September 2016
For two gruelling days, stopping at a single rundown motel in Salt Lake City, Utah, the drive from Los Angeles, California, to Hope County, Montana, had been painful on the backs of the four bandmates who were squeezed into beaten Hyundai Starex alongside their luggage and equipment. It had been the idea of Timothy Scott, their lead guitarist, to make the twenty-hour drive to his hometown simply so that they could perform at the country's annual Testy Festy, a week-long event comprised of food eating competitions, animal shows, drinking, and the live entertainment that generally took place at small-town festivals.
Timothy boasted of the county's many activities and attractions. For Abigail Fhen, the band's singer, and Luis Rivera, the bassist, it would be a reminder of home, compared to the drummer, Micheal Presley, who was LA born and raised. Abigail was Australian, raised by a single father in a tiny ass town in the Victorian countryside on a sheep farm. Luis had been born in Puerto Rico and moved to the States with his family as a teen.
Coming to America had been an escape for Abigail, the dream of singing on stages across Los Angeles, a dream that her father had spent his savings to finance. It ate at the blonde's gut that she had left her father behind, taken what little money he had when the family farm had already been struggling from years and years of drought and bushfires. But she was his only child, and Richard Fehn would rather die than let her be stuck with what was left of their family legacy.
Her blue eyes were focused on the book in her hands, struggling to read it as the van shook her body as it moved along the S-244 highway. She had drowned out Timothy's ramblings ages ago as he was busy telling Michael in the front seats long-winded stories about his childhood, fishing with his dad for the family business and hunting in the Whitetail Mountains for wild bucks. Luis sat in the back seat beside her, his chocolate orbs focused on the Nintendo 3DS in his hands, trying not to lose to whatever boss he was fighting in Majora's Mask by how hard he was pressing the buttons.
A large pothole shook the book from her tanned fingers, causing a swear to slip from her lips. She quickly glanced across to Micheal, his mouth forming a tight line as he moved to dodge another one. Abigail didn't have time to grab her novel as darkness overtook the van as it slipped into the tunnel that would lead them into the Henbane region. Hope Country was surrounded by mountain ranges and split into three areas. Henbane River, Holland Valley, and Whitetail Mountains. The Whitetails were their destination, as Timothy had called ahead to book them into the Grand View Hotel, which was nestled right along the edge of the northern region's great lake. Abigail was looking forward to seeing what Hope County had to offer. As much as she loved having such a vast city to perform in, she missed the small country towns she had back home, missed the simplicity. A simplicity she was looking forward to finding on her minor holiday away.
When the darkness finally left them and light engulfed the car in the late afternoon sun, Abigail forced her eyes together as they adjusted to the glaring sunlight. She sucked in a breath as she took in the Henbane, eyes dashing from the mountain ranges that loomed around them mixed with tall trees that would be impossible for someone to climb to their peaks. She leaned her body against the window to her right, staring out as the curvature of the road took them passed locals on their ATVs and deer that had found themselves wandering too close to the streets.
"Breathtaking, isn't it?" Timothy spoke to her. He turned around sharply, staring at her between his seat and the passage window. "My family has lived here for over a hundred years, running a fishery."
Luis' loud snort could be heard, interrupting them. "I can see why you fled." His eyes were still focused on the 3DS, buttons clicking furiously.
Timothy glared at him, his emerald eyes darkening in annoyance. "I didn't flee." He bit at his friend. "I had dreams, the same ones that pulled you from that little island you're from."
Abigail rubbed between her eye, feeling the start of a headache coming on. She tried to block out the boys arguing, with Luis throwing in Spanish words. Michael laughed from his spot in the front seat, enjoying the antics.
"As I was going to say before being rudely interrupted," Timothy spoke, ignoring the tongue Luis stuck out his way. "You'll love the Grandview Hotel, which lives up to its name. Sits right on the lake, with rentable boats. We can go fishing."
"Yeah, you'd love that." Luis jabbed, shooting Abigail a wink.
She laughed, punching her friend on the arm lightly. "Can you blame him? Being home, the urge to pull out the fishing rod and catch something must be unshakeable. Luis laughed, earning another glare from Timothy as he crossed his arms.
"Children," Micheal said, his eyes fixed on the road. "Behave, please."
