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Written by

**Angie** **Droulias**

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Copyright © 2013 Senserial Publishing

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First Published: **March 2013**

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**Episode 1**

**GEORGE**

I am not as reminiscent of my youth as most men. I don't dwell on my travels, the jobs I've had, the pains I've endured, the drugs I've used, the music I've played, not even the women I've been with – well, except one.. Her name is Lila.

I use the present tense because, awkwardly, I feel as if she is still out there, looking down on me, loving me. She never abided to time and space as we know it. I guess you could deem her odd, abnormal in a way. I'd simply call her extraordinary, my life being far too ordinary when I met her.

I found more to her than her big blue eyes and blonde curls, the softness of her flawless skin and the tenderness of her hands. She bore a certain aura that made any man, woman or child tingle with sensation. That sensation would vary from person to person, but nonetheless, all would awaken to a certain side of themselves that they hadn't explored prior to meeting her. I for one, learned how to keep my feet on the ground but my ambitions in the stars. At the same time, I attempted to figure her out. And the more I dug into her soul, the more I felt at home.

She was an alternative healer, a psychic, a teacher, and mentor to many. In recording Lila's life as a third party, I find it difficult to attempt a starting point. So I may as well start at the beginning: the day I met her.

I met her at a Starfest 2014 in Glastonbury, UK. Starfests were popular New Age festivals that sprung globally after the 2012 phenomenon and after the official extra-terrestrial disclosure by the US government in 2013. It was a fact: we were not alone in the cosmos and there were myriads of life forms out there which would occasionally attempt to contact us. These festivals entailed live music, raw food buffets, and a gaudy marketplace swarming with psychics, gurus, alternative healers, witches, and all kinds of weirdos you'd never think could make a profession out of their awkward fixations.

My best mate, Tony, was dating an Indian girl at the time. She was a Reiki healer and an avid participant of Starfest. I think she was also on some kind of committee, because she managed to get us in at Glastonbury Starfest for free.

"C'mon, G, we'll have a blast," Tony exulted as soon as we managed to seep into the crowd undetected. "Just open your mind and let the opportunity flow in," he gesticulated with his eyes closed.

"Now you're sounding like one of those gurus," I mocked him. Tony used to be pretty much a metal-head like me, back in the day. We played in bands together. Now, he was all dressed up in beige linen pants and a blue tunic-like top that revealed a lotus pendant among his chest hairs. Luckily he still had long hair, even though it had to be in dreadlocks. Mine contrarily was shorter and thinning, now at the age of twenty-seven.

He chuckled mysteriously, not justifying me with an answer. "You know I still think you shouldn't have worn the leather jacket," he remarked, changing the subject.

I was dressed in a pair of jeans, a Metallica long-sleeve and a black leather jacket. I guess I was a target for vegans.

"Oh, there you are!" Tony's girlfriend, Anya, caught up with us, balancing two plastic cups of beer in one palm and her paperwork in the other. She wore her hair in scruffy dreadlocks that had gone honey-blond in colour, which of course, did contrast well against her chestnut skin and vibrant green eyes. "Grab these, I've got to go to my post. Enjoy, guys!" she kissed Tony and fled as rapidly as she had arrived.

He looked at me and casually took a sip.

"I guess we're on our own now," I said, peering around at the flowing gown-like dresses fluttering around us. Most of the women clad in them had matching hair to go with their motley-coloured attire. I called these types of women, 'Fairies'.

There was a raw food buffet to my left, opposite the stalls on my right. The stalls were in sections, some dedicated to goods while others to readings like palmistry, tarot, and even 'starseed readings'. The towering 'star' logo waved overhead every stall and section, indicating the trademark of the festival. Subtle New Age music flourished from...somewhere and a kind lady in a blue suit with the star emblem above her breast handed us a programme sheet.

I unfolded the paper to find a list of activities, talks, and workshops on one side and the music schedule on the other. On the back was a sketch of the grounds, a map. I randomly skimmed through the brochure-like paper, pausing at words like 'Star Healing Workshop', 'Starseed Group Therapy', and 'Arcturian Initiation Ceremony'.

"Well, we did come rather early, so we may as well just look around," Tony suggested, flipping through the paper himself.

It wasn't even noontime, so the only aspect available at the time was the stalls. Was I excited... "Fine," I said nonchalantly. But then Tony had to come up with another bright idea.

"Hey, let's go meet that guy I was telling you about-"

"Oh no, c'mon.." I started whinging like a child. In fact I was surprised he hadn't mentioned it earlier. "I told you, I'm not interested in meeting one of your guru friends."

Tony drew back silently. Strangely, he smiled back at me without an iota of irritation. "I won't force you."

My glare lingered at him, stunned at how calmly he was reacting. And I had known this man since we were kids. Now, in his late twenties, his face depicted the tranquillity of a sage as he quietly sipped his drink, while mine was still untouched. I suppose I did envy him in that moment. I mean, he had a loving girlfriend who was obviously loyal to him, a great job, and he was opening up to a more spiritual lifestyle – and successfully, I may add. What was _I_ doing? Serving sandwiches at a local café in Bristol in the mornings while taking on random work in the afternoons with my uncle, who'd attempt to lure me into some extra seasonal work at his welding business whenever he could. But I wasn't _even_ that. What was worse was that I had signed up as a Territorial Soldier for the British Army that past spring, simply out of sheer laziness.

