A friend drove me to the airport, and I grabbed my messenger bag and clothes. Then I realized that the airport had a “A” Concourse and a “B” concourse, but no gates with just numbers.
That I knew of. So I stopped a cop walking around inside and asked. “Excuse me sir, could you point me to Gate 2?”
“A side or B side?”
“Just gate 2.”
He gave me a once over. “Are you sure?” He asked.
I didn’t know whether or not to be offended. “Yeah, my potential future employer told me to go to gate 2.”
“Then you might be a very lucky guy. Follow me.”
So I did as he asked and walked past into a hallway that wasn’t exactly concealed but didn’t point out attention to itself. We made our way past gate one and the cop stopped me at gate 2. My friend from last night was there, and her face grew a wide smile as I approached.
“Michael, I'm glad you decided to come. Thank you officer.” The cop took his dismissal in stride. While MAdeline gestured to a staggeringly pretty young man dressed in a nice sport coat and shirt. He came forward. “Hi I’m Matthew can I take your bags?”
“Um sure.” I answered “But first.” I retrieved my tablet and the latest physical book I was reading. A murder mystery by Kinky Friedman. “Thank you.” I said to him as he walked off.
“You’re early.” Madeline said and put her arm through mine. Which means that we can do an early take off. Her touch had a sort of pleasant electrical quality on my skin. Like energy being imparted rather than just shocking me.
She walked me to a door and I found myself on the tarmac. Staring at a Gulfstream G6 sitting there waiting for us. “Our chariot awaits.” Madeline said, and I upped my estimation of the possible scam I was facing. Renting one of these was not cheap and I memorized the tail number for my own uses.
One the side I saw stylized floating lettering that read GCE. “What is GCE.” I asked as I walked up the stairs.
“Gwyddion Creative Enterprises.” She answered. A very nice lady was waiting for me in a flight attendants uniform and guided me to a very comfortable chair. Meanwhile I pondered the name,
Gwyddion was the name of a Welsh demi god, or bard or both. “Interesting choice for a name.” I replied as we got comfortable and Matthew came on board taking a seat near the back of the jet.
“You’re familiar?”
“Irish and Welsh mythologies intersect a lot. His name came up when my gran would tell stories about the old country.” I replied and pulled out my phone.
“Very nice, it’s a name our boss decided fit our mission.” Madeline replied as she got comfortable. Meanwhile I texted a friend the tale number and name of the company, telling them I’d be offline for a while but would appreciate any info on both.
The jets came to life as I asked. “So forgive me, but I am curious.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“An admirable quality.”
“Thank you. What exactly is your mission?”
I could feel the plane moving on the tarmac. If this turned out to be an amway pitch I was a little too far past the escape point. “The world is losing track of the creative spirit, economic factors are forcing artists, musicians and writers to find other work to survive. That is something that is affecting the world in ways it does not even know yet.” Matthew came up from the back and put a drink in front of Madeline who nodded graciously. He put a cup of coffee with creme in front of me.
“Along with all the other wounds we’re inflicting on the world we’re also slowly choking the worlds soul in the name of commerce.” She paused and took a sip of her drink. “We aim to release that pressure and let the world find itself free to breathe a bit easier.”
“Admirable, and I’m certainly not complaining about the accommodations. Your hospitality is excellent.”
“Wait till we arrive. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the village as well.”
The plane picked up speed and I did my usual flight tradition of enjoying the sight of us clearing the ground. As we kept going higher I took a sip of my coffee. “Meanwhile, enjoy the flight. I have some work to do.” Madeline said and opened a very nice leather case and retrieved a laptop.
I picked up my book and did my best to let the time pass as easily as it can when you’re in an object defying gravity.
I could feel the plane angle down and realized we’d been flying for three hours with me not noticing the time. Kinky Friedman folks, he knows how to write a story. As the plane entered it’s glide path to landing I noticed we weren’t landing in a major metropolitan area.
“We built our own runway. A lot of our new people have day jobs when we recruit them. We wanted to maximize the amount of time the people we wish to join have time to make an informed decision.”
I nodded, okay a $100,000, a massively expensive plane and a village with its own airport. If all of this was true I was going to have to face facts and admit I might not be being scammed.
Or I was entering in way over my head.
Once we were landed and the door opened I was led out onto the tarmac, where a car was waiting. Again a nice choice, Mercedes AMG “S” class. Matthew grabbed my bags from the plane and put them in the trunk. The driver was dressed in an old Chauffeur uniform, and even tapped his cap as I got in.
We drove off the tarmac as crewmen started servicing the plane. “So how long till we get there?” I asked.
“Oh not long at all.” Madeline answered. As we drive down the two lane road into a very dense forrest. Memories of my buddies and I as kids in the forests of Wisconsin ran through my head as I stared at the lush greenery. “Where are we?” I asked.
“Somewhere between Portland and Seattle.” Madeline replied, her own eyes roaming the dense forrest around us. “You could pretty much put our little village right in the middle of the two and be about right.
The car broke out of the forrest and out onto an area that was cleared out, and I even saw a few farms in the background. Looking forward I saw buildings. “Is that the village?”
“Yes it is, with any luck we will talk you into it being your new home.”
I had a picture in my mind of what the village might be. Maybe an old town they bought out with farmhouses as old as time. Or maybe a place set up with nice but faceless housing. You know the places out in the suburbs where the houses look a little too similar, because the same real estate company made them all?
Yeah this was neither and it took my breath away. The houses were all different an unique. And if this place had a homeowners association then they clearly had no issues with how houses were painted.
Pink, purple, black, teal, all the houses here seemed to avoid off white and mauve like the plague. Somewhere in the bottom of my jaded heart I felt a moment of hope. The designs were all different, some had a southern gothic feel, others had a neo modern, and others still looked art deco.
“I was going to show you a few places that were open if you were interested.”
Okay, I was in, let’s see how this works out. “Sounds great. Show me around.”
I had a feeling if this turned out to be some epic joke on me my heart would likely die.