Free

Free

“I’m ... free to go?” Derek asked in a stunned voice.

The big man at the door nodded mutely, his tight black suit and blocky shades made him the epitome of the stereotypical villain’s guard. “You may leave this room and do as you wish.”

“No strings attached?”

“No strings attached.”

The shorter man leaned back against the bed as the full weight of those words sank in. “Free,” he mumbled. “I ... I can go.”

“Wherever you want,” the guard agreed in a grating rumble.

“Where are we?”

The guard smiled. “That’s for you to find out. I’m just here to give you the big news.”

The man scratched a casual itch on his thigh, then pulled at the strap on his thong. “This is ... wow. It’s ... well--”

“A lot to take in.”

“Exactly. I ... I can go.”

“Yup.”

“Any time I want.”

“Yup.”

“Anywhere at all.”

“Yup.”

“But ... I’m not moving.”

The guard shrugged. “You haven’t decided where you want to go.”

“Huh. Good point. I ... guess I should get my bearings, figure things out.”

“A sound idea,” the guard said in a neutral tone. He shrugged. “You’re free to go.”

Derek blinked absently.

“You going to move?” the guard asked. “I can’t stand here all day.”

“O-oh. Yeah. ... Yeah....” Derek strode dazedly to the door. He could hear the sound of shuffling footsteps and heavy thumps. He peeked outside. Identical rectangular doors were opening. A slow trickle of tan men slowly filtered out into the hall, peering bewildered at their peers. “There are ... others?”

“And you’re all free to go,” the deep voice rumbled behind him.

Derek took a tentative step into the hall. The other men mirrored his action, as though they were afraid it were some dream. Some retreated into their rooms. Others strode into the hall and blinked as they breathed the chemical scent of carpet cleaners and disinfectants.

“Free,” one of them breathed in utter bewilderment.

“Free to go,” another guard agreed from his place in the former prisoner’s room.

“Free to go,” one parroted. “I’m ... free to go.” He took one heavy step forward. The sound of the impact carried like an explosive charge. The whole hall tensed. Nothing happened. Nobody moved to stop him. His head darted left and right. His high-and-tight military cut accentuated the hints of jaw bone showing beneath his skin. He wore an identical thong to Derek and the other men. The hairs on his arms stood on end as the cooler air and exhilaration of sudden freedom sent goosebumps racing over his skin. He took another step forward. “I’m...” Another one. “Free to....” One more. “Go.”

He stopped, peered behind him in fear. The guard continued to stare from the portal, but made no move to follow. His breathing became shallow. A smile pulled at his lips, even as he fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. He stepped forward again, more confidently this time. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump.

He grinned as he began to pick up speed and walk past the first few doors, reciting to himself in time to his forceful steps. “I’m free to go. I’m free to go...”

One set of footprints was soon joined by two more, then four, then six. The voices rang in unison, a motivating cry calling to the wary and frightened souls that still hovered in the doorways. Derek soon found himself ensconced in the ranks. The pace was awkward at first, but the continuous chant pounded in rhythm, and he soon adapted to the march.

Some laughed. Others cried. Others cheered at the top of their lungs. The call remained the same. It remained as their troops divided. Some waited by elevators, still chanting as they pushed the call buttons and marched in place. Others strode to a great metal door and shoved it open to the echoing stairwell that waited beyond. The echoes repeated as foot struck stair, smacking in time to the chorus of voices.

Derek peered down, surprised to see so many heads, so many bodies pressing forward in an orderly fashion. He wanted to think. He wanted to question. And yet, all he could think, all he could recall, was that wondrous phrase over and over as he grinned. “I’m free to go.”

The passage opened on the ground floor as the body moved en masse to pass through a finely decorated lobby. A backlit sign read Growing Pains Spa over the desk. A smaller subtext ran underneath the main title that read, Relax and Gain.

He blinked. His mouth kept moving. His bare feet kept thumping. His gaze turned idly to the tinted glass doors with their bronze handles and revolving shafts. Some of the other men strode through them. One cycle later, more guards would walk in with that same set of shades, broad shoulders, and rippling muscles.

Derek grunted briefly as he felt a familiar warmth in his crotch, followed by a tightness in the pouch. That warmth spread, until he began to sweat. His hands twitched and clenched as the march continued forward past a photo checkpoint and into a room filled with a hauntingly familiar sound.