And there I stood, looking at my Afro-English dreadlocked friend wrapping his lips around a plastic cup while keeping my miserable self company. He didn't have to. He could just wander off to his guru and network with the Fairies. I could just wander around too, stare at people I didn't know, drink my questionable beer, and stroll back and forth for refills, but it didn't really strike me as fun, to be honest.

"Alright, let's go," I acquiesced, thinking little of it.

We ambled through the few gaps that were at our disposal. It was only ten o'clock and the place was already swarming with people, young and old. The stalls on our right seemed endless - crystals hanging from display cases, crystals in pyramid shapes, crystal spheres, crystal jewellery; it seemed as though everything on sale was either made of crystal or simply contained a crystal in one way or another. And of course, a plethora of Fairies stood behind and in front of the stalls. However, I did get a glimpse of the occasional 'Star Wars doubles', which were especially men dressed in Spock-inspired spacesuits. Where the hell was I?

I tried to envision this guru guy. Tony called him Papa, which sounding as generic as it did holy-like. He was supposedly the man that got Tony into spirituality and possibly got him to switch to dreadlocks. I suspected at first that he was a Buddhist, but Tony explained that he was a Peruvian Wise Man, an elder. I presumed this elder spoke English and maintained a website and Facebook profile.

When we elapsed through the market place, we were suddenly acquainted with the acres of land that stretched out before us. For a while, I felt I could breathe again. No stalls, no crowds, just the music stage to our far left and what seemed to be a large circus-like tent in the far distance.

"That's the place," Tony indicated.

My brows shrugged. "Isn't that a bit secluded from the rest of festival ground?"

"That's how it's supposed to be," my friend clarified. "It's a meditation tent."

Upon our entrance, what caught my attention wasthe incense and the chanting fervour. Next, I noticed the hundreds of people enwreathing what seemed to be an old bald man in the centre of the doming tent. Hands clapped and voices sung in a ring of ecstasy. But beyond that ring was another peripheral one, entailing those who weren't participating actively in the chant. We moved towards them.

My eyes were glued to the old wrinkly man in the centre, who wore nothing but a linen cloth strapped around his body. Was he this 'Papa' guy?

Tony started greeting everybody as if he was a renowned New Age socialite or something. Barefoot Fairy-like women and men wearing nothing but what seemed to be a long skirt stood up and began to hug and greet him. I felt a tad left out.

When the cloud of flowing garments dispersed, we met with another old man, who sat cross-legged behind the crowd doing nothing but observing, at it appeared. He wore an odd slouchy golden cap on his head and a typical native Peruvian outfit of red and gold colours.

"This is Papa," Tony introduced.

"This?" I reacted in surprise, my glare migrating from the man who was basically worshipped in the centre of the tent to the shrivelledlittle elder before me. The old man opened his arms welcoming Tony in. They embraced for a while, rubbing each other on the back and muttering in Spanish. A woman sat next to him and as soon as he opened his toothless mouth and addressed me, she began to translate.

"Are you a friend of Tony's?" she said.

I pointed at myself like an idiot. "Me? Ah, y-yes, I am George."

Tony elbowed me. "Don't be shy, mate."

The old man carried on and the woman continued to translate. "You look like you are new here."

I giggled out of nerve. "What answer is he expecting?" I side-mouthed to Tony.

The old man revealed his palms to me, as if welcoming me closer still. "He would like you to sit with him," the woman said.

I stared at Tony then back at the toothless man. "Well, go on then," Tony nudged me. "I'll be joining the meditation group for a while anyway." Depriving me of the opportunity to answer, he disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there looking at the kind old man until I realized I had to take on his offer and stop being a ridicule of myself. I sat in the only gap of the carpeted floor I could find.

He stared at me awkwardly. There was a certain calm to him which hinted a bit of Tony's attitude in a way. The lull finally began to fade between us when he opened his mouth.

"He says your life will be changing soon," the woman voiced next to him. "You are starting anew."

"Um, how does he know that?" I hesitated to inquire. I presumed Tony had told him that I was going to be recruited in the British Army. But then again, when did Tony meet him before we walked into the Meditation Tent?

"Papa knows many things," the woman explained. "He can see a man's journey through his eyes. That is where the soul is present."

"Right.." I mumbled dubiously.

He began talking again.

"You have blocked energies within you," the woman translated. "You have powers un-surfaced. These powers will be needed some day."

"Powers?" I chuckled to myself. "And how do I access these...powers?" I asked the woman.

Spanish again.The woman's words.

"You need to find yourself. You need to heal."

That was probably the vaguest answer I deducted from my little chit-chat with the Peruvian elder and his interpreter. The woman said I was free to leave and before I left, the old man advised that I meet with Lila, the tarot reader in the market section. I didn't even attempt to bother Tony on my way out, who was in his own trance at the time.

So, back to the market, I thought. The grounds were now covered in more and more people and a band was already sound-checking on the stage. I looked at my watch; it was half past twelve.

"What?!" I shrieked. Had I been in the Meditation Tent for over two hours?

I walked towards the stalls again, taking one step per century due to the crowd, until she appeared before me.

_Star Tarot Reading_ _s_ _with Lila_ was the sign above the stall. Whether or not this was a good idea, I cared little. I was simply curious as to why old Papa had sent me here – plus I had to kill some time anyway.

