. Slowly but surely, a waterfall exploded from his mouth as he came to witness a blinding rainstorm. No signs of life or community in sight; just the rain and the cooling rush of relief surfing down his back that he was in the land of the living. Even with the weight of his soaked clothes, he pulled himself up and called out, "Roland… ROLAAAAAAANNNNDDDD!"

As much as he wanted to find the demented shrink and strangle him for what he did, taking a few steps in the wrong direction gave him a scary reminder he was indeed alive. A car hydroplaned past him, and with two seconds he caught a glimpse of the license plate. It definitely wasn't Texas he thought. He took his time wandering through the rainstorm to what seemed like he was walking in circles. Eventually, he came across a bus bench with an overhead he could sit in and get his bearings.

The rain was never ending; only other sounds he heard were cars driving through the flooded streets. He took the time to ponder his next move; so many questions where only three were relevant.

Scott: How the hell did I get here? *squeezes water out of his long hair while feeling his neck for any stiffness* I'm not chokin' anymore. That's a goddamn relief. Okay, first I gotta get to a phone, left my cell back in my car. Probably stolen by now; damn it brother when will you learn? *clears his throat* Focus on the positive side, if this is heaven I don't hafta worry 'bout eating anything fattening.

*A noise barrier breaking thunder sends Scott jumping off his seat*

… Then again, y'know what happens when you assume; might as well wait 'till the rain clears up.

Given his Dallas beginnings, the weather rarely broke its dry protocol. It's usually very humid and summery all year round. Granted, not Florida weather but close to being its forgotten brother in Mother Nature's scheme of things. His third, burning question kept bothering him as to how he was still alive from what happened at the blue house? Given Roland's reclusive nature and lack of electronics, Scott perceived him as the man who dupes curious souls into trying his shady dessert. The last thing he heard before he was about to meet his maker was that an ocean was to surround him; irony wasn't completely cruel to him. After all, he did beg for water.

Even with the rain coming down in front of him, his eyes started feeling heavy as well as his stomach being numb. It felt like being awake during an operation with anesthesia working its effect so he wouldn't feel pain. That kind of solace lowered his eyes and three hours later, Scott's ears caught the rain slowing down as well as his right shoulder being nudged profusely. His eyes remained half opened, looking upon a little girl with steely eyes and a smile that would make a serial killer's heart open up.

Little girl: Wake up mister!

Scott: Ugh, *rubs his right eye* wha-how long was I asleep?

Little girl: Few hours; has anyone told you look like a mountain when you sleep upright?

Scott: Maybe I was meditatin'. Some mountains can remain deep in thought for thousands of years. Why were you nudging my shoulder?

Little girl: You're squishy… probably not a good thing though.

Scott: Huh?

*A male, friendly voice calls out to her*

Father: Allie! The bus will be here any minute. Your mother's very anxious to get to the airport.

Scott: Where are y'all goin?

Allie: *gathers her suitcase* Washington DC. My parents got tickets to see the new President of the United States at the White House.

Scott: Sounds fun. Hey um, this is gonna sound strange but what state am I in?

Father: Sweetheart! Your mother's about to pop a vein!

Allie: *takes his left hand and looks into his half asleep eyes* You've been given a second chance, Scott. You're still a decent man. *whispers in his ear* Welcome to Macon, Georgia.

Scott furrowed his brows in a confusing manner, watching the little girl Allie run off with her parents as the bus came through. How did she know his name, and why in all things tasty was he drip-drying in Georgia? He got a good look at the bus before it took off for the airport; he couldn't believe who the next figure in office was going to be. To what felt like a lifetime ago, he thought this guy was just joking around on Facebook, but to be selected as the new Commander in Chief was something he didn't expect. "Franklin Reid: time for two backhands of reality for America."

It was both mind numbing and fantastic he thought. Once he was ready for another jog through the rain, he stood up with his clothes sticking to every orifice of his body and moved on. There wasn't much to gawk at in the peach state. Everybody running to their cars and shoving past others with umbrellas in tow, even one civilian got knocked flat on his ass when he bumped into Scott by accident. If there was one advantage being the way he was, his stomach had the same density as steel, keeping him on his heels while walking further inland until he reached a neighborhood of sorts. With no cell phone or wallet to his name, Scott was getting tired by the rain and without thinking, found himself leaping over a fence at the back of one of the houses.

