Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Occult, Part 1

Along with snippets relating to the fiction genre known as horror within The Prodigal Band Trilogy are snippets of horror’s ‘sidekick,’ the occult. I have only witnessed the ‘milder’ side of occultism–Ouija Boards, Tarot Cards, mock séances with fake ‘mediums,’ and in all instances these tools were not being used by actual ‘witches’ or wiccans. Just ‘playing’ at it during parties or whatever. Yet one evening at a friend’s house more than a mile from my own house two friends and I did get a good look at what true witchcraft would look like without realizing it, and the event scared the crap out of me to the point where the two friends had to walk me home around 11 p.m.! After that, I eschewed any and all of these practices! But I did get to witness actual occult practices, and, while writing the trilogy, was glad I did partake in the occult, a little bit, knowing I would never do such things again. Any other knowledge of occult rituals came from horror movies or fiction novels.

All three novels that make up The Prodigal Band Trilogy have occult aspects. Part 1 of this snippet-occult series shows the mockery side of the occult as well as the witnessing of pure occultist evil that took place inside of a separate room within what is called an ‘Ashram,’ which is a Hindu religious retreat that could also be used in any eastern-type religion (which is what Swami Negran’s ‘Church of the Circle of Unity’ is derived from, using Hindu/Sikh systems for a New Age cult. Negran is a prominent fictional evil character within the trilogy. His successor, fake ‘healer’ Cole Blessing, is featured in the second snippet.)

In the first snippet, drummer Tom Cornsby of the band Sound Unltd surrounds himself with an entourage including a ‘clairvoyant,’ Prissy, who is also a pop star, her handler, Paul, a TV show-hostess, Lady Moira, and a rock singer, Peter Slade among others, lounging around a hookah during a party. His ultimate goal is to find out, using these celebrities with ties to aristocracy and government officials, who indentured his ancestors. Since Prissy and some of the others are into occult rituals, he pretends to ‘channel’ the New Age ‘god’ Corion, the ‘god’ of the Swami church. This snippet comes from Chapter Three of Battle of the Band. At this point, Tom’s agenda is just getting in with these folks so that he could use them later after they learned to trust him. In later parts, he finally meets a fictitious princess who would be more knowledgeable about whom had indentured his ancestors.


Tom, once consigned to the background as clairvoyant pop star Prissy Wyatt’s toy boy, had the street sense to develop his own jet-set following which turned enraptured on his every word. Lying against pillows depicting woven dragons, his little entourage surrounded a hookah. They discussed the future of Prissy’s singing career guided by her producer and promoter, Mushroom Paul, son of an MP. With his advice, Tom might as well have been her manager, agent and songwriter.

Prissy inhaled some hashish. “Whatever happens, I swear I won’t make any decisions without consulting Mushroom Paul and Tom. Tom’s sorta my spirit-guide right now. He knows. He knows.”

Peter Slade, a low-level aristocrat and singer with Hot Vinyl, asked, “What kind of music will you do? Raunchy metal? Orchestral? Mystical?”

“None o’ those,” Tom answered in his nasally baritone voice. “All that shit’s on the way out, eh? Prissy’s gonna do what I call honky-tonk. Really, Pris, you have that show-parlor style. You could do a flapper act, eh girl? Tell you what. I’ll even be your drummer, eh? With EpiGram’s permission and all that crap.” The five-foot-six drummer laughed, then took a hookah hose and inhaled.

Paul snickered. “Right. And her songwriter, and her manager, and her limo driver.”

“Yeh, and you could be her bootlicker.”

Paul responded with a cuss. Tom responded with, “Not in this lifetime.”

“Really, you two.” Lady Moira Sedgewick sighed. “Why do you both always have to argue?”

“Tom’s an arguer, that’s why.” Paul whined.

Prissy came to the drummer’s defense with a giddy smile. “Now that’s not true, is it, Tom?”

“That’s what Mick and Bry say. I love to argue. But I feel I have something to say, so I say it.”

Tom saw Prissy gleam at him. He quickly turned away to roll his eyes. She’s such a little nuisance.

Slade said, “You don’t like ol’ Mick, do you?”

“It goes back to when Mick and Bry joined us. Mick acted like I was going to consume his skinny little bod. Like I was a vampire. Little prevert. And get this. He really grimaced when I smiled and said hello to him.”

“Knowing Mick,” Slade said, “he probably would have loved it if you did consume his skinny bod.” Laughs.

“No. I won’t even have lunch with the bastard.”

Tom laughed to himself as he thought about the others lying with him. No sense telling these silly people why I don’t go for that perv shit. They’d never understand. They’ve never been abused, poor, homeless, indentured. Really such stupid little rich kids. So ripe for my plucking. They’ll never guess I’m only using them to find out who indentured my family.

That Prissy, whose tabloid predictions usually came out true, needed a spirit-guide bothered talk-show celebrity Moira. “What I don’t understand, Pris, is why you—a fortune teller—need Tom or anyone else to make your decisions for you.”

“Because my auras and chakras have been so clouded lately. Too much interference from bad angels. I can’t handle it now, and I’ll prove it.”

Lady Sedgewick slapped the floor. “Prissy? Are you saying you can’t be my medium anymore? Please don’t tell me that. Just who the hell am I supposed to get to replace you?”

“I’ll show you who. The spirits that communicated with me will now do so with Tom. Tom’s a channel. He didn’t even know it when I met him last year. Did you know the god Corion speaks through him?”

Slade, a debonair but insecure star who was new to New Age ideas, asked, “Who the hell is Corion?”

Prissy answered. “A god of light born in darkness. The One we call God threw Corion out of Paradise, but then Corion changed his ways and is now a god of light. There’s a tribe in Africa that claims Corion is married to the deity we call The World. He will now speak through Tom when I call him in séance. Isn’t that super?” She looked at everyone. “Now let’s hold hands.”

The crowd surrounding the hookah sat yoga style holding hands in a circle. Prissy went into a trance and called Corion. “God of light born in darkness, speak to us.”

Very quickly, ‘Corion’ answered her through a deeper voice of the conniving drummer. “I am here. Your question, please.”

“You once said there would be world unity and peace in a few years, and all the world’s tuned-in people would follow your chosen minstrels.”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell the tuned-in friends here who will be your chosen minstrels?”

With a meditative poker-face, Tom-as-Corion answered, “The band called Sound Unltd.”

An uproar of protest ensued. “Oh, come off it!” Slade yelled. “What sorta crap is that, Pris? Of course he’s gonna say that!”

“Hear me, unbeliever!” Tom-as-Corion bellowed back. “There is no doubt! They will be persecuted next year. But they will afterwards rise up and lead the youth of this planet into an era of—novordopax, nuevopax, tricameron.”

Tom then woke up from his pretended enchantment. “Well, did I? Did Corion speak through me?”

“Yeah,” Slade said with a sneer, “and he said your quintet would be the leaders of the world’s youth into an era of—what the hell is ‘novordopax’ and that other gibberish?”

No one could answer that.

Cornsby, with authority, said, “It’s Corion’s word for world peace, or didn’t you know, with your proper public school education, that ‘pax’ is Latin for ‘peace’?”

“It’s just that I find it ridiculous that Corion—through you—would say Sound Unltd will lead the world’s youth as if you’re the reincarnation of—”

“And who are you to doubt Corion? The man’s a god, eh? If he says we will, then we will. So—we will. We got that ambition, eh?”

In the second snippet Tom and this princess, Tina, who are in fact lovers though Tina is married to the one whose ancestors did in fact indenture Tom’s family, meet together at the basement of a palace next to the Ashram mentioned earlier. What they witness while outside looking through a door window is a wicked occult ritual led by the evil fake doctor Cole Blessing within a large room. Blessing uses the original occult amulet known as the Red Crystal of Corion, which brings forth demonic powers, in this ritual. This takes place at the end of Chapter Eight of The Prophesied Band and is narrated by pop culture pundit Jay Elliot, who sees the two witnessing the ritual.


“I just can’t see very much, Tom,” the Princess of Leandro whispered with anxiety as she looked through a tiny square glass window built into a metal door.

“Blessing, my wonderful husband, and one or two others are in there, I know, because I can hear them. But it’s too dark in there!” Tina then turned to Cornsby. “There is a red glow, however. Not a lightbulb glow. More like a candle that glows red, or a candle covered by a red glass.” Turned back. “A votive candle, perhaps. Or a red-glowing crystal.”

The drummer, standing behind her, let his body fall against the door. “A red crystal?” A loud whisper. “Don’t tell me Blessing’s got one o’ those!”