I moved towards the stall, a beautiful blonde glared at me with her bulging blue eyes. She had long curls that draped over her breasts and white dress. She wore a pendant on her neck, an odd rock or stone which I couldn't define.

"Hello," she greeted amicably with a smile of pure radiance. In that moment, I was hooked.

"Hi...So, you're Lila, right?"

She nodded.

"I was sent here by Papa."

"Well, in that case, have a seat." she extended her hand in a welcoming gesture. It seemed precious, almost as fragile as porcelain.

I sat awkwardly on the tiny plastic stool. "Are you going to give me a tarot reading?"

"Seems so," she reached for her deck of cards. "That's why Papa sent you to me."

"You're not from the UK, are you?" I remarked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Your accent," I smiled back with slight frustration. "Sounds American."

"Well it is, mainly," she shuffled the cards in her hands. "Believe it or not, I was born not too far from here."

"Really? Well, that is odd. I'm from Bristol myself."

She continued to shuffle the cards indifferently, ceasing to make any further remarks regarding our background. She then palmed the deck from one side of the table to the other, creating a perfect line of face-down cards. "Pick three," she said. "Move your hand over the cards and feel which ones are right. Without looking at them," she pressed my eyelids down with her two fingers. It was a skin-tingling sensation.

"So is this Papa guy the real deal?" I inquired, feeling awkward about having my eyes shut as my hand moved over the cards.

"What do you mean?"

"Is he, you know, some kind of seer?"

"Shhh. Concentrate."

I gulped. "On what?"

"On what feels right."

I had no idea what that meant, so I just attempted to go within myself and discard all other thoughts. It was a trick Tony had taught me to do. I pulled the first card, then the second. I heard her humming speculatively. Then I picked the third and opened my eyes.

"Are these Star Tarot cards any different from the regular tarot deck?" I peered over the cards, watching her snow-white hands draw more cards from the spread out deck. "I – um, well, my ex used to be into tarots and stuff, so..."

"So you are familiar with them," she cut me off with her soft tone, her glare still fixed on the cards in front of her.

"Well, you could say, yeah," I gulped nervously.

"This is a deck I have handcrafted on my own," she explained. "It is quite different compared to the regular tarot, but it does share a few similarities too. See this card here," she tapped on one of the cards with her thin fingernails, "this is what you'd call the Emperor in the tarot. I call it Arcturus."

"Right," I exampled interest.

She began to place more cards beneath the Arcturus card. "Your past tells me that you have never really made a big decision in your life," she commenced the interpretation. "In fact, you're hopeless at decision-making."

"True. I'm an Aries," I attempted a joke.

"You've also never done most of the things you've dreamed of doing. Creative things," she said.

"Ah, that would be music, yeah," I commented in a mumble. "We could never really make it with the bands, dunno why."

"There is more to you then you realize," she almost whispered, but then discarded her interpretation and moved to the next card, pulling a few more from the deck. "You are now excited about something. Something that is to begin soon.A new career."

"You're good!" I said. "I'm going to be a soldier soon – well, a Territorial Soldier."

"That explains the weapons I see.." She moved onto the future card. "This is a big decision, but not a wise one. War will be upon us in eight months." Her sweet facial characteristics changed. Even the brightness of her eyes dimmed.

"War?"

"Yes. It will start with Israel and Iran and spread."

"Are Israel and Iran in my cards?" I raised my brows, only to notice she really wasn't even looking at them. Instead, her glare had just tranced off.

"It will be the third World War our modern world will see," her blasé glare now descended. "And you will be fighting in it."

I gaped. "This is all very specific! A-Are you sure?"

"It's not the war itself that should frighten you. It's what will happen to you during the war that will affect you."

"Wh-what will happen to me?"

"I cannot tell," she moved her hands over the cards. "But let me pull a card of advice for you. There," she placed the card in front of me. "Sirius, the Dog Star. It means that this ordeal will awaken you, change you unlike any experience before. It will also allow new things to surface, a new course in life."

"Could we have just done a relationship reading?"

She giggled and I was happy that she did.

"Look, Lila," I leaned closer towards her, fidgeting. "I have no idea what I'm doing here today. My friends have ditched me, I was left with an old toothless man who gave me a bunch of gibberish then told me to leave, and now I'm sitting opposite the most beautiful tarot reader in the world, who probably thinks I'm a total twat anyway, but...here goes," I took a deep breath. "Would you like to go out with me tonight?"

She blushed. I was afraid she wouldn't answer at all, but she did. "I am working here till ten."

"Well – Oh, that's too bad then. What about tomorrow?"

"The festival is going on till Sunday afternoon," she clarified.

"Sunday, right, well I'm leaving on Saturday night..." I bit my lip, thinking hard. "If I change plans and stay here till Monday, and possibly lose my job in the process, will you go out for a drink with me? Sunday night?"

"You really want to go out with me, don't you?"

I nodded. It was obvious.

"Well, in that case, of course."

"Excellent, excellent!" I exulted, my face beaming. "Um, how about we meet in that little square, you know, the one near the Abbey? Seven pm?"

"Sure," she accepted. "Now, I am sorry but I have to get back to work." She was right; a whole queue had formed up behind me. Before jumping from my seat, I offered to pay her for her service but all she said was "It's alright, Papa sent you and I cannot charge you, George."

I left smiling, until it hit me: when did I ever mention my name to her?

