He nodded, and I leaned sideways as he took a sudden turn. I was feeling better with the adrenaline spiking my system and now craved another drink. Wanted to be back in The Mule Kick on a one-way trip to oblivion, not the path toward heartache I was on right now. Even in my best-case scenario, I’d still have to address the hurt and broken trust my infidelity had caused. Part of me wanted to quit right then. Surrender. Raise the white flag to whatever god had given me this life. Ask for it to end, or begin again with a clean slate. The first part of my life had been played on the Easy setting, but at some point in my twenties it had switched to Advanced. I now lacked the skills required to play.

“What was on it?” I asked. We had been driving randomly for over twenty minutes now. If we were being followed, it was via GPS, so I turned forward in my seat and buckled my belt.

“Nothing,” Al said, eyes alternating between the road and the rearview mirror.

But I’d seen light from flashing images. Something had been on that screen.

“What do you mean, nothing?”

He shrugged. “Just a placeholder page, or something. It wasn’t operational. Nothing there to see.”

Like my rock career, this was a dead-end road. I reached for the stereo, then stopped myself. Last thing I needed was to tune back into The Midnight Hour. I’d much prefer to drive in silence.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Al scowled, thinking. Scanned the dash, the steering wheel, the roof, looking for a surveillance device, I figured. He lowered his window to allow air to whoosh in, providing cover for us to talk.

He leaned toward me, and I toward him.

“I got a quiet little place in the mountains of east Tennessee. In the middle of nowhere. A secluded spot outside this small town that’s all but abandoned. It’s where I take people who need somewhere safe and away from temptation to dry out and clear their mind. Call it The Purge Palace,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s absorbed more sweat and puke than most methadone clinics.”