by Gary Starta
That realization sobered me. I imagined a total takeover by Isis once my will was gone. If I was to look at this from a narcissistic viewpoint, it seemed events had been engineered for this very outcome. Yet there had to be other motives. And if those motives belonged to the Ennead, just what did they want?
* * * *
Claude Brahms was the creator of both Aldo Mollini and Charlize Wilson who had both lived lives on the lam. Hence, last names differ. No surprise that their father would end up leading the very same kind of life. To explain, I need to introduce a hate group called the Knights of the White Temple.
Brahms, brainwashed—or at the very least influenced—by these knights, employed genetic design to bring about a son decades ago. The Knights of the White Temple are similar to my universe’s Templar Knights; the only difference, they don’t hunt down Muslims, they hunt down demons. Or at least they used to, millennia ago. The White Temple knights of this universe are more comparative to terrorist cells, always on the lookout to bring grief to the demon whose greatest misdeed may be materialism. That’s because the demons in this universe tended to keep to themselves, living in segregated neighborhoods where their biggest worry was probably making their mortgage payment as opposed to finding sustenance from a human vein. Nevertheless, the genetic makeup of the White Temple Knights refused to allow them to make peace. Conquering and crusading apparently runs in their veins. Ironically, it’s what caused the problem in the first place. The Knights seeking to expand their crusade outside their planet, created a wormhole with the use of magical orbs. But before they could venture into space with blade and shield, demons, cursed with a proclivity for space adventure, beat them to the punch, invading their world in turn. They were too numerous in number for the human crusaders to withstand, and this world fell victim to the biggest border jump of all time. Centuries later, the demons mimicked their human counterparts, finding raising families in suburbia to be a whole lot more appealing than scavenging garbage-strewn alleyways for damsels in distress. Sure, some demons did occasionally attack humans, but most of these incidents were the result of provocation. I could imagine the Knights, or more appropriately, these terrorists, dancing for joy over the overnight demon disappearance. It makes me want to include them on my suspect list. But where would they get the means to complete such an undertaking?
In the past, they sought out science to aid their quest. Claude Brahms, a young geneticist, had fallen prey to their rhetoric, fearing his demon neighbors would eventually decide occupying a human world wasn’t as nearly satisfying as pushing its inhabitants to the brink of genocide. But, Brahms would admit to me, the fears had no basis. Naïve, he created what he hoped to be a demon killer, and probably his first claim to fame, in the form of a genetically engineered monster. Only this monster became defective, losing sight of his mission once he stole enough demon souls. He found humans to be a much easier target. And with his soul-stealing, Mollini acquired super skills like the ability to open wormholes. Escaping via a portal, Mollini came to my world, wreaking havoc, harvesting souls from a defenseless planet where the majority of people believed bogeymen—either demonic or genetically created—were myths. My friend, the other Detective Stanford Carter, captured Mollini and successfully sentenced him to prison. But the White Temple Knights, angry that their killer went rogue, employed a genetically engineered mule to break him out. That’s where I came into the picture. Carter, who believed hunting supernaturally-enhanced men was my calling, requested my assistance. Some months earlier, I’d captured a teen serial killer who’d slain his victims with the aid of a magical crystal. Yes, the very crystal that attempted to bond with me once I managed to wrangle it away from the youthful killer. Hence, I became the go-to girl for the strange and unexplainable—and it led me here.
Hot in pursuit of Mollini, I became caught in the wake of his wormhole, a mystical gateway he opened in the vicinity of Central Jersey. It carried me through to this world where I met my other self and watched her die at the hands of Mollini. I also met alternate versions of Briana, Stanford and of course, my beloved cat Celeste, who is called Bast in this realm.