~~*~~

The years sear me like knives. Not because of the war and the hardship I endured after it, but because of her. If I had known who she was -what she was- I wouldn't have allowed myself to get as attached as I did. Or maybe I still would have...

We met at a typical Glastonbury pub that Sunday night. She wore a pair of jeans and a red blouse under a draping black knitted jacket. She seemed part of the norm now, no floating white dress as I had been accustomed to seeing. She reassured me that "clothes don't depict the soul, but maybe just the personality," which I enjoyed and agreed with.

As soon as we ordered our beverages, I realized she didn't drink alcohol, which made me sink into my chair for having taken her to a pub. She alternatively had an alcohol-free punch, which didn't mind her one bit.

"So, tell me a bit about yourself," I began nervously, "what's an American gal like you doing in the UK?"

"Well," she cusped her glass tenderly, "I was...born here and I keep coming back to this place over and over again. My grandparents used to live in a small village not too far from here but...well, they've passed now and I just visit the house every now and then and, you know, keep it tidy."

"So, you actually fly over from the States how often?"

"It's usually once or twice a year," she replied almost frowning.

"You don't sound too happy about it..."

She ascended her glare, as a child would, and attempted a smile to placate her uneasiness. "Well I...I guess I would prefer to live here instead of just travelling back and forth all the time."

"Why do you travel back and forth?"

She almost didn't justify with an answer. "Work," she eventually spat out.

"And Starfest, apparently," I smiled.

"Oh, yes, and Starfest," her smile broadened.

"You know, I could never really understand what makes people, you know, get into these kinds of things,"

"Things?"

"Spiritual things," I clarified like a crass would. "I mean, I've always been reluctant about these kinds of get-togethers. If it hadn't been for my friend who practically lured me into it, I guess I would have never done it by myself."

"A lot of people cannot fathom the Awakening until they actually get in touch with the vibe around it," she explained almost academically. "We are closer to the stars than you think, George."

"So, are we, like, waiting for something?" I asked. "You know, after the disclosure and all."

"You mean if extra-terrestrials are going to be coming here?" She almost mocked.

"Yeah..."

She took a sip from her punch, as if taking her time before answering. When she finally did, I froze at the articulation. "What if I told you that there are aliens already among us?"

"Extra-terrestrials?" I gaped.

"Yes. And I happen to know a few myself."

All of a sudden, the discussion was taking a turn that was far from normal anymore. I didn't know whether she was joking or serious.

"Um, you're taking the piss now, aren't you?" I chuckled.

She smiled, unoffended. "Well," she shrugged her shoulders, "you can still always choose to believe what suits you best."

My chuckles dimmed to a straight face. She wasn't joking. She was dead serious. I leaned in closer, my elbows pressed against the creaking table as I peered around, making sure that no one was eavesdropping. "You are serious."

"Indeed, I am."

"So all those films and TV series were spot on after all," I sneered. "What do you know?"

"I cannot talk much about it," she faltered. "I do not know you that well yet."

I slightly leaned back. "I understand." I allowed a lull between us, just to clear up any tension. Then, I finally attempted to change the subject. "So what's the story behind that rock?" I said, glancing at her torso. "I've never really seen one quite like it before. I-I used to collect semi-precious stones as a kid."

Her hand passed over the odd stone. "This is not something I can talk about, either." Her face went paler still.

My effort to get to know this young woman wasn't succeeding. My questions seemed to strike a wall of secrecy, one that she wasn't allowing me to breach for some reason. All the ET talk was making me just as nervous as her and every other evaded question only made me speculate silently as to whether or not she had been threatened to not reveal any information. But then again, perhaps I just tended to assume things as I did due to my irrevocably conspiratorial mind-set.

It felt that I had run out of things to ask her about. I didn't know what she wanted to reveal to me or not. So I asked about the tarot reading.

"So, since you have already told me about the war, could you perhaps reveal what will happen to me?"

"Huh?" she said, as if her mind had drifted off.

"In the tarot cards," I emphasized, "you said you saw a war happening in eight months and that I would take part in it. You also mentioned that something will happen to me during the war. Am I going to die or something?"

"No, George," she spoke quickly. "You are not going to die."

"Then what?"

She leaned in closer, as if concerned. "Fate is fate, George. But that doesn't mean someone else chose it for you. Our choices bring about whatever is to happen."

"Are you saying that I-I shouldn't have chosen to sign up for the Army?"

"I cannot judge what is right or wrong," she explained, her glare transcending. "What you have to do, you have to do. And I wish you the best of luck with it."

"You are a mysterious woman, Lila, I can give you that much," I chuckled briefly, trying to alter the aura of the conversation, which was getting denser and darker by the minute. I gulped down the rest of my Guinness and sat there looking at her while meditating on whether I should get another pint or not. I wanted to know more about her, to explore her inside-out, but I couldn't stand failing in every attempt that I made.

"Lila, I understand there's some discomfort when it comes to opening up to me and that, well, we still don't know each other that well, but if you ever need to speak to anyone," I moved in closer, "I'm here. Just call me or, I can call you in the States, you know,it-it's no big deal."

She reflected a smile and subtle laughter and I thought I saw a tear well in her eye. "George, that is...you are such a kind soul."

"I can just detect that you are troubled, that's all," I grasped her palms in mine, which didn't feel at all uncomfortable as I would have thought. "I'm not trying to hit on you or anything here. I just want to help."

"I can see in your eyes that you're honest," she looked at me with her big sapphire blue eyes. "I will never forget it. Thank you."

