Visions (Hell Portals, Book One)

Chapter Three: Processing the Processing

THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED UNDER TIRE AS JACK AND NATE TURNED INTO THE LOT OUTSIDE ROSIE'S BAR. Finding two spots near the front, they backed into the spots the typical way bikers would. By heading toward the spot, making a sharp turn just before reaching it so the back tire was near the entrance to the spot, stopping, then with the clutch in, walking the bike backwards into it.

With kickstands down and helmets and goggles off and hung on the throttle grips, they dismounted and turned to look at the bar.

Rosie's was an old, worn down watering hole somewhere between the towns of Bartle and McCloud, on the way to Mount Shasta and Interstate 5, which would whisk the boys to the Oregon border and out of shithole California.

Even though the boys were shaken up by the unnerving, grisly events of the day, the ride had been nice, with its continued good weather and a surplus of rolling mountain curves (a biker's favorite). But at this moment the bar was a welcomed site indeed, with a long row of bikes lined up in front of it (mostly Harleys of course) meaning the two would be in familiar company and could put down a few beers and process what the hell had happened.

Rosie's white paint was peeling, exposing old gray wood, dry rotted in places due to its full day exposure to the baking-hot summer sun. As the boys climbed the wooden steps leading to the full wraparound porch, the planks flexed and squeaked a little, as one would expect. Sweaty, wind and sun-weathered bikers, tanned and grimy, with all variety of shades, facial hair, ripped jeans, t-shirts, and a plethora of weathered, black-leather clothing items, sat in a row of chairs along the porch, silently watching the boys make their way up the stairs.

Jack and Nate both noticed some of the bikers and their curvy hipped, ample bosomed ol' ladies studying the two Indians they rode up on, and figured there was some level of disgust (perhaps mixed with some small amount of envy) considering the biker market saturation Harley Davidson enjoyed. But the boys felt a deep level of pride in their Indians and wouldn't trade them for anything (especially since the bikes had received some supernatural upgrades that the boys didn't fully understand at this point, but were nonetheless aware of thanks to that twit Farnsworth).

The boys were feeling pretty awesome about their human-body upgrades as well, and were, although they probably wouldn't admit it, walking a little taller, tensing their new muscles a little tighter, and feeling generally solid as oak. This helped them face off the noticeable thick stares and perceived judgments coming from the row of seasoned bikers. With a nod to the bikers seated near the entrance, they confidently manhandled the door and strode in like they had business to do.

The jukebox was blasting 1979's "Head Games" by Foreigner. Nate laughed out loud as he realized how apt this song was, in light of the day's events. Head games is fucking right, he thought.

"Natorious and Jaxton are in the house!" Nate announced with enthusiasm. Jack looked at Nate with a subtle shake of his head, indicating he didn't feel that the gesture was appropriate. But that was just one of the things Jack loved about Nate. Nate could get attention and hold it, and with such a flair and ease that people not only accepted spending their attention on him, but actually enjoyed it. Jack grinned. "I need a beer," he said.

They made their way to a small table in the dimly lit bar. There was a pool game going on near them, which was oddly comforting, hearing the crack of the balls as they connected with each other before bouncing around the table. It must have been just seeing normal life going on that offered some sense of relief to the guys. They were in their element, Nate was thinking.

A cute brunette waitress approached them. "Can I get you guys something?"

Nate subtly looked her up and down, putting on his charming smile, "Rachel, yes you can," he said as he focused in on her name badge as well as what was holding it up.