Julian Baines stood up spryly. Stop spin world. His rheumatism had departed? Emily!Gone. Three years… And… the drowned boy golden hair perfect pearl teeth… River took ‘im back!
Baines’s head rang. Not a drinkin’ hurt. A fall-down drinkin’ hurt. Baines touched his own teeth black yellow chipped decimated. No new damage there! Dark occluding particles moss-green, nicotine-brown, saturn-violet had gathered, transformed welcome azure spring day into better find shelter it was gonna rain.
Furthermore, Larkhall’s sole singular appointed official justice and police department… him, Baines… must once more find and retrieve the dead guy which the impending thunderstorm would relocate. Lost bodies was bad public relations! Meanwhile, a nice hellstorm would provide a moment of leisure.
Julian Baines walked toward what once was The Arielle Asylum, long ago purged and abandoned. That following winter his frozen corpse was tossed into mortician J.G. Barrett’s 1977 onyx black Cadillac Service Vehicle. A Hearse that Jimmy Barrett called Joule.
Joule was preoccupied thawing and then deliberately overheating the myriad cryonic dewars housing the second and third tier Archonte leaders and ground support troops. Simultaneously, Joule’s seven processing cores and multiple personalities reminisced, reflected, and regretted their own limitations even though the miraculous Morrison Cores were faster than a Cray XK7 with 560,640 NVIDIA Accelerators.
The Morrison Cores were ALIVE… but infected, haunted. Too human.
Ancient vessels which had protected the now rapidly liquefying remains of dark angels from a distant world four centuries in the past began to drip a tarry viscous fluid.
Joule’s shell… container… body, if he were fully organic… was born of General Motors. GM in 1977 had struggled against larger more powerful forces to survive. That Hellraiser Olds 442 was a real plus however; a ridiculous ‘Compact Caddy’ Seville was actually a dressed up Chevy Nova! Joule laughed at this irony: ‘Nova’ meant ‘doesn’t go’ in Spanish. The worst, Joule believed was the pitiful C3 Corvette exhibiting middle-aged spread.
However, Joule was no mere icon, nor fashion statement. Especially he was ‘Not Green.’ A robust entity, a REAL MACHINE with a capable chassis and big iron motor. Sayers and Scovill contributed the sleek black sheet metal, dignified landau roof, and those smooth running machined casket rollers.
Joule was and still remained an ambulance and hearse platform, albeit faster and lighter now. Because after Barrett… Diane L Roth had Joule stripped, lightened, and refurbished. A precision built ’76 500 Cube Mill, 3.89 Posi, and custom aluminum space frame. Plus the Morrison Zombie Computer Cores. By then Joule already had multiple personalities. Many souls. The cores made Joule smart enough to realize he was crazy.
Joule didn’t ASK for the seven Morrison Cores! Joule had not INVITED Vodun Chango Taureau, nor any other spiritual coaches to join him. The worst occurred when a nameless manifestation of evil rose up from the earth itself, crackling past frozen barren soil. Julian Baines had become a host of the virus crossing all species and technology into Joule.
Joule wanted to trade places, to BECOME Randall Osbourne’s custom hybrid bicycle, Diesel Dark. Randall lovingly talked mentally and aloud to Diesel Dark, he even soothed him with terms of endearment such as ‘Tank,’ ‘Rad-Rod,’ and ‘Rat-Bike!’
Joule pictured himself running wild and free and unencumbered. He would trade it all to become those cheap alloy flat bars, medium-mountain gearing cogs, short-cage derailleur and carriage-sized smooth black rubber circles.
Joule was amused by yet envied its tiny, incongruously elegant Brooks Titanium Saddle.
Angelique Fraser; wealthy adorable Angelique Fraser had gifted that saddle to the Osbourne Man. Joule wanted a friend like Angelique Fraser. She was so cute.
Joule longed for a Randall Osbourne, who was Diesel Dark’s Owner-Friend.
Joule wished to be in love with Angelique Fraser.