"C'mon, let's go for a walk," I suggested.

The silence of that night still haunts me. We walked through the still streets, her hand in mine, and spoke to one another using nothing but our minds. The autumn breeze blew through her blond locks as if it too was speaking to her, somehow.

How we ended up in my hotel room that night, I still can't remember. All I can replay in my mind is the softness of her skin and the way she looked at me, piercing me through and out. I knew in that moment that this woman was the One.

~~*~~

All I could hear was gunfire. The cries of men at war.The orders that sounded from the mouths of our superiors.

The wall that barricaded us troops was thick, but not thick enough. If the Iranians had any sense of a full-fledged attack, they'd be hurling out canons by now. But obviously, they were short of them. This was, after all, a sudden attack and bore no sense or structure. We just hoped a grenade wouldn't land anywhere near us – but then again, you'd have to have the strength of three men to toss one over here.

How we had ended up in a war zone was still a mystery to me. My unit and I were sent to Israel to convoy supplies to the British base and we were still inexperienced in real live combat. We were, of course, escorted by gunners and guardsmen, but that still didn't save our transportation jeep from getting attacked. When the first tire burst, we jumped off, fleeing to the nearest shelter. Two men got shot in the process, one in the leg and the other through the shoulder, and our medic was striving to attend to both. We had to admit – we were caught by surprise and were outnumbered. A mile away from base, we remained wedged behind an old ruin of some sort, fighting for our lives.

"Private Linney!!" my Lieutenant called out, crouched in the trench alongside us. "Get back to base now and send word of the attack. Take the drivers and three gunners with you!"

I was a signaller and my name got heard a lot when something went wrong. The radio wasn't working and the only means of communicating with base was by getting there... on foot.

"We can hold the wall, sir," I braved.

"You can't piss in a straight line if I told you, now get back to base NOW!!" he roared. "This is getting ugly and I can't risk your arses, now move!!!"

The gunfire intensified, to a point where I was clueless as to how we could make it out of there without getting shot. I beckoned three gunners to lower their weapons and follow me and did the same with our two drivers too. We all withdrew, running with bent knees like chickens on the loose, as bullets flew overhead.

"This is shite," Cavanagh, our driver, cursed. "I'm going back to the jeep, see if I can start it up."

"Like hell you are!!" I screamed at him ravenously, pulling him by the jacket unsuccessfully. "We're all going to base on foot and that's the order!!"

Unable to hinder Cavanagh, I began running after him as he sprinted towards the jeep.

"Shite," one of the guards muttered, running after me with his SA80. Our second driver, Rogers, followed him too. The other two gunners stayed behind, unaware of what had happened.

"Are you out of your bloody mind???" I tagged along behind Cavanagh and we both hid behind the jeep, peering through the windows. We now observed both our soldiers and the Iranians releasing fire from wall to wall. We were equally positioned between both and it was only a matter of time before one of them detected us.

Cavanagh couldn't find his calm. "C'mon, let's change the ruddy tires."

"Are you serious??!" I stressed.

Rogers and Delaney, the gunner, crept up behind us. "What the hell are you two doing??" Rogers shouted at us. "We're supposed to be getting outta here, not moving closer to the enemy!!"

"Just go back to base!" I ordered, as if I had any jurisdiction over them.

"But you're the bloody signaller!" the gunner shouted at me. "We're supposed to be guarding you!"

Cavanagh was moving towards the rear of the car. "I'm not moving until I get Cavanagh first!" I told them. Of course I wouldn't budge without him. Cavanagh was a mate, no matter how stubborn.

Rogers and Delaney fled and I suspect the two other gunners followed them back to base. I held the radio in my hand again, slapping it and cursing it to work, but nothing. It was useless and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then, a bullet penetrated one of the windows. We had been seen.

My kneecaps hit the soiled ground, scraping it. I crawled towards the rear of the car, calling out Cavanagh's name. Another gunshot. I moved closer still, but no answer. And then I saw him.

Cavanagh was dead.

"Shite!" I called out, moving towards him. His eyes were wide open and lifeless.

I pulled him back moments before conceiving the thought that I was only making my location more apparent. I let him go, not knowing what to do.

If anyone had seen me move his body, then more bullets would surely fly through the jeep. If I ran, I'd still be seen. It was too late to do anything; I was a target.

I could hear the cries of the British troops in the background. A word I had feared above all others began to reverberate throughout the ruin. "GRENADE!!!!"

And then, the sound of an explosion. Darkness.

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**Episode 2**

**B.D MATHESON (author of ETs on Earth)**

I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for Lila Mason. But then again, neither would she. As far as I am aware, no one really knows where she is now, nor have they for the past three years.

She was the head of a Russian space program for a couple of years, a job she acquired immediately after completing her adult education studies in Astrophysics at the age of thirty-six, which I found questionably lucky as well as remarkable. She'd always wanted to be an astronaut, for justifiable reasons. As I have come to understand, she was the mastermind behind the first shuttle to ever have the capacity of launching into deep space and travelling to other planets by means of accessing wormholes and manipulating the dimensions.

And then,she and her husbandvanished in 2028. Just like that. And so did the shuttle that she was building in the Russian facility at the time. The incident was never showcased by the media and the only way I found out about it was via a correspondence I had with an English detective called Catherine Borland, who had apparently been keeping a close eye on Lila and her whereabouts for years.