Metal plates clacked steadily with the grunts and growls of many a muscular man. Music pulsed and thumped in his ears. And then he saw it in great bold capital letters that plastered the high brick walls in vivid red to draw the eye of every visitor in.

YOU’RE FREE TO GROW.

Derek thudded over to a weight machine, not even thinking anymore as his body moved for him. He watched impassively as burlier men strode into the locker room ENTRANCE. Seconds later, a new set of guards strode out the EXIT with grim expressions on their faces.

Derek hardly registered as one of them approached him. He pushed through the exercise, even as the visor lowered over his head. His posture didn’t deviate as the earbuds snaked into his ear canal. His form didn’t waver as his vision of the room slowly blacked out to be replaced by a bombardment of images accompanied by sound.

His mouth gaped open as he began to pant under his breath. “I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... free to grow ... freed to grow ... need to grow....”

The guard backed away and spoke in a dull monotone. “Relax and gain,” he said. “Relax and grow. Relax, ... and obey....”

Get Bricked

You didn’t believe him when he first approached you in the gym. You thought he’d misspoken. Most of the guy in the gym did, actually, and Marcus was the biggest of the bunch.

“Let me help you,” he’d said. “Work with me, and by the time I’m done with you, you’ll really be bricked.”

“Uh, don’t you mean ripped?” you’d asked.

Marcus just smiled as he motioned to the weight bench.

It came in little stages. A few reps here, a bit of cardio there. And all the while, Marcus would babble on about his work routine, his diets, the focus it required, the diligence, the ability to be absolutely unyielding in every respect. It got kinda repetitive, so you just sort of grunted and filtered it out as you worked.

For a time, things were pretty cool. Your grades were up, your concentration was better than it had ever been before. You’d learned how to filter out things you didn’t want to listen to or focus on, thanks to all that practice with Marcus in the first place. And it goes without saying that your body was toning nicely. Things were pretty great.

Then he suggested you spend more time in the gym.

And before you knew it, you’d already grunted and nodded along like you always do. His grin was massive, and the workout that day particularly vicious. Your arms felt like they wanted to fall off. You were so tired that night, you didn’t even want to so much as think about your homework.

So you didn’t.

It was the first time you deliberately chose not to work on an assignment you knew was going to be due the next day. It wouldn’t be the last.

The workouts were killers, but you couldn’t help but smile weakly at Marcus when you’d managed to push through another plateau. The guy was just so enthusiastic and charismatic. He’d flex whenever he got really excited. You couldn’t help but wonder if the muscle was part of it all in the first place. Could it really be that simple to gain such confidence?

...

It had been so embarrassing the first time he caught you posing in the locker room mirrors. But then he just chuckled and popped a little flex of his own.

“Like this, bro,” he’d said. You spent the next half hour practicing poses in the mirror. The way the light reflected off his skin, the ripple of the raw muscle beneath the flesh, the way the veins accented the primary locations. It was almost a form of poetry.

You practiced those poses every day from then on at home in your closet mirror.

Then came the party. Marcus insisted you attend at his place for a premier football game, just a close gathering, some of the guys hanging out. You were flattered, but you hardly felt prepared for that sort of thing. Sports had never really been your forte. But Marcus insisted. Time and place.

It was inevitable for you to follow.

You’re still not exactly sure what happened that night. Things are sort of hazy. You arrived on time, but none of the other guys from the gym were there yet. Marcus just chuckled and said they’d be along soon. Then he wrapped his huge arm around your shoulders and led you to the huge leather couch in front of a gigantic flat screen TV.

One minute you were watching the screen. The next, you were standing at the door with your iphone in hand and the rest of the gym goers smacking you on the back.

“I want you to listen to those tunes, bro,” Marcus said seriously. “No skimping out. Every day for your warmups, every night when you sleep. Got it?”

You nodded numbly. And for some odd reason, you chose to run home that night, rather than calling a cab.

It got a lot easier to understand the guys at the gym after that. It didn’t take all that much, really. You just had to do a little research on football and some of the other sports they liked. If you didn’t know about something, you’d ask one of them, and they’d be able to explain it in perfect detail. You were shocked. The guys weren’t dumb. They just specialized. Tony was football, Mikey weights, Alphy diet and nutrition. They became your gurus, all while Marcus continued to push your limits with his routines.