“I hope they didn’t hear you slam against their door, Tom.” Her annoyed voice was low normal. “Anyway,” she looked at him, “It’s too big to be the kind Swami Negran wore. But I feel this crystal and Negran’s are related somehow.”

“Maybe the crystal in there is the mother of all the other crystals Swami had, including the ones he gave the six of us.”

I heard the last thing he and she said to each other. More than just curious, I went toward Tom and Tina. Less than a minute later I heard them go breathless and saw the aura of a giant red glow.

“Tom!” Frightened. “You won’t believe this!” Turned to him. “See this for yourself.”

The curly blond said nothing at first as he feasted his eyes on a room large enough to be a gymnasium, with objects of pure gold wall-to-wall, and the hooded people—including a woman by the look of her face—in supplication to Blessing, who stood hoodless over the red crystal.

Blessing’s hands then engulfed the crystal the size of a baseball—which, having just illuminated the room, now burned a fiery ball of light.

And when Tom heard him speak, Blessing’s voice bellowed with such force several gold statues near the west wall shook.

Corion was also in the room.

“My children,” the dark voice said, “soon I and Mother Nature will come forth to show the only way for the people of this beautiful lush planet—our way, as our enemies cringe and burn before us. Mother Earth will return to her greatness, my followers.”

The crowd chanted, “Your will be done, my lord.”

“Our enemies are being rounded up now, a herd for the slaughter, as our Master cleanses her domain, as I—with you at my right hand—come to the head of your world.”

“We are with you, my lord.”

“Tina!” Tom swiftly got off his tip-toes with breathless fear. “This is it! The people who seek to enslave this world. And Blessing is not Blessing. Or, maybe he’s speaking through a distortion microphone that I can’t see. But he sounds—possessed! Did you hear him? The chanting?”

“Yes. It’s Blessing’s inner circle. Probably the same ones that make up the Novordo Club.” Then she shuddered. “I think we need to leave, my love. I’m really afraid.”

“You got that right!”

In Occult, Part II will be featured rituals that take on a much more sinister tone as the chief minions of the Evil reveal themselves and their agenda in full.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Mystery

There is plenty of mystery within this trilogy, but it is not mystery in terms of crime (as with Sherlock Holmes), suspense, or science fiction, but spiritual mystery. However, the following snippets that follow a specific event highlighted by revelations from the spirit being for Good known as the ‘witch of the Hovels’ do incorporate crime and suspense themes. All of these snippets are found within the second book of the trilogy, The Prophesied Band.

The first snippet from Chapter Six finds the band Sound Unltd meeting with their manager Joe Phillips in spring, 1996, about the Asia leg of a tour that began the previous year and had to be rescheduled due to a crisis event that I will not issue a spoiler alert over. When that issue was settled, the guitarist-producer, Mick, then brought up the following relating to an archeological dig near his Holyhope Castle in the mountain area of eastern Wales. Mick is an occultist obsessed with the ancient High Priest of a pagan and cannibal cult, called Crynnwagg. The cult is called the Crag-Dwellers.


“…I’ve invited some archeologists up to Holyhope to dig for Crynnwagg’s bones.”

The drummer laughed. “You mean to tell us, Skinny, that your hero Crynnwagg’s bones just happen to be on your estate?”

Mick snickered. “No, Shorty, they’re not, eh? The archeologists are Druid scholars, they’re staying at Holyhope, and their digging site is four miles west of there at the foothills of—”

“You funding it, too?” Keith asked.

“Yeh, through the Druidic Foundation. Made contact with them four years ago. Only now are they done with their paperwork.”

The second snippet from Chapter Seven, partially referenced here, involves a phone conversation between Mick and pop culture magazine freelancer Jay Elliot, who is the narrator of The Prophesied Band. Elliot had heard over his car radio that an earthquake, an extreme rarity in Wales, had occurred in the area where the archeological dig was taking place. It is summer, 1998. In the conversation is mentioned that both Crynnwagg and Swami Negran had long tibias. Negran, whom had ensnared the band in his plot to win souls of fans as well as the souls of the sextet band using the red crystal amulets each of the six had worn during concerts, with the amulets being controlled by Swami, had supposedly recently died in a car crash.


“So,” I finally asked, “did the earthquake help you find the bones?”

“That they did. Or at least we’re speculating they’re his bones. Crynnwagg was known through legend to have had tibia bones much longer than they should have been.”

“Long-shanks.” Which reminded me of a long-ago English king.

“Yeh.” Snort. “And like Swami Negran, too. Little murdering bastard!”

By this time the word had gotten out that Negran was the one who did in Adam Bloodlove. Mick made sure of that. But no one could bring the Indian mystic to justice. The man supposedly had been killed by a Christian radical in a so-called car crash.

“And no one can find his red crystal,” I said.

“Joe thinks his father and his elitist cronies hid the crystal somewhere and they’re using it. I mean, all the crap with the weather. Shit, Jay, southern England’s drying up, and they’re literally drowning in Walltown. Jack and Keith have been up there about a month now. They think they’ve found some Code manuscripts in an iron vault, but they can’t open the vault until it stops raining. And who the hell ever heard of earthquakes in Wales? Torquay and them are definitely screwing around with the weather.”

I laughed, especially since he had no proof. “You sound like those militia-types we have here in the States.”

Pordengreau snorted several times. “You know I’ve never believed that shit until now. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff Tom’s gotten out of Tina how Torquay and Effingchester are out to control the planet.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” Of course, I still wasn’t convinced that anti-new-order stuff wasn’t anything more than sheer paranoia. “So, what’s gonna happen to the bones?”

“They’ll be sent to the Archeological Society for carbon-dating. If the bones are about nineteen-hundred-fifty-years-old, we’ll be fairly sure they’re Crynnwagg’s.”

The rest of the snippets come from Chapter Nine. The mysterious ‘witch of the hovels’ had summoned two of the band members to meet with her in the home town Victoria Park near the angelic statue called The Tooters. The meeting took place early June, 2000.


Tom, Keith, Jack, Billy Prestin—with whom Jack stayed while in town—and new arrival Bryan sat facing each other at a chessboard table under a shade tree several yards at a diagonal to the famed statue.

“Mick’s on his way,” Bry told the others. “Spoke to him on the phone at my folks’ place. And he has what he calls ‘scary’ news about Crynnwagg’s bones.”

“Scary news?” Tom said. “Right. He’ll probably tell us they’re Adam Bloodlove’s.”

“You know Mick. Loves to be occultically dramatic.”

After discussing the reason for the meeting, Mick finally shows up with news regarding Crynnwagg’s bones. The “King” referenced is Edward II, known as “Longshanks” in the movie Braveheart.


The five and Prestin didn’t have to wait much longer for Mick. When he showed up, the sun was heading down over the shadowy horizon of council houses and ship yards. A shadowy pall rose slowly up the south face of The Tooters, heightening the tall one’s mask of gloom.

After greetings, Tom asked, “So, Skinny, what’s up at the bone yard?”

Pordengreau, who once wore gaily colored robes to match is gay-ly lifestyle, now tended toward jeans and t-shirts with cartoon characters. Further, it was rumored he had started shunning other men. The horrifying fate of former lover Adam Bloodlove did a psychological number on the lanky one.

Who now began hyperventilating.

“What’s wrong, Mick?” Jack asked.

The lanky one composed himself. “Um, look, what I have to tell you scares the shit outta me. It’s too unbelievable.”

Tom asked, “Is this the reason you’ve had to wait so long to find out if the bones were Crynnwagg’s?”

Deep sigh. “They’re not Crynnwagg’s.” Another sigh along with a pounding heart. “They’re Swami Negran’s.”

As if ordained by God that this startling news should quiet all sound, the life of the park came to a standstill.

Six eye-popping faces on bodies taken aback, froze.

“The bones are not fourteen-hundred-or-so-years-old. The bones are so recent that carbon fourteen-dating can’t register them.” Mick spoke as if entranced to an audience of zombies. “I found that out several months ago. So then they began to narrow it down to dental records and the fact that both Crynnwagg and Swami had long-shanks.”

That last phrase awakened Jack. “Like that King.”

“Yeh. But having narrowed the candidates to people with long tibias, and me telling the university people that Swami had those kinda bones, they sent for Negran’s dental records, and voila! Match.”

By then everyone else had come out of his comatose state.

