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Zusatztext “A thought-provoking plot! Devil’s Gate is more than a battle between good vs. evil. It’s first class writing and the characters are unforgettable beyond the last page! as even the bridge and surrounding area practically become characters unto themselves. Lennon keeps the door wide open for the exceptional series and the in-depth duo to continue forward for the foreseeable future. I! for one! will be waiting.” Informationen zum Autor FJ Lennon is a writer and independent interactive executive producer and designer based in Los Angeles, CA. In addition to Soul Trapper , he is responsible for Cool School, a web-based game/educational tool. He is the author of the 2001 business book Every Mistake in the Book: A Business How-Not-To . Klappentext In this haunting follow-up to Lennon's "Soul Trapper!" a legendary ghost-hunter confronts a dark world of supernatural activity and paranormal phenomena while sending spirits back to the afterlife--and must fight for his own life before he! too! becomes a lost soul. One It’s dark. I’m scared shitless. My heart pounds out of my chest, and I can’t seem to steady my breath. The corridor is narrow. Walls are closing in on me. I breathe deep—in and out. Stomach does cartwheels. I’m not alone. I hear them out there—voices crashing together, forming a roar that steadily builds. How did this happen? Most of it’s a blur. But here I stand and there they wait. Then, thundering like God commanding Moses: “Hollywood! Would you please welcome Astral Fountain!” Troy counts off eight on his drumsticks and— Boom —I lay down the first three power chords in the opening riff of our first song. The crowd erupts and surges forward. We’re out the gate. Troy’s laying down a solid beat. Drexel—in his black leather pants, Ray-Bans, and tee depicting Colonel Sanders’ head sticking out of a bucket of chicken—tears into the vocals and flies the length of the stage in three giant leaps. Jay blisters the bass line. It’s a wonder his fingers aren’t bleeding. Sounds loud and mighty. I’m shaky. Too stiff. Not looking at anyone yet. Imagining I’m alone in my shitty apartment playing to my mirror instead of a nearly packed house of 500 plus. I hit the solo hard, but I’m tight. All brain, no balls. I can’t fuck this up. A&R execs are in the house. The night is dubbed The Best Unsigned Bands in L.A. Four groups—Sunset Nation, Year Long Disaster, the Pontius Pilots, and us—each play an hourlong set with one encore. After the coin toss, we ended up the closers. Our job is to send the crowd off with—as our flier promises—an unforgettable dose of straightforward rock with a modern edge. I stare up at the massive crystal chandelier that hangs over the floor of the El Rey Theatre. Try my damnedest to turn my brain off. Zone in on a cluster of crystals blinking like a beacon and let their flickering crayon box of colors envelop me. And then a wave of peace hits me square. My hands begin to move on their own. My Blackie Strat starts talking and I’m not pulling the strings. I’m out of my own way. Finally. I start to surprise myself, get lost in the music, and feel possessed. Hands reach up to me from the mosh pit. I see faces out of the corner of my eye, but I won’t acknowledge them. Not yet. A blast of euphoria as I start my solo. Goddamn—I love this. This is why I was put on this earth. Solo nailed. Drexel spins across the stage like the Tasmanian Devil and finishes the song on his knees. The crowd explodes. “Fuck yeah!” Drexel screams. “We are Astral Fountain and we are here to ring your ears.” By our third song—an anthem Drexel and Jay wrote called “Creed”—I’m in the zone, standing taller. The band is right in the pocket. The crowd sways in unison. The chandelier is a wicked kaleidoscope. Finally, I’m at...
