Post by James Gilmore on Feb 9, 2018 22:46:54 GMT
Journal Entry #2 - “Palace of Lost Souls, Part II”
”I’ve been in plenty of tight squeezes before, but nothing compared to what I was about to experience when I got to this ‘Palace.’ Sure, the traffic on 360 was lighter than normal given that most folks were away for the Thanksgiving holiday, but the relatively short drive felt like an eternity as my core became weaker by the second, wondering how I was gonna interact with the robed stranger that sat shotgun while I tried to stay calm in the back.
It was the longest car ride I had ever taken in my life.
But all things had to end sometime, right?
The Mercedes eventually came to a stop in front of what could be best described as an old jailhouse, like the ones you normally see in movies like The Shawshank Redemption. It was an imposing campus to the least, a sprawling complex of five buildings located on a 250-acre plot of land. The joint was rustic as hell, and there were no signs or other marks on its brick walls--this felt like Hogwarts on steroids and HGH.
I was quickly shooed out of the car and led inside the main entry building. The waiting area I was told to stand in was very sparse, devoid of any decor whatsoever. It felt lifeless, as if a void had come in and sucked everything dry.
I didn’t know who I would meet or what was gonna happen from this moment on…”
TWENTY MINUTES AFTER LANDING IN DFW AIRPORT...
“A-ten HUT! Right-FACE! Headmaster on the deck!,” a sergeant-at-arms bellowed, prompting James snap into attention. His eyes were open, and his ears were clicked upon the sound of footsteps marching into the barren room. From out of the shadows emeraged a man in a charcoal-gray suit and red tie, aged 51 and quite unassuming when it came to physical size.
A perfect disguise to hide his authority-driven demeanor.
“I am Mr. Malakova, Headmaster of this institution,” he announced with a commanding, statesman-like tone of voice that showed off a distinctive Eastern European flair. “I would like to be the first to welcome you to The Palace of Lost Souls,” he continued before extending his hand.
James nodded his head for a moment, then engaged in the friendly gesture. “Good to meet you, sir. I’m--”
“You are James Gilmore,” Mr. Malakova cut him off. “Your reputation precedes you--especially when my daughter tells me she always loved you for what you always wanted to be,” he added. James, to his own shock, raised his left brow. “Your daughter…Yulia?,” he asked. Mr. Malakova nodded. “When Yulia heard abou what Lindsey Grawn had tried to do to you, she called me...and gave me her personal recommendation to bring you here,” he intoned.
”After a short briefing, Mr. Malakova personally led me through Reception and into Block A--a three-tiered cell block complete with lots and lots and lots of iron bars, just like an old prison. Oh, I heard the jeers and chants of “fresh fish” from the gathering of people that were “lost souls” like myself…
...but was it as tough as it seemed?
I was housed on the Northern Wing, cell #347. Mr. Malakova led me inside, where my rolling bag had already been delivered by the complex personnel.”
“These are your living quarters...your ‘apartment,’ you can call it,” Mr. Malakova announced over the loud din. “You are free to utilise all of the facilities and move about the entire complex as you wish,” he added. James smiled, but the headmaster gave him a slight aura of caution. “One warning: don’t be out after midnight. It won’t be...pleasant...if you are. Press the green button once to close and lock your cell door, press it again to open it. Martial science training classes begin at 0930 hours after breakfast--any questions?”
”I didn’t have anything to ask of him. My mind was blank, and I was tired from doin’ all that flyin’ and drivin’ stuff. Yet as Mr. Malakova left and I shut my door, a thought began to race through my mind.
‘Would Yulia even remember me?’
TO BE CONTINUED…
”I’ve been in plenty of tight squeezes before, but nothing compared to what I was about to experience when I got to this ‘Palace.’ Sure, the traffic on 360 was lighter than normal given that most folks were away for the Thanksgiving holiday, but the relatively short drive felt like an eternity as my core became weaker by the second, wondering how I was gonna interact with the robed stranger that sat shotgun while I tried to stay calm in the back.
It was the longest car ride I had ever taken in my life.
But all things had to end sometime, right?
The Mercedes eventually came to a stop in front of what could be best described as an old jailhouse, like the ones you normally see in movies like The Shawshank Redemption. It was an imposing campus to the least, a sprawling complex of five buildings located on a 250-acre plot of land. The joint was rustic as hell, and there were no signs or other marks on its brick walls--this felt like Hogwarts on steroids and HGH.
I was quickly shooed out of the car and led inside the main entry building. The waiting area I was told to stand in was very sparse, devoid of any decor whatsoever. It felt lifeless, as if a void had come in and sucked everything dry.
I didn’t know who I would meet or what was gonna happen from this moment on…”
TWENTY MINUTES AFTER LANDING IN DFW AIRPORT...
“A-ten HUT! Right-FACE! Headmaster on the deck!,” a sergeant-at-arms bellowed, prompting James snap into attention. His eyes were open, and his ears were clicked upon the sound of footsteps marching into the barren room. From out of the shadows emeraged a man in a charcoal-gray suit and red tie, aged 51 and quite unassuming when it came to physical size.
A perfect disguise to hide his authority-driven demeanor.
“I am Mr. Malakova, Headmaster of this institution,” he announced with a commanding, statesman-like tone of voice that showed off a distinctive Eastern European flair. “I would like to be the first to welcome you to The Palace of Lost Souls,” he continued before extending his hand.
James nodded his head for a moment, then engaged in the friendly gesture. “Good to meet you, sir. I’m--”
“You are James Gilmore,” Mr. Malakova cut him off. “Your reputation precedes you--especially when my daughter tells me she always loved you for what you always wanted to be,” he added. James, to his own shock, raised his left brow. “Your daughter…Yulia?,” he asked. Mr. Malakova nodded. “When Yulia heard abou what Lindsey Grawn had tried to do to you, she called me...and gave me her personal recommendation to bring you here,” he intoned.
”After a short briefing, Mr. Malakova personally led me through Reception and into Block A--a three-tiered cell block complete with lots and lots and lots of iron bars, just like an old prison. Oh, I heard the jeers and chants of “fresh fish” from the gathering of people that were “lost souls” like myself…
...but was it as tough as it seemed?
I was housed on the Northern Wing, cell #347. Mr. Malakova led me inside, where my rolling bag had already been delivered by the complex personnel.”
“These are your living quarters...your ‘apartment,’ you can call it,” Mr. Malakova announced over the loud din. “You are free to utilise all of the facilities and move about the entire complex as you wish,” he added. James smiled, but the headmaster gave him a slight aura of caution. “One warning: don’t be out after midnight. It won’t be...pleasant...if you are. Press the green button once to close and lock your cell door, press it again to open it. Martial science training classes begin at 0930 hours after breakfast--any questions?”
”I didn’t have anything to ask of him. My mind was blank, and I was tired from doin’ all that flyin’ and drivin’ stuff. Yet as Mr. Malakova left and I shut my door, a thought began to race through my mind.
‘Would Yulia even remember me?’
TO BE CONTINUED…
Well howdy there pardner.