by K. G. Duncan
“They are like children,” Enoch said, “playing with fire, and they do not understand how close they are to the very brink of destruction.”
“So doomy and gloomy, dear brother.” Abby quipped and placed a hand reassuringly on top of her brother’s. “They just need more time. We must trust that they will find their way, eventually. A little more faith, dear brother. And time. We have plenty of that.”
Enoch smiled and brought his other hand on top of Abby’s, which he patted like a child’s. “There, there. Ever the mother hen guiding and protecting her wayward chicks. But you need to know something else.” Enoch released her hand and suddenly stood. He began pacing the room and continued speaking.
“Things are coming to a bit of a head, I’m afraid. Human scientific advances and new technologies have outpaced their social, political, cultural, and spiritual growth. They are so close to breaking through, as a collective species, into the higher frequencies and dimensions that transcend space and time. Your “Fold,” I believe you call it? No matter. The point is this. They are not ready. Their consciousness has not ascended. They have access to a tool that will enable them to destroy the very fabric of reality. They must be stopped.”
“No,” Abby said in growing alarm. “You couldn’t be further from the truth. They are ready. Many of them have already begun to make the transition. There is no other way to make the transition other than through higher love and expanded consciousness.”
“That may be true for the few,” Enoch said, turning away to once again gaze at the wall of TVs. “But we’re not concerned about the few. It’s the many that worry us. The unruly mob. What? We just clap our hands and Voila! Instant cosmic consciousness? No, my dear sister. It doesn’t work that way. We have reached a pivotal point with humanity. They may very well have found a way to access the veil and break through the Fold without ascension. Without deeper awareness. And I tell you, sister,” Enoch turned to regard Abby with something akin to a sadness in his eyes. “I’m not alone in my thinking. We cannot allow such a thing to happen, like it’s happened before. An intelligent, sentient species riding through the ripples of space and time without compassion, without constraint of it’s more primitive and territorial impulses would be a disaster. One we cannot allow. There must be an intervention.”
“Well then, Yes! We teach them!” Abby cried. “Why can’t we show them the way?”
“We have tried, Aurora. For 100,000 years, we have tried.” Enoch stepped over to Abby and took her shoulders in his hands and rubbed her softly. “And in this world, at this time, humanity has taken a turn that contains too many variables—too many uncertainties. Their pathways forward end in misery, destruction, and waste.”
“Not all of them,” Abby pleaded. “I’ve seen a way forward. You said that there must be an intervention! Well why not take them down the right path. Why not show them another way forward—one in which they can join us truly as companions and equals?”
“That way is not likely,” Enoch said, shaking his head. “You know it to be true. Can you guarantee such an outcome? The universal trigger event has been there for the taking, for eons. But they are too wild, too foolish. Too blind and selfish to see it! Wayward children who refuse to control their impulses.” He spied a silver dish on a shelf along the wall, walked over and popped two more chocolate truffles into his mouth.
“And that is understandable.” He said with another grin, as he popped in a few more. “There are multifold reasons to wander astray.”
Abby shook her head in disapproval. “I’m beginning to understand why father removed you the first time. You’re like a childish imp yourself. What kind of example would you set for them?”
Enoch whirled around playfully, laughing. He stopped to look back at Abby and spoke, “You know as well as I that we choose the forms that they only want to manifest themselves. You’ve chosen a little girl’s dragon. I’m a venture capitalist. Who’s the one who has come to this time and place off by a few millennia, hmm?”
Abby crossed her arms and stared daggers back at Enoch. He laughed, a long throaty indulgence that eventually made Abby smile despite herself.
“Look,” he finally said. “You and I don’t disagree. Yes, the time for intervention has come. But they must choose their own destiny. I’m only here to give them what they want. One by one. It must start one by one. And one way or another, this world will end.”
A chill tingled down Abby’s spine. “What have you done, Enoch?”
“Nothing that humanity isn’t already asking for,” he replied with a cocksure grin. “There are so many delightful depths. Such possibilities of imagination.”