The house he saw definitely had a summer vibe to it, and from what he understood about Georgia was when the heat wave hits, the grills jump into high gear and the pools balance the human condition so it doesn't pass out. Not even five steps walking towards the terrace door he saw a dog leap through and stopped to confront the jaded giant. Scott's heart stopped while the dog's mystery was hidden behind innocent, yet piercing eyes, like it sensed his fear and wanted to gnaw on it with its teeth.

Scott: *takes a few short, deep breaths* Somethin's off. You've rolled around with big dogs before. This one ain't different. I just need to dance around him, run inside, and politely make a phone call. I wonder if my brother's up in UGA; lucky bastard. Okay, any second you're gonna nut up and quit talkin' to yourself. Just frickin' do it.

One sidestep activated the territorial canine's mental alarm, barking up a storm with each bark hitting Scott's brain like a hangover. He scrunched his eyes and made a run for it as both sides of the yard were about to collide. It was no more than a tenth of a second the dog slammed his breaks by the sound of a commanding whistle from its owner. When Scott opened his eyes and the pain in his head subsided, a tall fellow with stubble and a stance like he was in the marines at one point was revealed before him.

Michael Knight: BamBam! Get over here, boy! *slaps his right knee twice as the dog ran over barking in a friendly tone*

Scott: Thanks, man. I've rolled with big dogs back in Dallas, but for some reason I damn near crapped myself when I saw… *Michael pointed a rifle at him* Oh, fuck.

Michael: Who the hell are you, and what'chu doin' on my property?

Scott: Been askin' myself that since I woke up. Mind if I stand?

Michael: Slowly. *raises his rifle as Scott stands up*

Scott: I just need to use a phone. I'm not here to cause y'all any problems.

Michael: That right? Know what happened to the last stranger who claimed the same? My wife got shot. Now, you listen to me. I used to be the inviting type, but not so much these days. Payphones are two blocks from here, near the school zone. Use one of those.

Scott: Could if I would, sir. Thing is… I don't have any money.

Jane: Babe, what is goin' on out there?

Through various interpretations and the occasional pick-up line, an angel from the south can soothe the deepest wounds with merely a smile. Scott had encountered a few in the 26 years he lived in Texas, ones with hearts of gold as well as stone. To what seemed to be this Mike's wife appearing in the doorway, Scott was struck by the allure of a southern Georgian belle. Eyes as blue as the serene pacific, lightly tanned skin with a form that seemed like she was about to bellow a cranky response at any given moment. And who can blame her, Scott thought? Given the weather and the sun just barely up in the sky, it was still around the early morning and she didn't exactly have her face on, but for the informal situation taking place, such things remained petty in his mind.

Michael: Well, hon seems like we got a slack jawed bear in our backyard.

Scott: I accept that. I'm not exactly the healthiest person around.

Jane: What's your business here, mister?

Scott: If y'all would allow me to use your phone, I got a brother up at the University of Georgia who can pick me up.

Jane: *starts limping down the stairs* As my crack shot husband told you, we were attacked once. Less thick in the mid-section, but had eyes as big and soulless as yours. I took a bullet to the left thigh.

Scott: And I'm sorry you went through that, ma'am. *Starts feeling a sharp pain in his lower abdomen again, rendering him to hold onto his stomach with both hands and taking a knee* Can I be honest with you? I shouldn't even be alive right now.

Michael: Last chance stranger. Tell me who you are and why you're here.

Scott: My name's Scott Gold *grunts in pain*. I live in… Da-Dallas, Texas. I went to see a shrink on some personal problems, he poisoned me or somethin'. Before I knew it, I woke up in the howling rain, in Macon it seems. Look, if I'm dead then why am I not shakin' hands with Jesus?

Michael: It's your call, Jane. Should we keep him on a short leash?

Jane: We need to keep this troublemaker from running out the house. *calls over BamBam* Get your behind back in the house! Heavenly Father, help me. Search him then bring him inside. I need some coffee and a shower, and not in that particular order.