“But no one believed it at first. Not me or the team I sponsored. Swami was killed in a car crash, eh? Which would mean at least some of his bones would have been mutilated in the crash. News reports said the whole right side of his body was smashed. But these bones don’t show that. It’s as if he died a natural death with no bone deterioration. Like I said, no one could believe that. Negran was about middle-aged, when most people start losing bone calcium, or something. Not these bones. They’re almost perfect. But that’s not the scary part, eh?” He didn’t wait for anyone to respond to that. “The scary part is his crystal. The university people didn’t find his crystal with his bones, eh? But after all those months and then concluding the bones were Swami’s, that crystal showed up within his jawbones a day or so after I was contacted. Yesterday, in fact. I was busy in production—”

“You know,” Jack interrupted, “it’s funny that crystal showed up the very day the witch contacted me.”

“What witch?” Mick asked.

“The old lady who told us that Swami killed Adam. That witch, remember?”

“Oh yeh, that witch.”

Having dabbled in the occult most of his life, Pordengreau was unfazed by what he heard and would soon hear.

With every band member now at the meeting, ‘that witch of the Hovels’ then shows up to tell them why the red crystal associated with Crynnwagg was not found with the bones, but mysteriously showed up at Crynnwagg’s skull a day or two before the meeting. And the truth about the red crystal, which belonged to the fallen angel, Corion, whom God had cast into ‘the Abyss’ in the ‘beforetime.’ In between her paragraphs, some band members ask her questions which do not need to be referenced here.


“…Listen to what I have learned from The Tooters. Corion is the wayward son of The Creator of All Things, the One you call God. Corion is called Satan by most. Corion is the name given the Evil by a Druidic Age sect of cannibals called the Crag-Dwellers.” She looked at Mick. “You in particular have studied them.” To all she said, “None of you, however, knows the story you must know. In the year 50 AD, before the onslaught of the Romans, the Crag-Dweller High Priest Crynnwagg was killed by a group of Druid Priests called the Legion of the Twisted Oak, his blood drained and consumed by those priests in a cup of blood. You know this and wrote a song about this called ‘Crynnwagg’s Cup of Blood.’ In your other Crag-Dweller song, ‘The Rune of Seven-Crag Mountain,’ it is told how the Crag-Dwellers tied fourteen Druid children to oak trees and burned them in retribution. What you may not know is that Crynnwagg returned from the dead by the black magic of Corion’s Demons.”

 

“So Crynnwagg returned from the dead thanks to Corion’s Demons. But before he left the Abyss in which God exiled Corion, Crynnwagg stole Corion’s red crystal sight by which Corion could see his way in the black abyss. I do not know why Crynnwagg did this. Only God knows. But Crynnwagg did this thing and returned to the world using the crystal for godly power. The greatest of these powers is immortality. Crynnwagg would live forever, so he believed. That is, he would appear to die as anyone else, but then he would arise and take the form of another.

“Eventually, his Crag-Dweller sect was defeated by, first, Roman Legions, then by Christianity, various conquerors and the Normans under William the Conqueror. During this time in the late eleventh century, the bearer of the crystal was killed in battle by a young knight, who, of course, stole the crystal not knowing its powers at first. He learned, however, and used the powers to convince the king to make him a Duke. Thus the First Duke of Effingchester was created. Through succeeding generations, these Dukes became some of the kingdom’s most powerful landowners. Then came a moody madman, the Fourth Duke. He could be quite worthy, as in 1135 when he established throughout his land holdings—which of course included Walltown—new freedoms and less taxes. But he always had a dark side. He would not emancipate his serfs. He just couldn’t do it. I don’t know why. Serfdom was disappearing throughout Britain, and his serfs knew that, too. So these poor peasants, in July, 1136, tried in great vain to win their freedom. I know this because I was there. A few blocks from here in the old Hovels. The serfs were almost victorious because many freemen, called yeomen—themselves former serfs—aided their cause. So seeing himself being defeated in shame, the old Duke used the same crystal stolen by the First Duke to summon the Corion’s Demons. It took only three of them—Gold, Silver, and Bronze Demons—to burn Walltown to the ground.”

 

“To go on. When Effingchester number four summoned those Demons, he also prayed Corion to take back the crystal. The Duke threw the crystal in the air as Corion had told him, but Crynnwagg—as the Duke’s manservant—not Corion, caught the crystal instead. This did not please Corion one bit! So Corion put a curse on the Effingchesters for eternity.”

 

“…Crynnwagg survived the ages as various people of various walks of life. As a lesser duke in 1776, he formed the Society of Luminaries. In 1879, Crynnwagg, as a socialist philosopher, founded the Ring of Our Lord Lucifer, which, like the Luminaries, believed and strove for a one-world-order under Satan-Corion. Both groups used parts of the Corionic Cross. Then in 1964, Crynnwagg, as majordomo for Baron Torquay-Lambourgeau, founded the evil Novordo Club, which rules what some today call the new order.”

Finally, since it turned out the bones found near Holyhope were in fact the bones of Swami Negran, not the bones of Crynnwagg, the band leader asked this question which the ‘witch’ answered.


“But what’s this have to do with Negran?” Jack asked.

“Negran, of course, is Crynnwagg.”

To find out how Crynnwagg morphed into Negran and others throughout history, to find out how Negran really died, and to find more mystery in The Prodigal Band Trilogy, buy the book using links from the Bookstore here.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Horror

I grew up immersed in the Horror genre, movies mostly, but also some comic books. When I was a pre-teen and teenager, some local TV station had aSaturday night movie series called “ChillerTheater.” Today that has morphed into the DirecTV and DishTV channel “The Chiller Channel” or whatever it’s called now. It was on this show series I saw “Godzilla,” “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms,” “The Crawling Eye,” and various Japanese and other monster movies, various zombie/ghoul/vampire/Frankenstein-type monsters and serial murder movies many of which starred my fave actor at the time, Vincent Price. Basically, if Vincent Price was in the movie, I watched it.

In my twenties, I started reading horror genre fiction but I thought horror movies were more exciting. There was one book–I have no idea what the title was but it’s one of the few I actually finished reading–about some vampire-like rock band that recruits roadies or fans or whatever and then turns them into vampires, but one small group of fans turns against the band. Eventually, the vampire band gets “burned” if you know what I mean. But I did not buy the book because it had vampires, but because it had vampires who were rock stars!

And around this time, Ozzie Osbourne was making it huge…And. Oh yeah, AC-DC, “Highway to Hell” and all that…

One of the reasons I began writing the books that make up the trilogy was the notion, which has some merit but which can also be debunked, that rock stars are all “devil worshipers” and rock music is “the devil’s music” which quite a few Christians still believe is true. Many supposedly Christian YouTube channels try to verify this over and over and over while mentioning a few, such as the guitarist for MegaDeath–I forgot his name–are avowed believers in Christ (as is rapper DMX). My point is not to prove rockers are not devil worshipers; some clearly are (such as Marilyn Manson). My point is wanting folks to get over the notion that listening to rock music is going to turn one against Christ or for Satan. As if listening to country music and someone like Miley Cyrus is going to turn one to Christ!

But anyway…

To contrast the band called Sound Unltd’s beginning and rise to fame and fortune with their inability to handle it wisely later, and then the coming trials and tribulations they face, I thought it would be a good idea to bring in the most debauched period of their ‘supremacy’ in rock music. This is where the horror comes in. There are no monsters or vampires or zombies or mass murders, but it still has horror themes including ‘rituals of the craft’ if you know what I mean.

The following snippet which is a bit long comes from Chapter Six of Battle of the Band. The scene is a Hellside Horror House party for the touring band Sound Unltd given by the estate owners Andre’ and Cheetah, owners of a horror TV channel who use snakes and lizards as props on their show. Both are occultists as well. The night of the party is Thursday, July 12, 1993, in the fictitious city of Richmont, California, in the Bay Area. Band guitarists Jack and Mick (the occultist of the group), drummer Tom, singer Erik and bassist Keith are all mentioned, as well as various groupies, some of whom are wiccans, and Adam Bloodlove, Mick’s ‘partner’ and rock superstar of satanic bent.


Ring around the rosy, pocket full o’ posy

Ashes, ashes, all fall down

“A song about the Black Plague? Can’t you play a happier song than that, Jack?” Cheetah asked as she, the guitarist and six others finished the gruesome children’s rhyme.

Another asked, “What about your song, Jack? The Rune of Seven Crag Mountain? About the burning children?”

“Right. All in the name of religion. I can barely tolerate Mick’s cultist crap, let alone Swami Negran.” He readied his guitar to play the song. “But I love playing this piece.”

Jack began the music as a skuz tray was passed around.

They rounded up the young ones

And tied them to the trees,

And lit the grass.

The wood did burn

And then young skins.

You could feel the screaming breeze.

Cheetah broke in at the end of three verses. “I got an idea. Why don’t we play like the song says in the woods by our pond?”

“Let’s do it,” someone said.