Abigail and Luis muttered a 'yes, dad', their tones not hiding their mischievous behaviours as Timothy continued to sulk. The rest of the drive into the Whitetails was silent, the radio playing a local station that seemed to be full of choir songs. Abigail didn't know if it was normal beyond the stereotypes she had heard about small American towns. Back home, she was lucky to get a single radio station to play. She raised an eyebrow at Timothy as he reached over to change the station, hearing him as he muttered about 'fucking peggies'. She even noticed Micheal flick his attention the man's way before returning them to the road.
They were all music lovers, and none of them ever scoffed at any form of music, regardless of genre or language. Timothy's agitated reaction was out of character. Why ruin the vacation before it even begins?
When they pulled up outside the hotel, the three of them, who weren't locals, stared at the majesty of it. It was a three-story log cabin, befitting what one would expect of a hotel up in the mountains. With snow surrounding it and firelight illuminating the windows, it would look even more stunning in the winter. The band was happy to finally be free from the cramped space of the van, stretching as they breathed in the fresh air, air that they couldn't get in the city. The air was sweet, almost floral, with pine undertones. Abigail had wondered if there was a flower farm or something in the surrounding area, as she expected it to be solely the smell of the woods.
"Oh, I wish I could bottle that!" Luis beamed, taking a vastly exaggerated sniff. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."
The group laughed at him as they began to gather their belongings. Timothy promised them it would be acceptable to leave their equipment in the van as the county had no crime other than drunken spats and speeding drivers. The group decided to indulge him, taking their bags up towards the hotel from the parking lot, which was located off to the left of the entrance, and leaving the instruments behind. Micheal double-checked that the van was locked. It was his car, after all. The foyer was massive when they entered the bottom floor, with the second and third floors overlooking them. Inside, it screamed mountain cabin even more, with wood everywhere and animal trophies. There was even a large chandelier made from antlers suspended over the foyer.
"Think we'll find some occultic tome?" Abigail joked, leaning against Luis. The laughter that emerged from his chest vibrated against her. They stood off to the side with Micheal as Timothy worked on getting them checked in. A small brochure stand on the side wall caught Abigail's attention. She leaned off her friend to inspect it, reviewing what the paper pamphlets had to inform her about the county. There was information about the best local fishing and hunting spots, hiking trails, rock climbing, and even one about a local flying school. She handed that one over to Michael.
But the one that gained her attention the most had the words 'EDEN'S GATE' in bold letters. She frowned, pulling it out from its slot. The cover showed a simple white church, with what appeared to be their logo of a short cross, with lines extending out from the corners, almost reminding her of a star. Flipping it open, she skimmed over the information inside, stopping as her eyes landed on a handsome man inside, dressed in a well-tailored suit and sunglasses on his head, with a cheap smile at the camera.
"Wanker." Abigail muttered, shaking her head. A man like that just screamed ego. She had encountered many of them back home, assholes who would speed up and down roads in their beaten-up utes. Here in America, she had found them to be stylish men who constantly flashed money and their dicks around.
"Oh yeah, he looks it." Luis poked his head over her shoulder, pushing her long hair out of the way. "I'd still let me fuck me."
"You'd let anyone or anything fuck you." Abigail snorted, stuffing the brochure back in its place. Luis plopped his head down on her shoulder, ignoring her small winch from the pressure his boney chin made. He didn't make a retort, agreeing with her. He would let anyone fuck him, and he took pride in it.
"Okay," Timothy approached them, gaining the group's attention. "All checked in. Us boys are sharing a room on level three." He offered out keys to Micheal and Luis, which they took. "Abs, your on your own on level two." He gave her her key next. They were old, worn elaborate things, showing how long the hotel had been operating. If one were to guess, from the fifties or sixties. Abigail looked at the tag attached to the key, studying the number before making the trek upstairs, leaving her friends to make their way to their own room. Hefting up her suitcase, she maneuvered the heavy item up the stairs to her room at the end of the hall. It was small but spacious. A double bed, drawers with matching side tables by the bed, and a couch. The bathroom was almost claustrophobic, cramped with a single shower, toilet and vanity.