Brahms lived in hiding while Mollini absorbed human souls for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The geneticist feared the White Temple Knights would kill him for creating a defective monster. He also feared recrimination for his attempt at redemption. Creating a young girl whose gift was to tame the homicidal lust of demons, Brahms believed he could assist the very demons he once had agreed to help slay. For Charlize’s benefit, Brahms separated himself from his daughter. She became a foster child of a human dentist, Alexis Federov. The dentist, a demon sympathizer, aided Charlize by becoming her mom and booking agent. Charlize enthralled demons with song in secrecy via underground clubs and abandoned warehouses. Federov, who lost a demon lover, vowed she and her daughter would avenge her lover’s death through this endeavor.
As you might have guessed, once Mollini became privy to Charlize’s existence he sought to exterminate her. Disguising himself in glamour, Brahms attempted to deceive Mollini and throw him off track. But the soul stealer was too powerful to deceive or dissuade. He too was on a mission. And if it wasn’t for my paranormal encounter with a crystal, I would have never been able to save Charlize’s life.
For that reason, you might imagine Claude Brahms to be very grateful for my supernatural intervention. I just hope he feels grateful enough to help explain the Ennead’s presence.
Because Charlize recently became a licensed driver, I requested she take my rental to downtown DC, park it in a garage and take a cab ride home. In her case, I wanted to keep any psycho Knights off her trail. In my case, I wanted to keep a safe distance from paparazzi and other assorted media psychos. I kissed her cheek and handed her cab fare. She bowed her head, still believing I was Isis and had come to this planet for nothing other than divine intervention.
* * * *
I imagined greater and felt let down. Claude Brahms’ secluded laboratory was not at the bottom of some majestic mansion, but in the ass-end of a rundown storage facility. A faulty, flickering neon sign announced the name of this covert retreat as “U Store It.” Below the name was a slogan—“If it fits, it sits.”
I guessed the drab exterior and pauper neighborhood weaved a nice dark cloak for Brahms’ secrecy.
Once I was inside, the interior proved anything but dreary. Orange-painted walls appeared tame in comparison to rows of track lighting which bathed the room in every color of the rainbow. The lights winked on and off, strobe-like. It was the antithesis of dissimulation. My gaze roamed machines I couldn’t identify. I felt as if I were standing in yet another alternate universe, one where high-tech practicality and lowbrow carnival amusement might coexist.
“You might be wondering if you’ve fallen down a rabbit hole.”
I understood Brahm’s analogy immediately. But what I didn’t understand was the purpose. My open-mouth stare invited Brahms to explain.
“You probably are theorizing that colored lights are quite frivolous in the quest for knowledge. And I do have to agree.” He paused to clasp his hands together. He appeared as if in prayer. “But I find them to be a marvelous inspiration for my continuing existence. Before I gave Charlize up for adoption, she lived with me a toddler. She wasn’t very communicative at first. Well, as you can imagine, Agent Diggs, she was no ordinary child. But when I rigged up a set of colored lights in her bedroom, she changed. Her eyes lit up with the same intensity as the colored bulbs. She began to communicate with me, not so much verbally, but with gestures. She would point to the lights and I would toggle them off and on, as if it was a secret code. We had our own language for when she wanted a snack or when she wanted to be read a story.”
I observed Brahms for a moment, not in disbelief for what he said, but to deduce that a father can love a genetically-crafted being as much as his own flesh and blood. His eyes seemed to well with tears as he pointed to the lights that triggered such fond memories. I announced the purpose
for my visit to spare him a painful trip down memory lane.
But a cylindrical tube, equivalent in length to an upright coffin competed for my attention. Brahms, quite aware of my distraction, allowed a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. It transformed the silver-haired scholar, compromising his outer shell. For a moment, I didn’t see a professor, but a man of younger years, perhaps taking delight in some simple, banal pleasure. Nevertheless, the contraption disturbed me.
I pointed at it with my hand. Now I felt like a little child; so I spoke to recompose. “Is that what you use to grow them, the…” I really didn’t know what to call the likes of Charlize. Briana believed her to be a mage, a being specifically created for magic.
Brahms corrected me. “It’s not a womb. It’s a vehicle.”