Abby reached out into the Fold, blasted through Enoch’s protective shield—and yes, it was he who had been blocking her access to family, to the ones whom she loved. Maybe he let her burst through, it didn’t matter. She was in now. First there was Stump, the foolish cavalier, brazenly brandishing his baseball bat. Then a visceral, overwhelming sense of hate and fear, a rage beyond rationality that emanated from the sheriff’s deputy who pulled the trigger of his gun, again and again. Stump falling, knowing that this was how it must end.
Momma Bea.
She came next, and Abby reached out to her. She was still alive, in this world, only she was broken and defeated. She was dressed in the orange overalls of a prison inmate, slumped against the wall of her cell. She was sobbing, weirdly relishing the waves of revulsion and self-loathing that rolled through her. It was the only part of her mind that she could still cling too, through the haze of medications and sedatives that the doctors had forcefully given to her. She sat in solitary confinement, watching the cockroaches scamper over the tray of food that lay, untouched, near the slot of the door of her cell.
Tears welled up in Abby’s eyes. It was so wrong. So unnecessary. It didn’t have to be that way for Momma Bea.
Then a scream of terror tore through her. In an instant, she was in a dark chamber, a cavern of some sort? Henry was there, on his back, squirming and screaming. In the dim light of a nearby flashlight, Abby could see the expression of total and complete horror that had clenched Henry’s face into a spasm of terror. His screams, it seemed, would never end, as his panic and fear were about to burst his heart.
Abby snapped back to Enoch’s parlor. Enoch had returned to his chair and was coolly regarding her, sipping his coffee. He looked impish and unflappable in his frilly and laced silk shirt.
“Why?” She asked trembling, as she sank back down into her own chair. “Why does it have to be like that?”
“Oh, it’s nothing that I dream up, my dear.” He sipped his coffee again. “I assure you; these are only things that they bring upon themselves. I merely expedite the process.”
“But Enoch…” Abby struggled to find the words. “You’ve made a choice, too. You’ve chosen evil. Or something way beyond morality. You have chosen the Devil.”
“Old Scratch himself!” Enoch announced with his most charming smile. For a moment, Abby was sure that a pair of faun-like horns popped from his head, that his smile revealed a bestial glimpse of tusks in a jaw that protruded demonically forward. But then it was gone, and the Victorian image of the Devil himself was her brother, sitting in his chair, smiling and sipping his coffee.
“I am not immoral, dear sister,” he slowly continued. “Amoral? Perhaps. But none of these things are of my choosing. I, like you, simply manifest in the image of their imagination. Their fancy. I am only giving them what they want.”
“It doesn’t make it right.” Abby was horrified by this new aspect of her brother. Well, maybe not so new… but new to her since the last time they were together.
“Right has nothing to do with it,” he went on. “Consider me nothing more than a cosmic bureaucrat. Just a low-level official who is here to enforce a right of easement on a driveway that the neighbors no longer wish to share.”
“And wha
t is that supposed to mean?” Abby asked, dreading the answer, but already knowing it because this had happened before. She knew what he would say before he even said it.
“The super-highway to enlightenment must still be built,” he announced proudly. “Work proceeds as planned. The body of the multiverse must be respected and protected. What humanity chooses to do with itself is of no concern to me, actually. Until they threaten to bring destruction upon us all. And make no mistake! The cosmic biosphere goes on, and it will heal itself. Humanity is a malignant tumor. And the simplest solution is to eradicate the cancer.”
He paused to raise his cup before draining the last of it. “In other words,” he said, fixing Abby with his bright, green eyes, “Humanity has received an ultimatum: Evolve or be eradicated.” His smile spread wider across his face. “There is no more effective way to proceed with that than to leave them to their own devices.”
Abby closed her eyes and allowed herself to go lax. All the tensions and constrictions that her conversation with her brother had produced could just go away now. Please? She took a deep breath and concentrated. On nothing. Which is something that she had become quite good at doing.