 

Mick, Andre’ Cool, and Adam Bloodlove lounged in Cool’s dungeon-like bedroom, listening to the guitarist’s tales of the Crag-Dwellers.

Cool asked, “Where’d you learn these stories?”

“I formed the Druid Family. Mostly, for fun—and sex. But these people weren’t really Druids, eh? My cult’s based on the Order of the Crag-Dwellers, a secret society that lived at the time of the Druid priests. The Crag-Dwellers were cannibals.”

“No shit? Cannibals?”

“Yeh. They turned cannibal when the Druids tried to drive them out of their huts by the crags. The Crag-Dwellers believed that if they ate the flesh of an animal, they acquired the spirit and power of that animal. So, they applied that rule to people’s spirits as well. If they ate Druid priests, they acquire the Druid’s power.”

“But why did the Crag-Dwellers burn the children instead of eating them?”

Mick said cynically, “Because children have no power. So, they fried.”

“What else did the Crag-Dwellers do?” Bloodlove asked.

“Well, they also— Hey, wait a bit, eh? You know, I could show you outside. Andre’, you got a pond here, eh?”

“Yeah, about a half-mile behind the house.”

“Okay, I’ll show you what they did, and, on the way, I’ll tell you about it.”

Mick proceeded to tell the story of how the Crag-Dwellers gouged the eyes of their victims.

 

Tom, Princess Tina, and Lady Moira Sedgewick sat at a patio table on the veranda, deep in discussion.

Her Grace said, “Now, Tom, I read an editorial in CounterCulture that said due to inflation, consumers were being priced out of live entertainment. For instance, the outrageous cost of your concert tickets. And sixty bucks is outrageous.”

“Yeh, but in our case, sixty is worth it. And if what they said was true, we wouldn’t be perennial sell-outs. You know what the gripe is? A lot of acts would love to charge what we do, but they can’t. They don’t have the reputations for excellence and outrage like we do.”

Just then, a rush of singing, partying people from the solarium passed the trio. Cheetah called out, “Hey, Tina, you guys want to play Crag-Dwellers and Druids?”

“Oh, how super! You want to Moira? Tom?”

“Sounds ducky to me.” The two women got up.

“Oh shit,” Tom said. “When is that Skinny gonna get off this Druid crap?” He got up, disgruntled, and followed them.

 

“You mean, they took skewers and jabbed them into the eye sockets and wriggled the skewers around ‘til the eye popped out?” Bloodlove now couldn’t wait to play-act the scene at the south end of the pond.

“Yeh,” said Mick, “and then they ate the eyeballs. Raw. Whole. Like this.” Mick made believe he had an eyeball on his finger and stuck the finger into his mouth. “Delicious!”

“So where we supposed to get the eyes?” Andre’ asked nervously. “We’re supposed to kill something?”

“Shit, man, just a frog or something,” Mick answered. “Don’t worry, we won’t kill one o’ your lizards.”

“Gila monsters, not lizards!” Cool performed surrounded by the poisonous pet reptiles. “And I’m not killing anything!”

“Party pooper!” Bloodlove sneered.

“Come on, Adam,” Cool yelled in annoyance. “You’re just sucking up to that devil worshiper to get a record contract.”

“No. I get high off doing this. I thought you did, too.”

“I just make believe. I’ve never killed anything in my—”

“Shut up!” Mick whispered loudly. “I see a frog and I’m gonna catch him.”

“But not kill it, Mick. This is my pond, and—”

“I won’t do anything.” Andre’s hesitancy wearied Mick. “We’re just playing, Andre’. Who told you I was a devil worshiper?”

“Well, I thought you were, with all those altars at your place.”

“It’s just décor, eh? I collect Druidic artifacts and other witchy things. And you should talk, with all that ghoulish shit in your own house. Anyway, I’m not a devil worshiper.”

“Come on,” Bloodlove said, “let’s get on with it.” He turned to Cool. “We can’t waste any frogs, eh?”

“No.”

“Well then,” Bloodlove winked at Mick, “we’ll just have to kill you.”

He and Mick jumped Cool, sending the victim to the ground. Adam grabbed at Andre’s eyes.

“Get the hell off me!”

Bloodlove and Mick rolled off Cool, laughing with gusto.

Suddenly several bodies flailed at the three, chanting nonsense while grabbing at hair.

One of the new arrivals carried some twine and yelled, “Tie them up!”

The gang picked up the trio and shoved and marched them over to some trees. Mick, Adam, and Andre’, by now having been stripped to their ankles, were tied to an oak tree.

The curly blond among the gang got out his cigarette lighter and torched some tall grass under the trees, shrieking, “The Crag-Dwellers be avenged!” He gathered the others in a laughter-filled war-dance around the growing fire. “Burn the beastly Druids!” Tom’s face glowed orange by the budding blaze as he jabbed at Mick. “Skin them alive!”

Mick and the other two had enough and broke free of the bondage. “Okay, Shorty, put the fire out! Now!” The three stomped on the fire, and others used whatever devices they carried to take water from the pond onto the now smoky blaze.

Once the fire was out, Jack jibed at Mick. “So, you can’t take a joke, eh? What’s the matter? It’s you that believes this shit.”

Mick dusted himself off and snickered, “Did you have fun, Jack?”

The other laughed. “We need to do this again sometime.”

Tom joined in. “Yeh. Tomorrow night. Hey, Jack, you think we can do ‘im up during the show, a new skit?”

“Fuck you, Shorty!”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Tom, I wouldn’t waste me time with this loony lad. But maybe we can grab our road manager, tie ‘im to our monolith—”

“Aaaaaarrrrrruuuuughhhhh,” came a blood-curdling scream from the pond’s north end.

“Everybody,” Bloodlove called out, “let’s see what that is. Quietly, okay? Let’s sneak up on him.”

Some carried wooden torches as they followed the satanic singer.

Another snippet that follows continues the bizarre party scene.

“God, Erik! You sounded like you enjoyed killing that poor baby frog,” Rona pouted as she squatted down to kiss her man for the evening.

The singer, still grasping the hapless amphibian, cocked his head to face the nineteen-year-old with cascading, shiny black hair. “Haven’t you heard? I eat frogs before I make love. That way, my pecker becomes more slippery and—juicy.” He ran his tongue over his sweaty lips and whispered, “Join me, luv, in my carnal feast.”

Their lashing tongues caressed each other’s mouths.

The frog squirted out of his grasp.

“Oh, no!” Rita shouted. “My frog got away!” She looked down at the writhing couple. “I thought you killed that frog, Erik! Why’d you let him get away?”

“Because,” the singer looked at her and smiled, “some things are more important than frog’s eyes for your witches’ brew, eh? Why don’t you and Lindsay go see if you can find that frog again, and Ro and I will catch you later, eh?”

Rita, disappointed, turned away. “Fine, Erik. Let’s go Lindsay. We’ll get our own frog, and we’ll make a potion and cast a spell on the two of them.” When she looked back, a naked Rona mounted a naked Erik.

Later, a torchlight parade saw the two girls coming toward them. “Witches!” Cheetah called out. “Burn those witches!”

The gang war-whooped and swooped down on the two.

“Wait! Wait!” Rita shouted. “We’re not witches. We’re hunting witches, and we got two of ‘em over there.” She pointed to where they left the lovers.

The growing throng danced down upon the passionate twosome, who got up immediately and ran furiously toward the house, still naked.

When Erik and Rona reached the veranda—the others in hot pursuit—they shut off the outside lights, then walked silently into the pool. The darkness caused three others to fall into the water.

Then— Flash went the lights. Crash! Went the music, to begin the next party round. Splash! Went half the wasted guests into the light-sparkling refreshment.

Untouched by the ‘witch-hunters,’ Erik and Rona walked arm-in-arm out of the water toward the bath house to towel themselves, their clothes still out at the pond. When they entered the small building, they found Keith and Lolita resting limp with exhaustion on the floor.

“Oh, sorry about interrupting,” Rona apologized.

Lolita covered herself with a towel.

“No need for that, girl,” Keith snickered. “They were just leaving.”

“Fancy meeting you here, bro.”

“Oh, fancy that. You still here.”

Rona sensed trouble between the two blood brothers. “Well, that’s okay. We just came in for towels and—”

“No matter, lovely wench,” Keith said. “We’ve been here long enough. Shall we go, my precious?”

He and Lolita strutted outside to a scene of rollicking hedonism exploding to the sound of gnashing metal and ghoulish cries.

Let’s party in Hell. We make it so well!

Move over, Sweet Satan for the party in Hell!

They ran, crying, “Let’s party in Hell!” as their momentum hurled them into the water.