I think my jaw dropped. Brahms staggered closer to the machine, motioning with his hand for me to join him. “Come, I’ll explain.” I proceeded with baby steps.
When I stood about a foot from the tube, Brahms grew even stranger, placing an index finger over his lips. He removed his finger, cautiously, and spoke. “I didn’t want to make any announcements until I was successful, but I suppose…well, I can hardly contain myself. Agent Diggs, this may be your way home.”
I crossed my arms and stepped back. I believed my expression screamed, HOW?
“I’m trying to create a human-friendly wormhole for you, so you might return to your sister. We know it’s scientifically plausible if not possible. My son acquired the skill to create them, as you very well know. I believe his…contact…”
Please note—Brahms’ attempt to sugar-coat soul collection failed miserably.
“…with the humans allowed him to exploit science. The very essence of these people or even their genetic coding he collected allowed him to manufacture a tool, a key of sorts.”
“You mean his consumption of human coding resulted in the manufacture of a key?”
Brahms gazed at the tube and shook his hand. “I posit he used genetic codes to not only open the wormhole but to customize it. It’s why you survived the trip. It seems in this world, wormholes only accommodate demon travel. I think that the great influx of demons all those centuries ago is responsible for that shaping. But nonetheless, Mollini achieved a breakthrough.”
I stood there with arms still folded, not quite believing Brahms’ analysis. “You mean he achieved a scientific breakthrough?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“What if simple magic was used?”
“That’s preposterous, Agent Diggs. I’m sorry, I mean no disrespect but I didn’t create my son with magic. He didn’t kill using magic either. He and I manipulated nature.”
“I have a partner who would argue that manipulating nature is magic.”
“For science sake, my Charlize was born of science, not of magic. I don’t care what your Wiccan partner says. I gave Charlize the specific means to channel her gift, via her vocal chords. She is just the work of a skilled geneticist.”
At that very moment, Brahms winced. He looked like he had swallowed something the wrong way. “What am I saying? I shouldn’t speak of her so. Please, Agent Diggs, never tell her I said that.”
I feigned a smile to comfort him. “Of course, I would never hurt Charlize. She has shown me what it would be like to have a child, a human child, Dr. Brahms.”
Now Brahms feigned a smile. “Of course, Charlize is blessed to have many people who care for her, paternally and maternally.” I understood Brahms was referring to us and Dr. Federov who currently was out of country visiting the Ukraine.
“Dr. Brahms, you have raised a tremendous being. She’s growing day by day.”
Brahms nodded. “Enough so that she can fend for herself. She’s now independent, cooking and cleaning while her mother’s away. You know, I never thought Dr. Federov would ever trust me to be her father again. And for a long time, I didn’t trust myself either.”
Brahm’s confession showed me he wasn’t just grateful for my part in saving his daughter’s life. He was also appreciative that I’d reunited him with Charlize. Apparently so much, he wanted to thank me by building a portal.
I allowed him a moment before delving into the real purpose of my visit. Explaining the Ennead’s arrival via water still remained high on my question list. Briana’s locator spell led me to the same ocean where they arrived. Could they have been responsible for the president’s death although they were off-planet at the time of the murder?
Brahms figuratively chewed on the matter for a moment. Then he went to a refrigerator and pulled out a plate of avocadoes. He motioned for me to partake in some of the mushy, green vegetable.
“Here, Agent Diggs, enjoy.” He held the plate out, leaving me no choice but to accept.
“Come on, Agent Diggs. In this universe, avocadoes contain a complex vitamin known as B67. It’s a powerful mind stimulant.”
“Sure, but I don’t have a scientific mind, doctor. You do.”
“Your mind might not be scientific. But your mind is inquisitive. In other words, you know how to ask the right questions because you’re an investigator. A scientist also needs to ask the right questions in order to find the truth.”
I ate while he continued. “You seem to be implying that the Ennead had some kind of cosmic remote at their disposal. It intrigues me. I will have to contemplate this further.”