Once the rifle was lowered, the pain threshold in Scott's stomach was raised enough so he could tolerate it and what was to come. Michael remained suspicious of the Dallas man's motives as to why he suddenly woke up in Georgia without the means to get him there. As they went inside the house, it was homey and average, not the kind a couple of southerners would be squatting in, but then again "home" was all relative. An hour being in the land of the living still, Scott got a chance to get a feel for what kind of place they were keeping. Apart from the mischievous natured dog, the rest of the family had a religious nature to it.

A few crosses and a bible sitting comfortably in their living room, plasma screen TV with a Playstation 4 system setup. A small part of Scott took pity in that department, considering they didn't have a library of games. When the tour was over, Michael went over to the kitchen to get a clean dishtowel for Scott to dry his face off at least. Scott was still doing double takes since he arrived; was all this heaven or some form of purgatory? He had this nagging feeling he knew who these people were before, not in-person but just seen them around on social media and whatnot.

Scott: You guys got a nice home.

Michael: *starts brewing up some coffee* Thanks, we maintain the upkeep as best we can; coffee?

Scott: Weirdly enough, a glass of water.

*Michael cautiously offers him a glass of water*

Michael: You're clean. No pocket knives, not even a wallet. But don't think you're outta the woods yet.

Scott: Mike, can I call you Mike?

Michael: You may.

Scott: Anything I tell ya is gonna sound like horseshit to you and your wife. My story was once simple, now it consists of having a "second chance".

Michael: What've you done?

All of a sudden, Jane walked into the kitchen to encounter what seemed to be a civilized conversation between two adults. The air was tense and Scott was trying his best not to lose himself again.

Jane: *whispers to Mike* Remember we have that sermon we were invited to later today.

Michael: Gabe's been houndin' me for weeks. I know. We praise Jesus everyday.

Jane: He's just excited, is all. *sits down at the kitchen table to confront Scott* So, what's the deal with him?

Michael: He's clean for the most part. He's not packin'.

Jane: Since my accident, I can't afford to be too careful these days. You said you got a brother up at UGA?

Scott: Yeah, if I could give him a ring, that'd be great.

*Janes pulls out one of the portable phones from the living room. Scott extends his hand when Jane pulls back*

Jane: I wanna meet your brother, too. If he's cool as well, you're free to go.

Michael: Tick tock, stranger. Don't take too long.

Even with his fingers still pruny from the rain, his optimism kicked in and motivated him enough to dial the numbers to call his older brother, Reilly. However, his nerves started kicking back in after four dial tones. Looking over his shoulder was the last thing he wanted to do, knowing the angel and her human sickle was going to strike him down at any moment. At the start of the fifth dial tone, thankfully as his nerves started going down, the UGA college student's voice spoke on the other end.

Scott: Hey, Reilly, it's me Scott! It's good to hear your voice, brother.

Reilly: Scott? Holy shit! Why is the caller ID read Macon, Georgia?

Scott: I… I uh, I can't explain it, not over the phone anyway. Listen, you gotta come pick me up man. Let me stay at your campus house for a while.

Reilly: Campus house… what's goin' on?

Scott: I was visiting this shrink back in Dallas, he poisoned me and somehow I ended up in the peach state.

Reilly: Jesus fucking Christ, Scott. You went to see a Therapist, he gave you something, and you ended up in another state?

Scott: Fucked up, right? I don't know why I'm here. I don't have any money since my wallet is back in Dallas. *takes a deep sigh* Can you come get me?

Reilly: Ah, son of a… alright! Gimme the address and I'll get'chu.

Scott: Oh, thank god! I owe you big time, brother. I promise I'll explain everything.

There was a long period where Scott and Reilly were inseparable, almost like two peas in a pod. As kids, they carried big dreams of going into show business. One wanted to direct while the other wanted to be a screenwriter for any kind of show. Scott wasn't picky on the latter; what for TV series like Arrow, The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones. He, too, wanted to give something to those worlds and leave his mark. Reilly on the other hand wanted to direct big time movies and butt heads against Studio Execs on what sells as a film and what works as a film.