 

There are more horror snippets I could have included but I figure this one is long enough as it encompasses most of the chapter. Want a much more serious horror scene? Buy the book using links here:

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The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Fantasy

The Fantasy genre can be defined in many ways as it mixes in with Science Fiction or Horror-Occultic or Spiritual or even Dystopian genres. But The Prodigal Band Trilogy does not take place on some fantasy world in another galaxy or another planet or another time frame, but in the modern times mostly in the time frame of late 70s to early 2000s, mostly in the UK or the US, mostly in southeast England, NYC, LA area or the Bay Area or in the fictitious city of Walltown in northeast England where the band, Sound Unltd, is from, or the Bay Area fictitious city called Richmont. Yet that’s not the fantasy part.

Both the first chapter of Battle of the Band and the first chapter of The Prodigal Band begin in the “beforetime” realm of God in heaven with the fallen angels being cast into the Abyss, and on Earth in the 1130s in Walltown, which in the year 1136 is burning, having been cursed by an evil Duke calling forth Demons to burn the residences of rebellious serfs. Meanwhile angelic forces entering the city through a portal where a three-part angelic statue is being built, come to inhabit that statue where they sit in spirit as they put out the fire. Since the statue-figures have music horns, the statue is called The Tooters.

Another force for good–truly a fantasy character–an old woman considered a ‘witch’ by the locals, Morwenna being her name, is able to channel The Tooters for the cause of good. As she is given a song that will be passed down to future generations to save the town from evil, she suddenly by divine intervention becomes young again, and is able to mate with the man who will raise a son to pass down the song for over 800 years. What can be more fantasy than a woman who grows old and young and old and young for 800 years to assure the song is passed down to what would become a ‘prophesied’ band.

Unlike previous ‘snippet’ posts with two or three snippets from one book or all three, this post will only include one snippet, from Chapter One of The Prodigal Band.


In the Battle of the Beforetime

 

Before God created mankind, He created angels, the ‘Sons of God’ as told in the Book of Genesis. Administrators—Principalities and Powers—for His plans on Earth He created. They were given powers over the creatures of the Earth according to His Will. Except the ‘Light Bearer,’ Satan, didn’t want to serve God. He wanted to be God, and God simply wouldn’t allow it. So Satan, with the ‘fallen angels,’ fought against God and His angels, lost the battle, and was cast down as far as they could be into the Abyss.

Called Satan in many instances within the Bible, God’s chief adversary had other names, such as Lucifer, mentioned in Isaiah 14. But a tribe of cannibals conquered by the Romans in 50 AD known as the Crag-Dwellers, who lived in the Craggy Mountains of Wales, called him Corion, as referenced by a Roman historian. Corion was their god. The Druids were their enemies.

 

On Earth, 1136 A.D.; In Heaven, timelessness

 

Foreordained, it was time to send the message.

So it happened that three angels took up spirit-residence within an as-yet-to-be completed granite three-part statue of winged trumpeters called The Tooters, at the north gate of a green-grass marketplace in the midst of Wall Town.

But the grass and the marketplace and the surrounding wood-dwellings wore dancing flames in rhapsody fanned by Demon breath. For the fourth Duke of Effingchester had to burn a peasant army and their homes to the ground to preserve his power over them.

A dilapidated quarter due east of the statue, the Hovels, was spared the fire, but Corion bade the Demons hold sway there. The serfs Effingchester refused to emancipate must forever be in debt.

Within the smoky pall around her, Morwenna, called by some the Witch of the Hovels with her scars of great age and scraggly gray hair, stood before huts of twig and scrap wood. In an instant her arthritic hands glowed with supernatural cure. The Tooters had told her she would survive eight-hundred-plus years to warn the chosen minstrels of Demon destruction and guide them to the Way.

“A—rock band, you say?” She laughed a wizened laugh. “Imagine! Rocks playing music. What a wonder of God!”

Morwenna then looked up in the westward direction of the voice of The Tooters. “What be their names?”

Soft and mellow, Tooter Three answered, “The Creator has told us their name. Their name will be sound, unlimited. Their sound will be of The Creator. Yet the Demons will try their evil magic with them. It will be they will fall under Corion for a way. But Our Creator has decided. It is this sound, unlimited that will minister the youth to His Will. Only then can they and the youth be prepared.”

Still wondering over her now-youthful hands, Morwenna spoke. “Yes, but—” Her voice quivered. “How will they know?”

“You will tell them. You will give them their name.”

“So I will tell them in 800 years?”

“Yes. You will grow old, then young, then old, then young. For 800 years. You will not see death until the mission God has given you and we have imparted to you, has ended.”

“But—”

“Impossible, yes. But with the All Mighty God, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and all things seen and unseen, all things are possible.”

“So, I am doing the Will of God.”

“Yes. And we, His angels, are telling you this.”

“So it is true.”

“Yes. God does not lie.”

Tooter Three then spoke to the partners. “And at the appointed time, only they will see and hear her. Morwenna is now a spirit for Good. We have given her the power to know His chosen ones and to give them an unseen guiding hand.” The spirit turned away and laughed. “To use the parlance of those future times—they won’t even know Who hit them.”

Morwenna was now a young maiden.

Nearby, a dazed lute player, not realizing he had wandered that far eastward from his usual marketplace milieu, fell prostrate from smoke inhalation. Cough, cough. He laid his instrument on the dirty ground.

A voice called to his prone form. “Minstrel, we will now give you a song. You will play it and pass it on. It will one day save the young from evil. Your bloodline will perform it.”

He sat up instantly in vexation. His name was Mollock.

Soon Morwenna approached the musician.

“Eh, fair lass,” Mollock called to her, “that song. You hear it?”

She looked toward the statue. “I know the song you mean. You are to preserve it for your posterity.”

He sat up. “Are you the giver of the song, pretty maiden?”

“Well—” He’d never believe it if I told him it was the statue. “Yes,” she fibbed, “it was me who sang it. But you will pass it on. You will give it to your son to pass to your generations.”

Startled. “Son? Young lassie, I don’t have a son.”

So she gave him one.

And that son would turn out to be the one to pass down that song, the most important song in the entire trilogy. To find out why, you will just have to buy the book. Here are all the online bookstore links you would need.

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.

My Goodreads Author Page for Goodreads Users

After a couple of days of miscues on my part thanks to my unfamiliarity with the book reader site Goodreads, a Goodreads helper did the ‘heavy lifting’ and turned my user page into an author page, here.

From that page one can order The Prodigal Band Trilogy from Amazon or other books sellers such as B&N, Lulu, iBookstore, WalMart (Kobo), Google Play, Smashwords and others. Both soft cover and e-book versions are available.

I also added the correct cover for Battle of the Band and also added The Prophesied Band to the book list. Thanks to whoever added Battle of the Band in the first place…I only edited the cover. And I have no idea if Amazon or anyone else is selling either one. As far as I know, one has to order either of these two books from the OmegaBooks Bookstore.

Will continue the ‘snippet’ series the middle of next week. Cheers!

About that Timeless Void in The Prodigal Band Trilogy: The Mathematical Basis that God Exists Outside of Time

Remember that Comedy snippet I posted a couple of weeks ago where the band members are in a timeless void ‘expecting’ some message about a ‘mission of God’? Here I provide the mathematical basis for the likelihood of such a timeless void existing. This was originally posted years ago on a Christian blog I had on Blogger.

Note: I was a high school math teacher in the late 1980s through the mid-90s.


I thank God He made me at least to partially understand some of the laws of higher mathematics and some of its constructs. Revelations! One is the construct of infinity. Infinity is a construct–that is, something derived by man to explain things man can’t explain otherwise because in reality they don’t exist apart from man’s so-called understanding. Infinity relates to the topic of Bible study because probably 99.999% of Bible-believing Christians believe in eternity, which is the analogous time-element to infinity, the mathematical construct which in higher math is the equivalent to division by zero or the tangent of a 90 degree angle (where tangent of an angle = opposite/adjacent in a right triangle…remember high school trigonometry?). Thus, eternity is like infinity, which is division by zero. Remember high school algebra? Division by zero is “undefined”; for instance, 0/3 = 0 because 3 x 0 = 0. In fact, any number x 0 = 0.But what is 3/0? Since no number times 0 yields 3, then simply put, you can’t divide by zero. And anyway, who ever heard of dividing by “nothing” (which is what the number zero, invented as a place holder, really is…nothing!)?