“But wouldn’t that be magic?”
“Again, Agent Diggs, we’re talking about manipulating nature.”
“I agree they’re manipulating something, Dr. Brahms. They appear human, but they have green skin.”
“I heard the pigmentation is only temporary. But that is very curious because Egyptian history associates green skin with death. If these beings are gods and goddesses, wouldn’t they have remained alive during their hiatus?” Brahms seemed to ask this rhetorically so I didn’t respond directly. But I offered a theory, surreptitiously.
“Isis remained dormant in a crystal, until I absorbed her. And then the Ennead activated her. It appears as if Isis resumed consciousness prior to their arrival. I heard a voice in my head, a voice I believe to belong to Isis, before the comets.”
“If that is correct, they had access to our world while en route.”
Okay, so Brahms agreed with my novice theorizing. It prompted me to redirect the question back to water. He didn’t answer it, at least not right away.
“I believe the green skin is symbolic. I understand Egyptians used figurines as a way to redirect their souls back to their bodies after death. That would imply interaction from a remote distance and also the need for symbolism. I think the Ennead were not dead but in some kind of stasis. At some point they regained consciousness.”
“So you’re saying they might have been stored in something, possibly the comet or the water. Isn’t that preposterous, if not magical?”
“Not in the least. Water is known to store memory. It can also store information. Think of the Earth as a computer. It has an operating system. One part of the system is a hard drive, a place to store information and memory. Genetic codes could have been stored indefinitely in something as banal as water.”
“It seems to explain the need for the water witches. They needed to be reconnected to land.”
“Yes, the land might be another part of our living computer. Think of it as a place where information can be taken and be applied.”
“Like a program?”
“Yes, more or less.”
“Could these beings be computerized?”
“Hmm. Maybe they’re virtual beings and this planet, this computer if you like, allows them to take substance. Again, another theory; but if we come back to the idea of stored memory, they could very well take retake shape in a more natural, organic form.”
“I’ve never seen this proved. Why are you convinced water contains information?”
Brahms explained that our interaction with water via electromagnetic waves allows water to reveal memory and information. �
��It may be locked in molecular form. But it’s there.” He theorized that water bubbles in response to geomagnetic energies. I recalled the arrival of Nephthys, concealed in a bubble. It made some sense, a manipulation of water via outside forces.
Brahms continued, working up a full head of steam. “Some believe we ourselves arrived here from other worlds on the water crystals of spheres of ice. Others believe spirits become trapped in this form at death—in effect, souls exist in water. The philosopher Thales subscribed to the theory that all comes from water and to water all returns. But I won’t bore you with theories, not when we have the very proof you require, Agent Diggs.”
Brahms scurried between two tanks located in opposite corners of the room. He slapped his hands together with vigor. “Today, we will record our emotions, not via tape or paper, but in water itself.”
He rifled through some discs and popped one into a laptop. “Here, watch this documentary while I prepare for our experiment.” His boyish grin was back,
I watched, enraptured. The narrator explained feng shui, a Chinese system of aesthetics, translates to wind-water in English. He then explained Qi is a form of energy. Qi rides the wind and scatters, but is retained when encountering water. I gathered arrangement and location are everything in feng shui just as in real estate. Ironically, architects build structures using principles of feng shui as a guide. The proper orientation of a building promises happiness and health. There must be a balance between light and shadow. Achieving this balance of light and shadow is also dependent upon the five elements, including—you guessed it—water. But the narrator implied it’s more the essence of the elements, rather than the elements themselves, which cause either happiness or distress to occur. If the Ennead were indeed practicing feng shui it would seem they had this art down to a science. And I guess, if that were true, magic wasn’t a reason for their power.
“Okay, Agent Diggs, ready to begin?”
I nodded demurely. Why did I feel like one of Brahms’ pupils and less like an agent of the law? Regardless, I convinced myself to take a leap of faith. I’d need all the help in the universe to solve my current case load.