Undaunted by her sudden disappearance, I went on with what my best friend had always advised me to do: "Write, Billy," she'd say. "Write about us, about _you_."

And I did write. Boy, did I ever. Now, I am convincing others to write too, because there are more stories to be told out there – even though there is no monetary system anymore and no one gets paid to write like they used to, there's still the bliss that comes with writing; not to mention the exhilaration of knowing that your words have somehow functioned as way-showers. Writing is, in and of itself, magic; it doesn't wear out. The Latin proverb _scriptamanent_ didn't become a hit for nothing.

Upon Lila's disappearance, remarkable things began to occur. The world changed; worldwide governments fell as did the banking systems and major corporations, conspiracies were disclosed and the people opened up to a new life free of restrictions and oppression. Even the slavery systems that had been enforced on some people after World War III collapsed and each and every person belonged to one caste and one caste alone from thereon: that of Humans. I radically published my book _ETs on_ _Earth_ in 2025 and within a month, it had become a bestseller. By 2028, I was considered a prophet, a whistleblower. People were hungry for the knowledge that had been deliberately veiled from them and my book testified in favor of that, revealing all that Lila had disclosed to me about extra-terrestrials on our planet. Unfortunately, this revelation came with its own hazards and my book immediately grabbed the attention of others, less benevolent, who didn't really have my best interests at hand. Consequently, my neck was constantly breathed down upon by stalkers, members of the dark government, and the CIA. The book was banned from further publication in 2026, but millions had already read it by then. And they knew.

The existence of extra-terrestrials was a mainstream fact and surprised no one after the official disclosure speech by the US president on September 21st2013. But what I wrote in my book was what the president shuddered from revealing. It is one thing to admit a secret, but it's another to explain why you had hidden it in the first place and why you are so solicitous as to reveal it now. His speech, as I've recorded and practically know off by heart, goes as follows:

_"While the worldwide governments abstain from disclosing the existence of other beings beyond our planet and consecutively the tangibility of the evid_ _ence that has been brought forward_ _by astronauts and probes that justify such a truth, America opts to speak forth and reveal to its people and thus to the world_ _,_ _that extra-terrestrials DO in fact EXIST._ _The American government and the governments of the world cannot deny this common truth that has been known and verified for years._ _"_

Why did the president reveal this secret to the public that day? No one dares to answer that question eponymously. I recall the slight panic, but particularly the exhilaration that stemmed from his unprecedented announcement, the way people exulted and celebrated the disclosure of the millennia.

However, the fact that a lot of them had been living amongst us for hundreds and thousands of yearswas yet to be specified by anyone other than me and my book. And the information therein is a product of Lila's opening to me, her first clues being hinted to me in 2004 and her last in 2014.

But before I realized who Lila was – and this I succeeded by additionally assembling the records of third parties who were acquaintedwith her before she became a rocket scientist, she was just a girl I had known from senior high, back in the days when I still lived in Cottonwood, Arizona. Had I known who she really was back then, perhaps I wouldn't have doubted her.

And now, I choose to write a book about her; her life, her pain, her disappearance. However, writing about Lila is not a task that requires mere skills of language and articulation. Everything about Lila goes beyond that. And that's where I usually throw in the towel and abandon every effort. Up until now, that is. But how can I possibly express the way this woman has affected me in nothing but words?

Lila was a friend who was always there for me in spite of her own troubled life. As a young boy discovering that he was not like all other boys and coping with homophobic accusations, I learned to defy all that simply by listening to Lila, who always made it all better and belittled the things that caused me to feel pain and worry.

"You are greater than just your name, your body, and your sexual preferences, Billy," she used to say to me during our last year of high school. "Just close your eyes and find your _real_ self in the void. Define your color, your shape, your gender. Do you even have any of those?"

"No," I'd whisper with eyes shut. "I am just...a soul. Just energy."

"Then _that_ is what you are," she'd soothe me with her voice. "Nothing else matters!"

Lila's little meditations pulled me out of things like drug abuse and depression. And then, at the age of eighteen, we each parted to our chosen destinations; I to Phoenix to study Journalism at Arizona State University, and she back to Beverly Hills to be with her mother who, at the time, was suffering from cancer. After that, I lost touch with her whereabouts for seven years, only to find her in Hollywood in 2014 to get her out of a very odd state...

But before I rekindle that story, let me begin with the Lila I knew as a teen.

~~*~~

That night it was me, Sean and Sylvia Hanson, Matt Starr, Jerry Lim, and Lila. It was the summer of 2004 and we were driving down the highway towards Boynton Canyon, leaving uptown Sedona behind us. We had stayed in a hostel the previous night and had visited the Cathedral Rock area during the day. Now it was about six o'clock in the afternoon and our present venture entailed visiting the Boynton Canyon, another 'energy vortex' as was rumored among New Agers and local propagators.

Those days, we were up for anything; smoking, drinking, casual sex. I guess I was the only one who refrained from the last though. It wasn't until the age of twenty that I had made my sexual preferences publicly known; at that time, I guess only Lila knew the real me. We drove like wild on the highway, singing along to radio tunes the whole way and passing around a joint that was responsible for all the smoke emitting from the windows. Lila was the only one who didn't do any kinds of drugs or cigarettes, but didn't whine about us puffing in her face either. She was just as carelessly happy as the rest of us, singing along and cracking jokes.