Now, as to the tangent of a 90 degree angle being “infinity” (which is enumerated by the sideways 8), this can be shown on a piece of graph paper using some very simple calculus, using what is called “limits”. Remember that the “x axis” on a graph is the horizontal line going across and the “y axis” is the vertical line up and down. Suppose you are graphing a point with a positive magnitude (upward side of a “right triangle”) of 6 and a positive direction (horizontal distance of a “right triangle”) of 3. So what is the angle that is made by these line 6 up and 3 to the right? The opposite side is 6 and the adjacent side is 3. Since tangent of an angle is opposite/adjacent, the tangent is 6/3 = 2. Now take out your “values of trigonometric functions” if you have one, and look under the “tan” column for tangent, and find what angle corresponds to “tan = 2” and you approximate an angle of about 63.5 degrees. Okay, now let us decrease the value of the x-direction to 1. Then you get tangent of the angle = 6/1 = 6. Looking up an angle whose tan = 6 we get to 80.6 degrees. Now let us cut the x-direction into half so that we are now dividing 6 by 1/2. We now get 12, because 6 divided by 1/2 is really 6 x 2 (remember when you divide by a fraction you “flip over” the fraction and multiply?). Since the tangent is now 12, the angle is now 85.3.

You get the picture yet? As the distance in the x-direction gets closer and closer to 0, with the magnitude in the y-direction remaining 6 (or any number), the angle increases along with the tangent of that angle. What if the angle was 89.9 degrees? The tangent is then measured to be 572.9571! What if the angle was 89.999? The tangent would be 572,957.7951! What if the angle was 89.9999999? The tangent would be 572 million, 957 thousand, 795.1! What if the angle is 89.99999999999? Well, my calculator doesn’t go that high in digits! But if it did, the tangent would probably be 5.729571 times 10 to the 150th power or something! You know, a very large number! Larger than a google!

A google is another construct because we never see or experience a number this large in reality with our naked eyes…1 x 10 to the 100th power! This is a 1 followed by 100 zeroes! To make matters ever crazier, mathematicians devised the “googleplex” to denote 1 x 10 to a google of zeroes! That is, the number “googleplex” is so large that to write such a number it wouldn’t even fit into the known universe!!!  (So sayeth Carl Sagan, who wouldn’t believe in God if God hit over the head with it!)

Okay, the calculus: As “x”, that is, the adjacent side of this right triangle, gets smaller and smaller, as “x approaches 0” defined mathematically, the tangent of an angle formed gets larger and larger until, given enough “9s” after the 89.9, the tangent approaches “infinity” so that the tangent of a 90 degree angle, where x = 0, is “defined” as “infinity” which is NOT A NUMBER OR QUANTITY, but simply man’s “enumeration” of something impossible. Something that “does not exist.” In short, “infinity does not compute”!

Take the construct out of the field of mathematics and put it into the dimension of time and you go from infinity to eternity. Now factor in the concept that God is “the beginning” or “alpha” and “the end” or “omega” and that He “always was, is, and always will be”. Everything God created including time (interestingly enough, since God created time, then time came AFTER God, then God must have existed BEFORE time, thus God stands outside of the dimension of time!) is constrained by some limit which, to human understanding–including writers of the Bible–must mean everything God created is constrained by a limit in time, but not God Himself! Since “eternity” also stands outside of time (just as “infinity” stands outside numeration and quantity), ONLY GOD IS ETERNAL because “eternity” in human understanding means “timeless”! Since God also created “hell/hades/sheol/lake of fire”, then all of these definitions used by Christianity for pain, torment, death etc., must stand within some boundary of time and thus ARE NOT ETERNAL! ONLY GOD IS ETERNAL!

 

Keep this in mind, from the Bible 1 Timothy 2:4, that God “will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth” which implies that the ‘eternity’ we think it is may not be the eternity that God knows it is.

Next up in the snippet series–Fantasy.

Snippets of The Prodigal Band Trilogy: Drama

Throughout the three novels that make up The Prodigal Band Trilogy, drama is everywhere, between the six band members, between their women, and especially between a band member and his woman–with double the drama when the two are a married couple. The snippets in this post concern bass player Keith and his wife, Jarris, whom had married prior to Keith rejoining the band Sound Unltd on the cusp of their huge success.

The first snippet from Chapter 5 of Battle of the Band (all the snippets here are from this first novel in the trilogy) occurs at a bash to celebrate the ending of Sound Unltd’s banishment from their home country, the UK (if you want to find out why they were banned, buy the book!) In the midst of the party at their manager’s estate in the southeast of England, Keith sees an up-and-coming pop singer he would like to get to know for various reasons. Her name is Lisa Brent, and she is conversing with another rock singer when the bassist sees her. At some point months later, Keith’s wife Jarris notices the relationship but appears to blow it off.


February 23, 1991

 

Of all the parties celebrating the ban’s end, Joe’s Torquay Hall jamboree with over four-hundred notables beat them all. Among those making themselves known to the society and gossip press was the manager’s latest sensation, Lisa Brent, formerly a southeast cabaret singer who loved to be surrounded by gaping fans.

Keith Mullock, his leather-clad, gold-chained body parked on a velvet futon and silk pillows, now tired of the mundane questions offered by two of his London groupies. His mind wandered to the view of the sexy white-blonde diva conversing with Peter Slade.

Isn’t that Lisa Brent? She’s just starting to hit the big leagues, and she’s still looking for a new songwriter. Maybe I could just—yeh, I’d love to have someone to write songs for. What a splendid babe she is. Yeh, I’d like to—need to see her right now. If I can get her away from that bloody Slade.

He turned to his groupies. “Look, babes, I got to take care of a business proposition. Would you excuse me?”

Lisa and Slade, a twenty-three-year-old screaming rock singer with very long straight brown hair marked by a streak of blond hair cascading down his left shoulder, spoke over by the smoking room mantle.

“I heard you were forming a group with Bruce Letham,” Lisa said. “Can you handle his ego?”

Slade snorted with a laugh. “Do you know that everyone who brings that up always asks me if I can handle ol’ Brucey? That’s not the point, dear girl. The point is, can Brucey handle my ego? Shit, babe, I’m not forming Hot Bandits with him just so I can watch him grab star billing.”

“But, sweet Pete, do you really get along with him? I mean, nobody really gets along with Brucey!”

The young man from lower aristocracy couldn’t handle any woman believing he was in any way inadequate. “Well, I don’t let his jealous streaks and his obsession with riches get to me. Actually, we’re quite together now, eh?” Slade took a goblet off the wine tray. “Cheers, eh? Actually, the only problem is bass. Rob Falcone won’t leave John Mocke.”

“Of course not. They’re only best lovers.” Lisa turned away from Slade just in time to notice Keith walking toward them. “Speaking of bass players—”

Peter then turned at her cue. “Well, Keith ol’ boy, how’s the night treating you?”

With smiling black eyes for Lisa, the bassist told Slade, “The night’s not doing anything for me, eh? It’s the highs and the babes that are. You dig?”

Keith needed to get rid of Slade fast. He asked Lisa straight out, “Are you still looking for a songwriter?” Oops! I forgot to introduce myself.

“Yes, I am.” Teasing smile.

“I’m sorry, love. I neglected to introduce myself. I’ve been hanging around low-life rock musicians most of my life. I’m—”

“Keith Mullock. Of course I know you. You don’t have to introduce yourself to me, sweet love.” Her eyes glowed with fresh opportunity. “And I’m—”

“Lisa Brent. The loveliest new singing sensation around. I wondered about you when I was stuck Stateside, wanting to meet you. I’m so glad you came.”

They said Keith Mullock was a devilish rogue. But he’s also quite gallant! Totally handsome with his Adonis curls and those scars and sideburns. Soooo scrumptious. Only one thing wrong with him. He’s married. Yet maybe, just maybe— “Thank you for being sooo sweet, Keith. But listen,” Lisa said with a honeyed voice as she ignored Slade, “we need to talk business. I need a good bass player—”

“And you also need a songwriter—”

“Indeed, yes. The one I have now is—well, he just doesn’t understand my style. He won’t do bold and bruising. Just sweet and light. I need someone like—”

“Me?” Keith put his right arm around her waist and turned her toward the room’s exit. “Am I the man you need, babe? ‘Cos if I am, I will take care of you. That’s my new mission in life. Taking care of my women the way I would have them take care o’ me, eh?” He kissed her cheek. “So, babe, how can I take care of you?”

“Be my new songwriter. And be with me tonight.” She turned to his face and engorged his full lips. And my mission in life is to snare you, Keith Mullock, married or not!

 

And into a steamy summer, 1991

 

Tattle Tales “Exclusive! Keith Mullock Smooches Lisa Brent While Performing At a Theatre Homeless Benefit:  While singing her latest hit, ‘Make Me Yours,’ Lisa sauntered over to Keith playing as her bassist and patted him on his rear. They blew each other kisses, assuming no one else—especially Mullock’s wife Jarris—would notice.”