You nearly threw it all away when you got your report card at the end of the year, though. C in almost every course. That wasn’t like you. How were you supposed to get into college like this? It hurt to go and tell the news to Marcus, but you knew you had to.

Then came that hazy period again. You’re not sure what was said. All you knew was you needed to keep going. The gym made you happy now, surprisingly enough. And the guys, well ... you’d become sort of like a unit. You couldn’t picture doing anything without them around anymore.

You got yourself a tutor, and he helped you to pass. You didn’t like that your GPA had dropped so much, but it was better than before.

You hardly pay attention to the teachers now, though. It’s all just so ... boring for you. You’d pass the time by doing mini-flexes and running through some of the games you’d caught the other night in your head.

You still remember the first time you chuckled. It had been so easy. It just sort of burst out of you like a belch. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed....

Most of your games moldered in the dust now. Madden, EA Games, sports, those all were used well enough. After all, you had to have something to play with your bros from time to time.

Then they finally invited you here, to this place. The rough stone blocks behind you were a light dull gray. Daylight streamed over it, highlighting the muscles that now stood out from your sleeveless shirt.

The response was automatic. You raised your arms and flexed. You admired the light as it played across the flesh, casting it shadows that flowed over the curves and bends like a work of art.

You smirked.

You sneered.

You were a muscle god, and you liked it that way.

School? Screw it.

D&D? Bro, you were living that dream. No need to play a barbarian with these guns.

Your future? ... Why think about it? Your future was here with your bros.

Class? ... Class made your head hurt. Whatever. If you pass, that’s all that mattered. You couldn’t get banned from the gym. S’where you and the bros hung out.

You stare into Marcus’ face as he grins triumphantly at you.

“So, how does it feel to be bricked?”

The words flow out of you as easily as if you’d been cursing your whole life. “Huhuh. Fucking sweet, bro.”

And it was. The gym is your life now. The gym and your bros. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A little dark, but I wanted to show the other side of hypnosis in this story. Much like any other tool, it can be used to help or to harm. There are those who will take advantage of the trust you put in them to control you through trance. The infamous Trey was and still is such a one.

Enjoy the story, if you will, but please also let it stand as a stark reminder. Hypnosis is not a joke. It’s not just a parlor trick. It can be dangerous, if abused, and can (and does) lead a person to eventually perform acts that they would at first have deemed abominable, when given enough time and coaxing. That is what I was trying to portray here in this tale. Synopsis and story are below.

Alejandro wanted to get fit for his new year’s resolution, but didn’t think he could find the motivation to do it and stick to it alone. An old childhood friend suggests a hypnotist to help him get into the spirit of his workout.

Over half a year later, Alejandro is experiencing a crisis, after waking from a trance he didn’t remember consenting to, doing something he would never have done in his conscious mind, or ... would he have?

Regardless, the man fled, and has not returned since. This is the story of his struggle between what he was, and what hypnosis twisted him to be.

Two Masters

How had it gotten like this? How had things pushed so far? Alejandro didn’t know. It started out so innocent, just a new year’s resolution. He wanted to get fit, get ripped, to be truly strong for the first time in his life. He wanted to get hard, like a real man, hard like muscles, hard, so very hard...

He gasped and shook his head. His arms had already been raised to flex and pose. He panted and rushed for a set of bleachers by the park trail. He took a seat, leaned forward to try to let the spell pass. He couldn’t allow himself to fall any deeper than he already had. It was what that bastard wanted.

Just how many men had this monster seduced? How many lives had he destroyed with his words alone? Julio recommended him, practically shoved Alejandro at him. Was Julio in on it, or worse?

The first few months had been so simple and productive. He’d managed to change his diet, drop the junk foods, stick with healthier snacks and choices. Salads and water replaced soda and carbohydrates. Kale and seaweed chips replaced potato chips. Asparagus sprigs, tomatoes, cottage cheese, spinach, chicken breast, rice, quinoa.

Then came the hard part, actually going to a gym. Julio helped. He practically pulled Alejandro to the facility on every scheduled day. The exercise hurt like hell, but it was worth it, once his body adapted. Fat gave way to carved muscle. His body had become a statue, like the old greco-roman works, and he had been the sculptor.