Over the years as they grew from kids with big dreams to adults with small outlets to get by, struggle and financial means drove them apart. For Scott, it was food and one of the reasons that made Reilly develop a hatred for him. It was no secret that the next morsel was going to kill him, maybe to offer some cosmic justice to those he's hurting around him, but his optimism and cool headedness kept his feet from dragging and his soul thriving. While explaining life anecdotes with Jane and Mike, he also brought up a more in-depth explanation on the shrink he met. He said Roland had a firm and calculating way about him with a blue house that wasn't visible on any Google Map.

Mike still wasn't fully sold on this tale, but he believed that Scott believed what he was telling them. Jane was usually the one wearing an invisible bullshit detector to see whether the next minute was going to have Scott in handcuffs or a bullet in the ass. Being a family of casual faith, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt by allowing him to wait until Reilly arrived. Before anyone knew it, time went from pouring rain to pouring juice into a small glass as all three sat down to a Sunday breakfast; the French toast with a side of authentic, homemade bacon was just what the doctor ordered… well, metaphorically anyway. Scott's stomach was still a mystery and thought about taking that next bite of fatty sustenance. "You only live once, right?" He told himself as all four, including BamBam heard knocking at their door.

Jane: *takes the rifle* I got this one.

Mike: You sure?

Jane: Need the practice, can't be too careful these days. Y'all don't touch your plates, ya hear?

*In a slick manner, Mike slowly reaches for a piece of Georgia bacon when suddenly a shot goes off in the living room, leaving both Scott and Mike's hearts skip three beats.*

… Relax, it's just a ringtone!

Michael: My wife can act crazy sometimes.

Jane: Your slick game is weak, Michael. I know that trick!

Scott: A freakin' gunshot as a ringtone?

Michael: You lucky she didn't pull it for real *drops bacon back on the plate*; happy wife, happy life. Food for thought if you get married someday.

Opening the front door, Jane was greeted by her brother, Gabriel. The man too had an optimistic way about him, but only expressed it through putting on a big smile or singing a Gospel. Out of all the members in the Gore family, Gabe had the curse of having kidney stones. No matter how many times he went to his Physician, the stones kept hitting him where he lived, sometimes leaving him feeling hopeless. For the past few years it seemed like everyday was a fight for him.

However, the only fight he was waging was the near back breaking hug only her sister would bring. Not only that, the pain from his kidney stones ventured to the background when he and Jane's son, Thane put together a special night service for an even more special Preacher. Miracles tend to happen when you no longer believe in them, and for tonight especially, Gabe was praying Heaven and Earth this Preacher would rid him of his bodily sin, and return him to physical fruition. The same went for Jane as well with her leg wound. The pain was gone, but the memory of what took place never fled her mind.

She and Mike were always rebels against the less courteous types, and for a short period that may have been the problem. "Speak a little truth to a naysayer, and everyone loses their darn minds!" The mystery man behind the shooting was only told to her immediate family, only to be shown by a fifth member when both entered the kitchen. Strange enough, Gabe was the only one who recognized Scott.

Gabe: Scott…?

Scott: Eh… howdy?

Gabe: How the heck have you been, brother? *embraces him as such, leaving Scott to question the moment* When'd you get here?

Scott: Uh, well, how do we know each other?

Gabe: You know, over Facebook, which I might add is still goin' strong after the bi-laws were passed.

Scott: The world's policed enough as it is. What did Facebook do to have bi-laws on it?

*Jane, Gabe, and Mike look at each other like Scott was living under a rock, never fully expressing that notion verbally*

Michael: This is why I never use social media. Here's hopin' our new President can make things easier for others.

Scott: Someone wanna fill me in?

Jane: Five years ago, social media outlets went bonkers over celebrities electing themselves for office.

Michael: To hell with Trump. What Franklin Reid did to his toupee after it mutated and jumped off his head… if I was there I would've curb stomped the damn thing and him. It was that major news event that shined some hope for America.

Gabe: God is good.

Jane: Amen!

Scott: Whoa, whoa, what now?! It's 2015. The only thing Trump was runnin' was that Apprentice show back in '05.

Gabe: Scotty is everything alright with you; why are you here anyway?

Michael: BamBam was causin' trouble again.

Jane: First, the candy apple mess, then Thane's Xbox system…

Michael: *looks at the dog* What are we gonna do with you, boy?

Scott: Wait! What year is it?

Jane: … It's the year 2020.