I think what instilled us with so much fervor was the fact that this was our first ever road-trip. Sylvia had just earned her driver's license about two weeks ago and it was the first time we were able to take our first road-trip together, one that would scar our memories for years to come.This was the furthest we had travelled together as fifteen year-olds - and coming from a little town like Cottonwood Arizona, that was a big thing. Sean, Sylvia's brother, who still hadn't earned his own license, was driving the Volvo station wagon that belonged to his sibling, who was already sixteen and proud of her legal right to own and drive a car. Matt sat in front smoking most of the time, the emissions flowing to the back seat at me, Lila, Sylvia, and Jerry – the two latter had been making out the whole way, which was quite convenient for me and Lila as there was more space between us.

"Would you two cut it out or get a room?" Sean barked from the driver's seat, his green eyes reflecting from the rear-mirror to the seat behind him. It was twilight, but his glare still seemed to accentuate in the darkening afternoon colors.

Sylvia stopped kissing her boyfriend, our Japanese-American friend, Jerry. Her response to her brother was abrupt, yet not unexpected. "Sean, if you don't keep your fucking eyes on the road, I swear it'll be the last time you drive this car." She resumed her posture, partially sitting on top of Jerry's lap, her long blond hair seamlessly scraping the butterfly tattoo on her waist as her thin fingers brought the joint to her lips. She wore tight jean shorts and a flowing white shirt which she had tied in a small bun at the height of her waist.

In spite of beings siblings, Sylvia and Sean could have easily been unrelated. I had been their neighbor for most of my life and we had practically been raised in the same yard. While they were both pretty good-looking, Sylvia was a tad more down-to earth than Sean. In spite of her Barbie-doll attitude and the ambition of an aspiring super-model, Sylvia bore the austerity of an older sister, someone who we'd look for to guidance – and for a car, in this case. Sean, on the other hand, who was a year younger than her, was broad, muscular, with a dimple-adorned face and the kind of attitude that would make him stand out in a crowd. He was popular, extroverted, an athlete, and a real pain in the ass most times. It really bugged him that his sister had a license and he didn't.

"I gotta hand it to you, buddy," Matt exhaled another nebula of smoke, "your sister is the only one we know with these kinds of wheels. Admit it, dude, when have we _ever_ done this?"

Matt was the most positive and laid back guy I knew. He was Afro-American, had brown nappy hair, dark eyes, and the same athletic build as Sean. He'd constantly walk around in athletic attire, but wasn't as much of a sports freak like his buddy. He was also a musician and played drums in a rock band, which obviously came first on his list of priorities, as he'd carry his drumsticks everywhere with him. He and Sean had been best friends since kindergarten.

"I'm getting my license in threemonths, man," Sean attempted coolness, as usual, in response to Matt's remark. "It's no big deal," he picked up an open beer bottle and brought it to his lips.

"Hey, man, not on the road!" Jerry leaned forward from the back seat. Sylvia was now arm-crossed beside him. "Save it till we get there."

"Yeah yeah," Sean mocked, discarding the remark and sipping on his Bud.

"He's right, you moron," Sylvia began again. "If we get caught, Sean-"

"Relax, sis! We're in the fuckin' middle of nowhere! There aren't even any speed detectors on these roads."

"Are you alright?" I turned and whispered to Lila amidst the commotion. We were pretty cramped up now that the couple beside us had resumed from sitting on each other's lap and was instead occupied with Sean's irresponsible driving.

"Sure," she smiled back at me, cramped as she was.She was, of course, lying. I knew Lila hated cramped places and couldn't stand smoke – hence her window beingwide open.

"They're called radar guns; and how would you know anyway?" Sylvia continued her rant. "You've never driven on this highway before. You've never even been to Sedona before!"

"Um, yeah I have," Sean's brow wrinkled. "It was in year eight, remember?"

"I'm pretty sure that was Phoenix," Matt remarked, his eyes blurry and red.

I turned to Lila again, who appeared to be the only uninterested party in the whole trip. She seemed to enjoy the simplicity of the moment, like the scenery and the odd hawk we'd see flying overhead from the gorge. I didn't want to bother her, but I had to talk to someone.

"So, have you been to these parts before?" I inquired.

Her eyes turned to meet mine for only a briefness of a moment, as if she was too preoccupied to engage in chit-chat. "No," she said unconvincingly and resumed her glare towards the window.

The scenery seemed unaltered: a long rocky horizon in the background, a steep desert-like plane around us. We went on for a few minutes before everyone started rambling again.

"Sean, do you even know where you're going?" Sylvia began, the unchanging view making her nervous.

"Yeah man, I think we lost a turn or something," Jerry commented straight after.

Yet, the discussion intensified again. "What are you now, our guide?" Sean snapped, beer in hand.

Then surprisingly, Lila bent forward, her hand leaning against the co-driver's seat. "Keep going," she spoke softly and confidently. I looked at her hard, trying to work out how she knew the way in spite of her admitting the opposite to me earlier. "There should be a turn further down."

Sean chuckled while everyone else stared at our peculiar friend. "If that's another one of your predictions, Lila, we're probably better off with a map," he smirked. "You know, an ordinary one, not a constellation or zodiac map."

We all knew Lila was different. She had an instinct that hardly ever proved to be wrong, something we had all come to learn within the last year that we had known her. If she'd predict a teacher getting sick, the teacher wouldn't show up the next day. If she'd warn us of an unpredicted storm, the skies would well. She even knew we'd be coming to Sedona months before we even arranged to.