She reached across the Fold and scoured the pathways forward. Most of them were dark and filled with images of destruction: Nuclear explosions; global warming that was strangling and ravishing a dying planet; hordes of humanity suffering in desperate conditions. Untold suffering and misery. And suddenly, brilliantly clear and in focus, she was standing in Joanna’s office. The good doctor was holding the wooden carving of the Buddha in her hands, and she was crying, her shoulders slowly shaking in huge, wracking sobs. Abby had to control every impulse in her being not to reach out and comfort her—let her know that everything would be alright.
No! There is another way!
Abby wrenched herself away from Doctor Kinsey’s office and threw herself back into the Fold. There were still a few pathways that were pristine and clear. Pathways that were filled with lush greenery, clear flowing water and gardens. An invisible balance of technology and a thriving biosphere, one where humanity assisted and nurtured the entire planet. One where all of humanity lived together in peace. One where the most evolved among them streaked benignly and without limit across the Fold. Into everywhere and nowhere all at once. Higher planes of reality. Ascension. It was still a possibility. And Enoch knew it.
Abby opened her eyes. She stared back at the smiling face of her brother.
Ah, are you ready to fly, little sister?
His voice sounded deep within her. It was telepathic, his smiling lips never moved.
“Yes,” Abby answered aloud. “I am. And you should join me, brother. Nothing is written within the infinity of our fates. There is more than one way forward. Do not confuse your lack of patience with efficiency. Or with the will of the multiverse! Humanity has only scratched the surface. The future lies open to be embraced. Who’s to say how it shall end, in this life or in another?”
“Oh, very well.” Enoch chuckled, and poured himself some more coffee. “It’s just much more fun to do it my way. Don’t be so serious, sister. You need to relax: Delight in petty wickedness spares one a great many evil deeds.”
“Do you think it’s ’fun’ what happened to Henry Thierrey?” Abby asked, slightly annoyed. “He was no good person, but he didn’t deserve that.”
“That,” Enoch articulated carefully, “was entirely of his own creation. The man was a bit of a superstitious idiot. Fancied himself a genius of geometry and physics. The monsters that devoured him came purely from his own diseased and paranoid brain. It amuses me to no end how far a human being can go with self-delusion.” Enoch was chuckling again, entertaining himself with his macabre little vision.
Abby spoke, staring into the crackling flames of the hearth. “You forget, brother, that this has always been more than just a game for me. We have divine purpose. And we are here for the sake of others. Not to stoke their fears and accelerate their faults. But you are always playing. Finding ways to amuse yourself, often at the expense of others. It is your weakness.”
“Oh, dear sister!” Enoch leaned forward and smiled again, very charming in his earnestness. “And your weakness is that you love too easily. You shall feel the burn of love’s disappointment once again, I fear.”
“Oh, a thousand times over, I should think.” Abby smiled, then quoted: “Wholly to be a fool while spring is in the air! My blood approves. And kisses are a better fate than wisdom, brother, I do swear by all flowers, don’t cry…”
Enoch grasped her hand and chuckled one more time. “We shall see,” he said. “But know this, dear sister, when I play, I always win.”
Not this time, big brother.
Abby’s voice sounded telepathically within Enoch’s head. She held out her cup for more coffee, and Enoch, still chuckling, happily obliged her and filled it to the rim.
Epilogue
“Fill the Cracks”
July 15, 2022 – Houma, Louisiana
“I never seen nothin’ like it,” the young deputy was talking even before Sheriff Hibbard could step out of the car. Boots crunched on the gravel driveway as the pair of officers walked toward the dilapidated old wooden house. Bulging horizontal slats covered in worm-sign and moss adorned the exterior of the house. The sagging wood shingle roof looked like it could cave in at any moment. Wood rot and neglect. The encroaching swamp was about to claim another home, and the sheriff was wondering yet again why folks insisted on building with wood out here in the dank miasma of the bayou.