Jarris saw the pat and the kisses—or thought she did.

In the second snippet at another party given for the band while on tour of the US in the fictitious Bay Area city of Richmont, Keith and Lisa are again together but this time conspiring to undo his marriage. This is from Chapter 6.


However, as the bash reached full swing, the bassist stood with Lisa at the foot of the stairway leading to the guest rooms. She wore silver lace panties and halter top while Mullock wore his usual black leather trousers and assorted chains.

Lisa teased him. “Will you be spending time with me tonight, or do you have other plans?”

He answered with a rogue’s smile. “Will you spend time with me now? This party’s a bit of a bore, eh?”

Keith then looked around. Man, there hasn’t been a bash arranged for us on this whole bloody tour that can compare to what we could do for ourselves. And where the hell is that skuz tray? To Lisa he said, “So, what you need, babe?” Lowered her halter top and plucked on her exposed nipple.

“I want you for longer than just now.”

But he didn’t hear her as he saw a ghoulishly dressed waiter approach with the tray. “Is that skuz?”

“Yes, sir.”

Keith took a pinch in his left index finger and thumb and sniffed. Instant ego trip.

“I’m a married man. It’s gonna have to be now.” He butted his forehead against hers. “I live for now, sweet love, and what I want now is a damned good lay.” Laughing with abandon, his black eyes glowed. “You’re me lover, not me wife.”

“I don’t mean to be your wife. I mean your woman. And I want you for my co-star.”

“Co-star?” He laughed with sarcasm. “You want me to leave Sound Unltd? The world’s top band? To play second-fiddle to you?”

“No, Keith. Not second fiddle. We’ll be like Andre’ and Cheetah. We’ll be superstars together. That way, you can get out of your marriage. Isn’t that what you want?” Lisa snuggled up to him, rubbing her clothed ladyhood on his thrust thigh while he squeezed her rear.

“You know,” he said with a snort, “I’ve been thinking about getting a divorce as soon as I get back home.” He looked up and around the mock-horror expanse. “I got too much going on to be married. Should never have done it.”

“Won’t a divorce violate your Code?”

The skuz tray came by again. Keith took another pinch.

“No,” he said with a sneer. “I don’t really follow it anymore. Besides, the Code says a woman must be faithful, not the man. I haven’t been faithful in years, babe, and neither has she, eh?” He turned to her disgustedly as he remembered another excuse to leave his wife—Brent, whom Jarris just gave birth to. “Now I have a baby son I’ve barely seen, and, shit girl, I really couldn’t care less about.” Me? A father? For two weeks here, two weeks there? What the hell kinda father is that? Why’d you do that to me, Jarris? To keep me married to you? Really screwed me over, didn’t you, wife o’ mine?

They walked up the winding stairs, arms around each other in bliss.

“You’ll live with me, then?” she asked.

“Lis, I’ll buy us an eleventh century stone castle on the Isle. But I’m not leaving Sound Unltd. They’re me brothers, girl.”

Later that evening, Keith has a relationship with a groupie, and, when Lisa sees the two together outside by the pool looking out the bedroom window on an upper floor of the party estate, she fumes and conspires to get revenge on Keith. In the third snippet from Chapter 7, she plots with that other rock singer her ‘revenge’ while at a night club. But her plan was just a ruse. And when Keith’s wife Jarris finds out from a tabloid that her marriage really appears to be on the rocks, she nearly loses it! When Keith returns from tour, Jarris’ lawyer hands him divorce papers.


Swami Negran, two hours late for the start of the circus at Forkyz, had to fight through hundreds of stargazers milling outside the club. Then he had to push and shove his way through a host of silky-tanned bodies raising their fists or jutting their hips to the tom-tom honky-tonk beat of Uh-uh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Until he made it to the northwest corner. He was almost accosted by a bikini-briefed Lisa Brent and a Peter Slade in nothing but spandex shorts and Denny Spradlin’s mojo-sandals as they tried to move Keith’s skuz-wasted, pulsating body which grasped his bass in his left hand and Lolita’s bra in his right.

While the lame bassist howled and laughed through Slade’s and Negran’s attempts to prop him against the wall, Swami shouted, “This is even worse than fighting my way in here. There’s a couple o’ thousand people outside clawing to get in!”

Keith slurred loudly. “Well why the hell don’t we bloody let ‘em in? There’s room for—” Down onto the floor he fell in a heap. “Ah, shit! Get me the hell up, eh Mystic Man?”

Lisa, still acting disgusted from Keith’s perfidy the night before, snickered. “Just leave him there!” She then turned to her back-up lover, Slade. “Sweet Pete, listen to this, babe. I got a plan that’ll get us mucho headlines. Help bolster your career, eh?”

“And yours, Lisa love.”

“My career’s doing nicely, thank you!”

“So’s mine, thank you very much!”

“Oh, shut up, Pete, and listen. Both of us’ll go out there in front of the people out there—” Lisa turned to Swami. “Did you see any paparazzi out there?”

“Dozens of photographers, and some with camcorders.”

“Super! Okay, Pete, we’ll go out there and I’ll do my little act. You know, yell and scream about how Keith has betrayed me? And you escort me in your limo to the airport. I need to go on to Phoenix anyway to see my agent there about next year’s tour. I’ll meet you again when the Party Machine lands in Phoenix. Then, I’ll finish the little bastard off! How’s that sound, Pete?”

Slade answered noncommittally, “Sure, babe.”

Lisa then looked down on Keith. “Is that okay with you, you little shit?”

The bombed bassist mumbled his assent, knowing full well that the night before, he and his prime lover planned to greet each other with lavish affection aboard the jet—in full view of perplexed reporters.

Just as most of the horde of stargazers thought they’d leave the sidewalk in front of Forkyz and go home, just as reporters decided to call it a night, an enraged Lisa Brent blew out the front doors of the night club, escorted by a confused-looking Peter Slade. Seeing the mass of reporters hovering in front of Slade’s limo, she saw her chance. “Now listen to this, press boys!” she yelled for their benefit. “You can forget that goddamned Keith Mullock! We’re finished! You understand that? And you can quote me!” She stomped into the car.

Some scribes held Slade back.

“She’s just upset, eh?” he told them. “I’m just here to help her get over it.”

“What happened, Mr. Slade?”

“Listen, I can’t get into that here.”

Slade shut the door on the reporters and the limo beat a hasty retreat to the airport, where Lisa caught a plane to Phoenix, Sound Unltd’s next stop.

 

One week later at Cedar Woods

 

“Though Lisa Brent made her wounded feelings loud and clear in front of her fans at Forkyz, her rendezvous the following weekend, when she jumped into Mullock’s arms upon entering the Party Machine at the Phoenix Airport, caused tour reporters to believe a publicity stunt was at hand. But one thing’s for sure—Keith and Lisa are alive and well.”

 

Jarris read the Tattle Tales item in her parlor and blew up. First she trashed the tabloid, then the parlor.

The breaking of bone china brought her maid onto the scene. “My God! What happened, miss?”

Jarris plopped into her seat, exhausted, and broke into sobs. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“I’ll get you something—”

“No.” The redhead poked her tearful face out from her hands. “I need to be alone. I’m going up to my room.”

Once there, Jarris popped six valiums at one time.

Her maid found her lying on the floor semiconscious an hour later.

A ‘close confidant’ notified Tattle Tales of the incident, and, after her recovery, Jarris told the tabloid editor over the phone from her room, “I know it was stupid of me to do that, but I felt barraged with items of his cheating on me. I just overreacted.” Later, she told the editor, “I am considering divorce. It’s obvious our marriage hampers his bloody lifestyle, and it’s not doing me much good, either.”

Fully better and more mentally resolute for a pre-divorce battle, Jarris took her infant son Brent and moved back to her mother’s comfortable Parkside flat in Walltown.

In the next snippet Jarris, back home with her mother and sister along with her baby son, finds out that her abusive father, Gus, in prison for assault on her mother several years before, is getting released for ‘good behavior.’ Jarris remembered Keith’s promise to protect her from her brute dad if Gus ever tried to come after her again, and knew that he would come to harm her upon release from jail. But he would not protect her if the divorce went through, so he and she and the lawyers got together to try to work out some agreement.


The editors of Tattle Tales didn’t miss a beat with their World Beater Exclusive: ‘It’s True! Jarris to Divorce Keith over Love of Lisa.’ The story contained a lurid account of ‘rendezvous’ at the Isle castle called Dragonhead, once owned by a man “known as the ‘Warlock of Isle,’ who used to de-vein girls” after love making. Inside sources reported Keith and Lisa “participated in pagan love-spirit-rites” before pleasure “using candles at pentagram points and chanting pagan love-psalters, which is no surprise considering the alleged before-sex rituals of Mullock’s band mates.” A confident of Miss Brent was quoted saying, “Miss Brent and Mr. Mullock will come out of seclusion as soon as they are notified by Mrs. Mullock’s attorney of the proceedings.”