...

But no, not if he was being honest with himself. He was molded, sculpted by him.

“Shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, What makest thou? or thy work, He hath no hands?” he whispered, quoting the scriptures with which he had been raised.

He still remembered the tracks, the files that whispered to him by night and pulsed in his brain by day in the gym. Outgrowing his clothes had been especially pleasing. He still remembered that time he bent over to pick something up in the office, and his shirt tore off his back. The cold air striking his skin, the goosebumps rising, the exposure, the stares. It was so embarrassing, but ... it felt so right.

How much of it had been the result of his own desires and how much from his training?

...

No, training wasn’t the word. More brainwashing, indoctrination. He still remembered quitting. He couldn’t place why. He just ... wasn’t happy with work anymore, wasn’t satisfied with it. He wanted ... but did he really want it, or was that just the whispers, the tracks?

“Oh, God,” he said as he looked heavenward. It was half swear, half supplication.

He’d been so happy when he started working at the gym. He could teach others how to grow, help them reach the same goals he’d achieved, then plow into his own routine in his off hours. It felt incredible.

Then came the tattoos. He wasn’t sure what prompted it. Maybe it was all the times he’d seen Julio flex in the mirror when they were together. The way the flesh rippled over the muscle, giving motion and life to those cells that had been permanently marked. Next thing he knew, he was in the tattoo parlor.

...

It wasn’t his last visit.

He stared down at the sleeves of ink that had been so intricately drawn over his legs and arms. He’d even inked his torso.

And he still showed off. It was almost like a compulsion. He was so anxious at what others might think, seeing their looks, their faces.

Judge not, lest ye also be judged.

Jealous....

Fools mock....

These thoughts and many more whispered to him, and slowly, something grew in him. He defied perceived judgement with a cocky sneer, with flexing, with a show of his new strength. If they wanted to judge him, they could do it while they burned with jealousy. He would get bigger.

Bigger.

Stronger.

Stronger.

“Get hard....”

Alejandro grunted and bowed over his knees, like he’d taken a punch to the gut. “No,” he growled. “I can’t. I won’t.”

He felt his phone sliding from his pocket, so he stuck it down on the bleacher in front of him, then clasped his hands together and bowed his head to see the tent in his crotch. Tears blurred his vision as he warred with primal instincts. His hands trembled as he clenched them harder together.

“God, please help me,” he begged.

The tears fell like the sweat that had dripped from his body in the locker room. He still remembered that night, remembered the blank faces on his fellow employees, some of the more extreme lifters, a few of the intermediate patrons. Too many faces for him to sift through. Too many to remember.

...

Remember. What did that word even mean anymore? He hardly thought things through, always just acting, doing. Office work and data points had been replaced with weights, routines, training plans, diets, supplements. The gym had become his home, his life.

The late summer sun kissed his tanned skin warmly, almost comfortingly.

But those words still haunted him.

We grow for Master.

We work hard for master.

Flex for master.

...Serve....

...Obey....

All that and more, while they ... while they....

He couldn’t even bring himself to think of it. And yet, he had been doing it himself, before he came to, just like them, in perfect time. How many times had he done it before? How often had he gathered like that without even knowing?

He felt unclean.

“God, forgive me,” he rasped.

His trust had been abused, yet even now he felt that pull, that call. His muscles tensed, his breathing was ragged. His body wanted, needed to move, needed to tense, to flex, to swell, to do as it was programmed.

“No man can serve to masters. No man can serve two masters. No man can serve to masters,” he repeated over and over, desperately, imploringly under his breath. “I won’t go back. I can’t go back. No man can serve two masters. No man can serve two masters....”

His phone buzzed.

“Please, God. Please,” he continued to beg.

The phone continued to buzz.

He peeked one eye open. The glare obscured the screen. Dare he risk it?

He could always go to the police, call 911, do something, anything other than just sitting at the bleachers. But ... Julio. If he was part of this, too, then....

Alejandro’s stomach fell. Could his childhood friend even be saved, or was the damage too far gone? Was he too far gone? His hand trembled and his breathing stuttered as he picked up the phone.

A barrage of boxes filled the idle screen.

Master is calling.

Master is calling.

Master is calling.

Master is calling.

On and on it scrolled. The world spun and faded as his face went slack. His thumb scrolled over the messages, until a new one pinged, and he scrolled back up to the top.

