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.

Links to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play and More to Purchase Books

As one can tell I am busy promoting or marketing or whatever you want to call it, The Prodigal Band Trilogy. And why not? I put in many, many hours and even years writing and formatting and having the books printed and creating covers and figuring out the most cost-effective way to get the word of my books out there, globally. I could have just chosen Lulu’s or Amazon’s e-book formats and uploaded the book myself but what if the book is just consigned to the rejection pile? Because believe it or not just because you upload a book doesn’t mean an error message won’t pop up or that the online retail outfit will do anything to help sell the book. After reading various publisher blog help posts I realized I had to get this job done with a lot of help. That is why I went with Lulu’s Publishing Service–GlobalREACH. With a little divine intervention…
Here are the links to purchase either the softcover or e-book versions:

Amazon/Kindle softcover and e-book link

Barnes & Noble/Nook softcover and e-book link

Kobo link

Google Play link

Lulu and iBookstore link softcover and e-book

Links to other softcover stores via Goodreads

Links to other e-book stores via Goodreads

I have also partnered with BookBub for marketing purposes and they will have their links up shortly to Amazon, Barnes &Noble, Kobo, Google Play, and the Apple iBookstore.

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!

The Prodigal Band Trilogy is Now Available for Purchase on Amazon

Just found out last night while posting my e-book and print book versions of The Prodigal Band Trilogy on Goodreads that both versions are available for purchase on Amazon!

I will also be posting this link in the bookstore. That means if you have a Kindle device you no longer have to worry about conversion from EPub to MOBI, and if your Kindle version is outdated to do this. One can also buy the e-book and download it to your Kindle Cloud (which is what I did…yes I purchased my own e-book just to see if this worked, and it did!)

The e-book is $8.99 while the print book is $37.95 (but I am purchasing copies at a deep discount from Lulu to sell on my own here and in my area, but shipping will be a bit more since the book is almost 700 pages!)

I went with Lulu for global distribution, and Lulu has delivered! Thanks!

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.