Jarris threw the open tabloid face-down on her mother’s parlor table so that Lisa’s face landed in Jarris’ coffee. “That son-of-a-bitch! Does his father know what Keith’s doing?”

Her mother, living in style now in Parkside but still wizened from past years trapped in poverty and fear of husband, said doubtfully, “And what of it? Keith’s dad was a bit of a ladies man in his day. Never mind what he says about The Code.”

“Like father, like son,” her sister Jesse said, scarfing a pastry. “You don’t have to worry what Sean Mullock says. Take my word, he doesn’t like what Keith’s up to, but he’s not about to argue with his bread and butter. You need to worry about if Gus Melby knows about it.”

Anxious at the mention of her brute father’s name, Jarris stared hard at Jesse. “Don’t you ever mention him to me again!”

“Oh, begod!” Mother anguished. “Begod, Jarris, I forgot— No, I kept this from you because this news will terrify you!”

“What news?” Jarris gripped her chair.

“We heard a month ago. The prison warden told us Gus would be released on parole in a couple of months. Good behavior.”

Jarris trembled. “And when he gets out, he’s coming straight for me, isn’t he?”

“He’s coming for all of us.” Mother got out of her chair and placed her left hand on Jarris’ shoulder. “And now that we’re all here, he can get three birds with one carving knife.”

 

Gus Melby—forty-three, bald with head tattoos and scars on both wrists from his wife’s knife swings in a dark kitchen after he broke her chin with his pounding fists three years ago—read the divorce story in his cell and wickedly smiled. “Well now, lass of mine, you won’t have your Prince Charming t’ save you now, eh?”

 

“But he’s mainly coming for you, girl,” mother said. “He has a score to settle wi’ you over your wedding he wasn’t invited to. And now’s the perfect time. He’d never think to go after you if Keith was still with you.”

Jesse sat up. “Aye! That’s it! Keith promised by The Code to protect you, eh? With dad coming after you—”

“No, Jess! Nothing will stop me from leaving that son-of-a-bitch! I can hire body-guards—” Not that I want body-guards. Keith promised me, and I want him to protect me! “—because even if that lout was still with me, he’d be so skuzzed up, he’d never know dad was taking an axe to me head. I don’t need him!”

 

“Jarris wants to make these proceedings very, very simple, and very, very to the point, Mr. Mullock—”

“Yes, simple,” said Brooks. “Simply highway robbery!”

“Mrs. Mullock has been caused tremendous anguish. Her valium overdose and all.”

“My client isn’t quite convinced that episode wasn’t just good acting. After all, Mrs. Mullock was in a movie—”

Jarris lunged for Keith, who slouched in a leather chair across from her at her lawyer’s mahogany desk. “You son-of—”

“Please!” Her lawyer barred her with his right arm. “Jarris, this will only—”

“I nearly killed myself over you, Keith Mullock!”

“Sure, babe, if you say so.” Keith laughed to himself.

“In any case,” her lawyer continued, “these are her terms. Twenty percent of Mr. Mullock’s annual income—”

“No way, man! I work too bloody hard for my money,” he looked at Jarris, “just to hand one-fifth of it to you, woman!” He turned to Brooks. “About how much are we talking about, eh?”

Brooks leaned to Keith and whispered, “According to your accountant, you should gross about twenty million pounds this year. In other words, about four mil this year.”

“Yeh, yeh,” Keith sighed. “And which estate, eh? I ain’t giving her Cedar Woods. Me studio’s there. She can have any other place.” Snickered at Jarris. “Is that good enough for you?”

“No,” she sneered back. “I also want your London townhouse. I need a place close to my cosmetics company. And two mil a year child support. It’s the least you could do for a son you never see, eh Keith Mullock? It’s the least you can do to win your freedom from married bondage so you can keep seeing those silly groupies. Besides, you’d only waste it on your skuz habit!”

“This is not an atmosphere conducive to negotiations,” her lawyer argued. “And—should I tell him, Jarris?”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping this news from him,” she sneered. “Might make him feel guilty enough to sign the agreements. Or stop his gallivanting and come back to me.”

Her lawyer’s eyes bored into Keith’s. “You might be interested to know Gus Melby gets out of prison next month on parole and will likely come looking for your wife. Remember your Code promise protect her? If you divorce, you won’t be able to keep your promise, if that means much to you.”

Though the bassist had given up The Code for all practical purposes, his anxiety over a promise to protect a woman for whom he still felt love sent a wave of goose flesh down his sweaty spine. Keith bowed his thoughtful head. I can’t go through with this divorce now. I’m stuck! Stuck as if I’d stayed a riveter in Walltown. I want to be free of all obligations. Promises! Code! I’ll never be free of it!

Forced to reconsider, he spoke with a quivering sigh. “Ummm, look babe. A promise is a promise, eh?” Nervously toe-tapping the floor, he leaned to Brooks and asked, “Can we go with a waiting period?”

Her lawyer stood firm. “We’ll want some kind of restraining order.”

“No, wait,” Jarris said, upbeat. “I want him around when my father comes.”  Her eyes set to lay a guilt trip on him. “Will you be with me, Keith, and keep your promise?”

Humble, he slowly lifted his head with the relief of a headmaster’s pardon. “Yeh, babe, I will.” Weak was his smile. “I promise, eh?”

“And you won’t be skuzzed up when he comes?”

Keith, reminded he was overdue for his next hit, nodded with jitters. “Promise.”

As they got out of their chairs, Keith felt the awkward weight of two heavy crosses on his back, craving the skuz to throw off his burdens.

The final snippet has the brute father Gus invade Keith’s and Jarris’ fancy estate. A character that would become important later in the trilogy, Keith’s butler Rodgers, is introduced.


The Ides of March, 1994

 

Early March came in like a lion in the Cedar Woods area. A revenging angel named Gus Melby knew he needed to take advantage of stormy weather to sneak into the twenty-four room Victorian mansion where Jarris would be alone when the ‘missing’ bassist was out working, or, as Melby still believed, out ‘working’ with Lisa Brent.

Not even the fortress-like atmosphere Keith’s money bought, complete with a round-the-clock company of security guards, stopped Melby from breaking into the pantry via the garage on the night of March 14, less than a week before Mullock’s departure for North America.

At half-past nine the next morning, Melby knelt behind an opened opaque black lace-patterned drape in the morning room as Jarris and unknown voices intruded upon him. Probably servants. And no Mullock.

At half-past nine, Keith was still asleep.

Outside the house, a tall, brawny figure approached the morning room window from the east, front, wall, a pistol at his hip.

Rogers, the butler, entered with the morning mail. He placed a tray with two personal letters next to Jarris’ cup and poured her more coffee. Then the butler looked between the curtains and saw the guard walking toward the window. When he thought he saw the curtain move, he raised his eyebrows. “It’s not a terribly bad day, is it, miss?”

“Yeh.” Jarris didn’t turn around.

“So much milder than it has been. I see some trees getting their leaves, miss.”

Still she didn’t turn around. “Yeh.” She opened a letter.

The alerted butler definitely saw something move behind the curtain and began to move with open arms between her and the window.

The guard’s heavy footfall outside startled Melby. Who turned around. The pistol was drawn on him. Nowhere else to go. Melby stood up from behind the drapes into the awaiting arms of Rogers.

The guard then fired at Melby’s upper torso.

Crack!

Jarris, startled—screaming—shot out of her chair and stood terrified facing a madman struggling to grab her.

The guard fired again, this time at Melby’s head, and missed.

Keith woke with the first shot, flew out of the bedroom in cotton shorts, rode the stairway railing down with the second shot and intercepted another guard rushing into the hallway leading to the parlor. First the bassist and then the other guard zoomed into the room.

While Keith grabbed Jarris and flung her to the floor leaving Melby wide open, the second guard blew away the assailant’s chest.

Jarris, her head hidden under Keith’s protective body, heard the body of her father thud on the carpet. She asked her man with a frightened voice, “Is he dead?”

Tender sweet whispers expressed Mullock’s relief, his thanks, and his renewal of breathtaking love for a woman he’d wronged. “Yes, he is, love. And you’re safe forever and always. Thank God you safe. And you always will be, my love. I’ll never leave you again.” He caressed her life.

Yet, after tender minutes, he stared into space. But what of my childhood vow to kill him?

Talk about drama!

The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.