Scott was left in disbelief again. His eyes widened and his jaw slightly dropped; five years. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, causing him to jump out of his seat with his right hand glued to the side of his head. He didn't know what to think, and if it really was the year 2020 he thought, that would mean Reilly graduated from UGA almost three years before. What was he still doing in Georgia then?

So many questions and very little patience to think them over, not at the Knight homestead anyway. He stormed out of the house without much show of gratitude for not getting shot, stopping himself before getting clipped by a fast moving car. On his hands and knees, the jell-0 effect on his joints kept him from walking in a straight line. Not even three blocks from the house he missed a trash can as he threw up and felt sickly all over. As if the near death experience wasn't frightening enough, he'd thought the pedestrians walking past him and looking at him with disgust would seal his fate, but the plot kept thickening as both hands clutched the rim of the trash can, lifting himself up to see an old newspaper of sorts.

It spoke of 2020 as a time of old conflicts like Middle Eastern strikes and ISIS coming to an end, and replacing them with new theaters of terror around specific areas around the globe. It also explained how the new President was going to utilize Niagara Falls to cleanse the masterminds behind the new terrors such as an 80's toy catastrophe cooking up in South Carolina, a free nation of video gamers preparing unique types of people to repel other threats, and so on. The names weren't mentioned, but at this point he didn't know what to think. He was a big man without a cause for the future. "Where has the time gone?" He asked.

Just when he gained a fragment of momentum to get up and find his brother his leg joints felt like jell-0 still, and that maybe stopping altogether would be the sanest choice. His brain was running marathons in his head and had zero idea what to do. He took himself to a street curb where the traffic held less sway and waited. From there, he sat still and tried collecting his thoughts when the voice of a little girl came up to join him.

Allie: *shows Scott a cup of soup* Need a pick-me-up?

Scott: *looks down and nods his head* Leave me alone.

Allie: It's chicken and stars. Winter's not far off and figured you need something to warm you up.

Scott: Well more power to Mother Nature. I ain't hungry.

Allie: Can I be honest with you, then? Roland "killed" me, too.

*Scott furrowed his brows as he looked up and saw the same little girl he met at the bus stop*

Scott: How do you know him?

Allie: "The Obelisk thirsts for retribution."

Scott: What the heck's an 'obelisk'?

Allie: … Tonight, a very gifted Preacher is going to speak at New City Church. You should go.

Reilly came in like wildfire the moment he saw his puke shirt brother sitting all by his lonesome on a street curb. For Scott, his situation turned into a blink and miss. One minute he was talking to Allie, then when his brother's truck horn blocked out other sounds on the street she disappeared. Next to him laid the soup she offered him still tolerably hot in his hands. Reilly shouted at him to get in and darted out of the area. The two brothers had their mindsets twisted the moment they saw each other, mostly Reilly because he thought Scott was dead.

Scott: I'm glad to see you, man. Fuck me.

Reilly: That all you gotta say, you fat son of a bitch?!

Scott: Hey, she's your mama, too.

Reilly: Jesus Christ! How is it you're still alive?!

Scott: Tryin' to figure that one out myself.

Reilly: That lying fuck, if I ever see him again…

Scott: Well, hey bro, long time no see! Glad you're still in one piece! Please tell me we're still in the year 2015. Some Gore family told me it is five years later.

Reilly: *Looks at Scott in horror* You really don't know, do you? Was it Triple T's camp; did they brainwash you just like that Obelisk guy did to 'em in Dallas?

Scott: Dude, I'm glad you're here. But I dunno what the flying fuck you're yammerin' about!

Reilly: I've managed to get most of the family out of Texas. Carrie, Liz, mama… they're all staying at my wife's loft up here in Macon. They're gonna be real happy to see you.

Scott: New City Church.

Reilly: Uh-oh spaghetti-oh, what're you talking about?

Scott: Let's just get to the loft. I need to drink some soup.

The two lost brothers calmed themselves down once they were out on the road and drove towards his lady's loft up in Porterdale. Scott's day was just getting weirder and weirder; from nearly dying of food poisoning, to almost getting shot by a Macon family, to jumping five years over the course of a day. "What more could go wrong?" He asked himself. For the duration of the drive, all Scott could count on was one thing; soup was the only thing that made sense.

11