No man can serve two masters.

There can only be one.

Report.

Alejandro’s thumbs tapped slowly and steadily as he rose from the bench.

Yes, Master.

He sent it.

He had to hurry.

Master was calling.

The one had chosen him.

He must serve.

He must obey.

He patted the crotch of his compression gear just once as he pocketed his phone, then began to run.

“I am coming... I am coming... I am coming....”

The Captive

“How do you do it?” a young teen asked as he looked up at the muscle man tugging the elastic bands for his resistance training. “How can you always be so dedicated?”

The man cocked his head as the veins bulged out of his arms. The slightest fluctuation around his cheeks and jaw betrayed anxiety. The rest of his face seemed more calm, curious. The light reflected off his sculpted chest as his swollen biceps flexed and strained with his triceps and flexors. “You really want to know?”

“Yes!” the kid said excitedly. “I’d give anything to get strong like you.”

The man laughed. His mouth broadened into a grin. His eyes watered, but that was likely a result of either Spring allergies or maybe irritation from contacts. “Anything, huh?” His breathing remained steady as he strained against the tense wires. “Even your freedom?”

“Uh ... what?”

“There’s a reason I wear this gear, you know. There’s a reason I’m always working out. I used to be like you, kid. Normal, small, weak. I was just a lot chubbier, and I had a lot more nasty habits when it came to food.” He sighed. “Well, my body got sick of it.”

He shook his head to cut off any commentary. “No, I don’t mean that metaphorically, I mean literally. I woke up one morning to find myself actively doing pushups and situps without any memory of how I got there. It was small at first, little things like that. A minor piece of fitness here, a few healthier choices there. For example, when I reached toward a bag of chips, and there was something better close at hand, my body would freeze, and I’d have to either pick the healthy snack or just forget it.

“I talked to doctors about it when it got worse. Eventually, I got locked away in a psych ward. I went through hypnotists, psychiatrists, psychologists, and who knows what else.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t fun. I finally got out of that hell, and by then I had little choice. My body had gained more control than I had. I walked where my legs wanted me to go. I lifted what my arms wanted me to lift. I ate what my hands put in front of my face, because I couldn’t do anything else.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I still can’t.” He gestured to his thigh with a jerk of his head. “There’s a reason I wear that brand of shorts, you know. My muscles like the idea of the joke. They’re alive, kid. My body literally has its own consciousness, and it’s taken the driving seat away from me.”

He lowered his broad back and released the tool he’d been using, then tromped past the kid toward the leg press. “I get maybe a couple of hours to call my own each day, and only if they fall within the habits my body wants me to follow.” He released a deep chuckle as he set the weight and positioned himself on the chair. “My consciousness broke for a while when I couldn’t cope, you know. I created the persona of a musclehead. For all intents and purposes, I was the perfect dumb jock stereotype, right down to the low IQ and bro talk.” He sighed. “Eventually, I clawed my way back to my old self again, but I still couldn’t really do much.” He grunted as he pushed against the plate, and his calves and thighs bulged with the effort. “I still try to work out a compromise with it from time to time. Sometimes negotiations succeed, and sometimes they fail. When I do what my muscles want, I get....” He shuddered and groaned as his legs retracted and the plates clanked against each other. “Rewarded.” His cheeks flushed as he pushed again. “I’m a slave to my own body, kid. Trust me, it’s--” His neck twitched. “It’s--” His head jerked. “No, no, no!” he snarled. “You pro--”

His mouth broadened into a grin as haunted eyes stared helplessly, pleadingly. He rose from the machine and adjusted the weight to a lighter setting. “It’s an experience you’ll learn to love.” He motioned to the chair and its plate.

The boy trembled as he approached the chair with wide eyes. He sat down. “What’s--?”

A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder, and it was like an electrical current passing through. “Welcome to your new life.”

The boy groaned as his legs pushed and a surge of pleasure rebounded through his body.

The man’s chuckle was low and deep. “We knew we were’t alone.”

The Pendant of Somnambula

The Pendant of Somnambula is a curious artifact, and one of my favorites to give away to customers. Each one has to be fashioned from a stone that I’ve grown steeped in a magical solution to get just that right swirl. I also have a lovely garden one of my workers tends to water the stones with a similar solution as they develop in caves underground. Once the stone has developed to the size and potency I desire, it’s a simple matter to polish and cut it, then mount in a framework engraved with the runes necessary to bind the pendant to its host and channel its innate magic.

