Hudson’s Invitation
Hudson receives his invitation - - May 11, 1981
May 11, 1981
Hudson milled through the remaining debris at the end of Bramblee Lane, Rod’s house, where he had so many fond memories . . . a wreck . . . utterly destroyed. Even more, he couldn’t believe Rod was gone. The funeral three weeks ago drew out some old friends he hadn’t seen for years, sure, they came out to offer their condolences, but, now that the news crews and well-wishers had receded back into the world, Hudson had little to do or a place to go, alone, wayward with his grief.
It hardly even made sense . . . after sweating it out for a week, the authorities found nothing!? Not a single trace of the cult or the god damned subterranean caverns beneath the house . . . how was that even possible!? Nothing, except what (they claimed) were the dental records confirming it was Rod’s body . . . they were through the whole house . . . no one saw Rod’s body . . . what the fuck was going on?
He wasn’t even employed anymore and any paperwork for Rod’s estate went up with the house. His life was over. As he continued slowly picking over the rubble and looking at the ground something grabbed his attention, the exploded and peeled back casing of the microwave . . . who were those assholes anyway? Then, as he examined the area something else grabbed his attention . . . at first, he thought it was just ash but, the sun seemed to glint off of the dust, on closer examination . . . it was everywhere . . . it wasn’t ash at all . . . he put some on the tip of a finger for a better look . . . some type of metallic dust? A plane could be seen making its way across the blue sky tens of thousands of feet overhead.
Before he could complete his thought about the dust, a voice startled him at the site, addressing him in a professional tone.
“Hudson Lake? Is your name Hudson Lake?” A long trench coat, didn’t appear to be police, but looked ominous. “I’ve got something for you.” The man suddenly reached under his trench coat about to abruptly retrieve something from beneath, for a moment, Hudson flinched in fear expecting a gun. “A letter, care of Western Union.”
Hudson takes the envelope.
Prudential Tower. 800 Boylston Street. 13th Floor, Suite 237, Boston, Massachusetts
The Ambiance of Rod’s Passing