It reminded her of the apartment she shared with Luis back in LA. She wasn't sure of the weather, never when she moved to the States being so different from the dry heat from back home that she packed a range of clothing, from hot weather to the chances of snow. Sighing, she dumped her suitcase on the bed as she unpacked her clothes and toiletries, placing the clothes into the drawers and the toilets in the bathroom. She glanced down at her phone, checking the time. 4:37PM. It was getting late, and she needed to ask the gang what they would do for dinner. Timothy had mentioned that his parents would host them one night, but she wasn't sure if she'd be up for that tonight, not after the two days spent on the road. An early dinner and an early bedtime were in order. She also still needed to reach out to her father before bed, knowing it was close to 9:00AM for him. Taking a quick glance at the door to her room, Abigail went over to the window by the bathroom, hoping it would aid what little reception she was getting.
She stood quietly as she leaned against the cold glass, listening to the phone ring while waiting for her dad to pick it up. She wondered if he had gotten the woolly bastards sheared on time this year. This time of the morning back home, he would be busy throwing out the feed from his tractor, the flock trailing behind.
She sucked in a breath as she heard the line connect. "Dad." Her voice came out far more cheery than she meant, and Richard knew that, chuckling happily at her.
"Hey Dag," He greeted, the slang even richer to her ears from his thick accent. "You get to your destination, all right?"
"Mhmm." Abigail fiddled with a strand of her loose hair. "How's the sheep? Get them all sheared?"
Richard chuckled. "Nah yeah, the Keller boys gave me a hand. We even got a steady batch of lambs coming through."
"That's good." She continued to listen to her father as he gave her the weekly update from the small town gossip to the town preparing for the upcoming bushfire season. The father and daughter were almost as bad as each other, the pair worrying so much about the other due to the distance, being unable to be there for the other if something were to happen. Abigail had to cut the call short as she heard knocking on the other side of the room door. One of the group had come to collect her for dinner. She offered her father goodbye and promised to record the band performing if she could.
Luis stood outside her room, leaning against the foyer's railing. "You good?" Abigail nodded, explaining that she was on a call with her father. Luis apologised for interrupting. Had he known, he would have held off coming to get her. "We're heading out to Henbane River, going to some place called Audbrey's Diner." He followed her in and out of her room as she collected her wallet and phone. Making sure the room was locked, the pair returned to the foyer where Micheal and Timothy were waiting.
Timothy boasted about the food at the Diner as they walked out of the hotel and continued to do so as Micheal drove them, following the guitarist's directions. The diner was neither small nor large and catered mainly to the county's population, those who didn't stay home and cook. Timothy explained that there weren't many places to dine out in the county. Due to its size, most settled for home-cooked meals, and what business did exist got most of their customers from motorists passing through or tourists. Abigail joked that her hometown was the same, which made her friend smile, glad it brought her some comfort.
Abigail took the time to people watch, studying what she deemed as locals who came and went as the band ate. She noticed members of the Eden's Gate sitting at one table in a far corner, their clothes worn and stained, looking more like hermits or vagrants, but the logo of the religion group prominent on their clothes, one even having it tattooed on his forehead. The blonde frowned at the sight. While she never thought to question how another marked themselves, that was strange in her books. She watched them eat, pay and leave, piling into a pickup truck adorned with Eden's Gate mark. Luis, on her left, must have noticed her staring, pulling her out of her stalking with a nudge from his elbow.
When they returned from the diner, they were well-fed and bellies full. Abigail wanted nothing more to do than sleep. She said night to her friends, even though they wanted her to stay up longer with them, as the boys were planning what to do tomorrow, which from experience, typically meant something stupid. Abigail shook her head, laughing to herself at the thought. The room was just as she had left it, but a bit colder as the night air hit the window's glass. Pulling the curtains closed to keep the freeze out, Abigail turned to the bathroom, pulling her hair up into a bun with the tie she kept on her wrist. The hot water hit her back, warming her bones as she took a shower. It aided in relaxing her, allowing the ebbing of sleep to enter her mind. Once dried off, she slipped on a simple pair of shorts and a tank top.
The bed wasn't as comfy as her own, but it would have to do. Abigail couldn't help but wonder how old it was and how many people had slept it in over the years. She cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to enter her mind, knowing she needed to sleep. Taking one last glance at her phone, almost 9:00PM at night, her eyes linger on her lock screen. The photo was taken with her father when she was just twenty-two years old at the family farm, the flock of sheep evident in the background. It was her last photo with him before she left for America seven years ago. She smiled at the memory of the town throwing her a goodbye party before she left, how there was laughter, the smells of grilled meats and the taste of warm beers. That was all it took to finally lure her into a deep slumber.