Once bound to a host, the pendant is able to support its carrier by subtly increasing charisma over time. The bearer will become more convincing and enticing to various individuals with whom he has regular contact. The longer they are near the stone as the buyer wears it, the more they will fall under his or her influence.

Of course, the stone also wishes to please its host. As such, its influence will also reach out to the very individual who wears it. Take this customer for example. He started off much smaller than this. He wanted something to help boost his confidence in the gym, so he could reach his goals in peace.

As you can see, the man has clearly reached and exceeded them. The pendant whispered to his mind and heart in his sleep to drive him with greater motivation. Over time, he developed relationships with various other muscle men in the gym. They serve beneath him now, and as you can see here, their constant interaction acted as reinforcement for the entire group to focus on building their muscles. He’s a personal trainer now, and does a fine job of it.

More often than not, my customers go into trance after taking pictures of themselves with their pendants. But don’t worry, there’s a failsafe to ensure no harm comes to them from it. And, of course, as part of the payment for the service my pendants provide, I am able to call upon the buyers when necessary for various jobs and purposes. Whether it be to act as muscle, an escort, a contact, or something else, they are only too eager to listen to my voice and follow my commands.

Don’t you look at me like that. I most certainly am not an abuser of that fact. The pendants may be bound to obey me, and thus their bearers as well, but I don’t treat them like slaves.

However, I will admit that as a writer, I do enjoy having the more muscular ones send me pictures with various poses in their progress for me to use in my stories. There’s something enticing about such images, wouldn’t you agree? Here, let me show you.

Now, now. It’s perfectly safe. Go on. He’s waiting for you. Don’t be rude.

A thick meaty hand supports you by gripping your arm as you stumble through the portal into the poorly illuminated locker room. Thin black strips stretch down to barely conceal the nipples on the man’s massive chest. A deep voice rolls smoothly from the bearded lips above that giant muscled torso as your eyes lock onto a pulsing golden stone that writhes like a galaxy in motion.

“Hey there, little guy. This gym’s for meatheads only. Let’s see what we can do to help you fit the part....”

The Muscelhaüse Part 1

Charlie scratched his head as he looked over the directions on his phone’s GPS for what had to be the fifth time. He’d circled the walkway far longer, but when he’d tried to ask anyone in the building nearby, nobody would answer. The place seemed deserted. The skeletons of trees and vines crawled along the support poles and wire fencing that had been laid along the sidewalk leading to a wooden fence.

“Charles Walker?”

Charlie nearly dropped his phone at the sound of the voice. The heavy clunk of thick-soled boots beat repetitively on the sidewalk slabs. He looked up to behold one of the most aesthetically pleasing males he had ever seen.

The man had to be at least six-one, maybe taller. He wore a set of darkened shades that emphasized the subtle squareness of his cheekbones, while preserving the general egg shape of his face. His chin and lips were ringed by carefully groomed black stubble. A patch of well kept hair rose in style with a high-and-tight look that left his sides faded to join the top. The sun threw the definition of the man’s bare torso into a work of art akin to the ancient statues of Greece and Rome.

No, he’s buffer, Charlie thought.

A fitbit tracker was strapped to one wrist, and a simple wristwatch to the other. A hole had been torn in the black jeans that clung so tightly to the man’s frame.

“Who wants to know?” Charles asked.

“The name’s Gabriel. I was sent to help you get to your destination. The Muscelhaüse is difficult to find on one’s own, even with the assistance of a GPS. Since you kept circling the same place, and happen to be rolling a suitcase behind you, I figured you were probably him.”

“You’re from the Muscelhaüse?” Charlie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Gabriel shrugged. “I was just getting off shift. Figured I’d help you get there, since I needed to get some cardio in before my workout. It’s not far. We’re that big purple building over there.” He pointed behind him at the empty lot behind the wooden fence, only this time it wasn’t empty.

“How...?” Gabriel started.

“Yeah, we get that a lot. Come on. We’ve been waiting for you to check in for the last hour.” He reached down and seized the suitcase from Charlie’s weakened grip, then turned. “You’re going to love it there.”