Two other deputies waited on the front porch, solemnly staring back at the approaching pair, hands on hips, fingers touching pistols. Another civilian man stood fidgeting next to them, nervous, like a buck rabbit sniffing out the distant baying of the hounds. The porch floor creaked and moaned under his shifting weight. The Sheriff took all of this in as they walked by an old Ford F-150 truck parked next to the garage, and closer to the house, two squad cars sat, their blue and red lights flashing silently in the balmy misty night.
Good. Sheriff Hibbard ruefully reflected. I hope they came through the streets of Houma on silent mode as well. No need to wake the good people of the bayou at godforsaken two in the morning. He glanced over at the wildly gesticulating young deputy beside him, who was still yammering. The Sheriff glanced down at the officer’s name tag: Martin. Well, Deputy Martin, I hope you know how to come in silent and clean. You’re starting to get on my nerves.
“We ain’t touched nothin’ either,” deputy Martin was breathily and relentlessly prattling along. “Wanted to leave it just like we found it, so you could see for yourself. All pristine like.”
“Thanks for that, Deputy… Martin, is it? I’m glad to see your training hasn’t completely abandoned you.” Sheriff Hibbard spat out a wad of phlegm and grimaced unhappily. He nodded toward the civilian. “Who’s that? He looks familiar.”
“That’s the neighbor. Jacques Boutin. “Oh yeah, we know him. Busted for meth a while back—and a bit of a drinker, been in and out of the tank a few times on Friday nights. He’s the one who found the body inside. Boy, he’s got a story to tell as well. Lord a’mighty… I never seen nothin’ like it in all my days. All my days.” Deputy Martin shook his head and stepped aside as they reached the porch stairs.
“What’ve you got for me, Billy?” Sheriff Hibbard noisily creaked up the porch stairs and one of the deputies stood aside to let him pass.
“Well, Sheriff. I think it best for you to see for yourself.” The deputy named “Billy” handed the Sheriff a flashlight. “Don’t bother trying to find a light switch. You’ll soon see why.”
Sheriff Hibbard took the flashlight and assessed the faces staring back at him. The two officers’ jaw lines clinched, grim and tight. The neighbor man, Jacques, all skittish and wild-eyed, but incongruently amused. He was a wiry man, about fifty—salt-and-pepper hair trimmed short in a buzz cu
t. He was sallow-faced and leathery-skinned, with a blotchy red nose. Looked like a tweaker. Definitely a drinker. He stood there shifting left and right, wringing a worn and greasy yellow baseball cap in his hands. He tittered and was about to speak, but the Sheriff cut him off in a stern tone.
“Pull yourself together, Monsieur Boutin. I’ll get to you in a moment.”
The Sheriff flicked on the flashlight and examined the door frame. It was open, but it looked like the door had been forced in, and there were bits of dusty debris on the floor where it had been pushed inward. He shined the light above the door frame, then down and all around, where it looked like a plaster wall had been covering the door frame from the inside. He had to stoop lower to pass inside, Deputy Billy right behind him.
A sweep of the interior of the house revealed an astounding thing—the entire room had been covered, in a rather slap-dashed way, with some sort of clay or plaster. All of the edges of the room were gone, and it was like stepping inside a giant egg, for the interior of the room was completely oval from ceiling to floor. There was no furniture inside the room, but there were large round balls of plaster dotted here and there, and on the far side of the room a body was lying prone beneath a large section of the plaster wall that had begun to peel away and tear down toward the floor. Sheriff Hibbard shined his light on the crumbling section of the plaster and could see the corner of the room where the exposed walls met. The plaster was being held in place by chicken wire and wads of newspaper stacked between the plaster and the original house’s wall. At the rim of the crumbling plaster there was the edge of a picture frame just showing, still hanging on the wall beneath the plaster coating.
The Sheriff walked carefully toward the body as Deputy Billy’s light turned on behind him and arced around the makeshift chamber. “Jesus, it’s like walking into the womb,” the sheriff mumbled as he glanced around at the interior of the oval-shaped cocoon. He stepped over a large plaster ball, and continued toward the body, then he stopped and shined his light on the face.