"Hey man, don't talk to her like that," I cut in, irritated. I admit, it wasn't my style to pick a quarrel with anyone, but I'd felt offended, even though I wasn't the one insulted. And Lila didn't do anything to deserve being joked at.

"Ooo," Sean mocked. "So what's the deal, Billy, are you hooking up with Lila? Shit, who else is going to get laid in the Volvotonight."

"Dude, take it easy," Matt cut in, surprisingly without smoking.

"Hey Lila, why don't you give us a kind of a sneak peek of who's going to win the Superbowl, huh?" Sean continued.

Fury surged me. "I said watch your mouth!" my voice bellowed.

"Well Matheson, look at you, all wound up," he continued ranting in pre-drunk mode, having little control over the car as he looked over his shoulder at me.

Sylvia's penetrating voice sounded beside me. "Drive in a straight line, moron!"

"Dude, are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Matt cut in.

"Yeah, Sean, let Matt drive," Jerry agreed.

"You've really done it this time," I spoke over the other voices, still tailing on Sean's verbal attack towards Lila, the only one who didn't utter a single vowel throughout the whole disorderly hubbub. "You're such an asshole, man!"

Sean laughed like a retard. "What did I say? What did I say?"

"That's it, pull the fuck over now, Sean!" his sister shrieked, hitting her hand against the driver's seat.

"Sorry I offended miss Beverly Hills," Sean continued to smirk, his eyes migrating back to the steering wheel. He never really seemed to have a liking for Lila, simply because she was the adopted daughter of famous actress Ashley Mason and had been living in Beverly Hills before moving to Phoenix to stay with her grandparents just a year before.He had never really admitted it, but his remarks often reflected his prejudice against her.

"That's it," I said and without thinking straight, I loomed at Sean with my fist clenched.

It was a fraction of a second, but within that fraction I remember screams, Lila's blond hair swaying in front of me and a large thud. We crashed into the protective bars at the side of the road.

Silence and smoke.

We got out, twitching, aching, and touching ourselves in order to detect any wounds. Lila had a scratch on her cheek and her neck and back were sore, I had a throbbing pain in my arm – the arm that had attempted to insensibly strike Sean, Jerry had some blood dripping from his head after bumping into the front seat and Sylvia had sprained her whole leg and came limping out of the car. Sean and Matt, on the other hand, came out without a scratch, having luckily been saved by the airbags.

"What the FUCK just happened there???" Sean shouted, looking straight at me with a sweaty face. "What the fuck, man!!"

"Sean, I didn't mean to-"

Before I could articulate the whole sentence, he ran towards me, his hands coiling like claws around my neck.

"Stop it!!!" Sylvia cried and Matt ran to break up us, followed by Jerry. Surprisingly, Lila jumped in too, pulling Sean by the collar, which was the only thing that made him let go of me. I was stunned by her courage.

"Let go!!" he twisted and let himself free, pulling his shirt back down. "Crazy bitch."

No one spoke. It was as if speaking was something that turned as all into monsters, so everyone gave up on it. Except for me; I couldn't help it any longer and had to defend my friend.

I threw him to the gravel and we started fighting again. I punched him harder and harder, unable to hear the voices of my friends who attempted to pull me back. My wavy brown hair, which was still not long enough at that age, draped in front of my sweat-trickling face. I could sense that my eyes had widened like a predator's and I just couldn't stop until Sean had learnt his lesson. And then, I had to, because I heard a scream.

It was Sylvia, standing by the bars pointing to the sloping side of the road. "It's a-a-a man!!!"

We all froze. What had we done?

Matt and Jerry moved closer to the edge. "She's right!" Jerry said. "Oh shit guys, we hit someone."

Lila was frozen. Sean was frozen too. Sylvia was shaking, reversing away from her finding, moving nervously back and forth and crying. Jerry was too distraught to run after her. I ran towards the side of the road where Matt and Jerry were, and we examined the middle-aged man that was lying back-down on the asphalt. His eyes were closed and his clothes were tattered and torn, bloodstains all over. I couldn't detect where his wounds were, but I knew they were severe.

I couldn't move. "Shit," I said trembling, yet knowing I had to be strong. "Shit, what have we done!"

"Check to see if he's breathing!" Jerry suggested beside me, his hands scratching his skull nervously.

Matt extended a leg, subtly nudging the man with the tip of his Nike. The man didn't move or budge one bit. I moved my finger towards his nose to detect whether he was breathing or not. I felt nothing but the highway air and the chill of the coming night; or the chill of death, for that matter.

"Fuck man, he's dead, isn't he?" Matt whispered, leaning above the body next to me.

"Do something about the fuckin' car!" I called out to Sean, Sylvia, or whoever was listening. "Make sure no one sees us."

"What the fuck are y-you saying, Billy," Sylvia cried, moving closer, "we have to call someone, th-the police, an ambulance, someone!!"

Upon looking at Sylvia, my glare fled towards Lila, who calmly opened her mouth and finally voiced amongst the panic. "Call no one," she said. She moved towards me.

"What are you doing?" I said, stunned. She came up to me and knelt down beside the man. She inhaled deeply, as if preparing for something.

"Not a word to anyone," she said, her face calm and sure.

"Wha-what are you going to do to him?" Matt inquired.

"Just...move away," she said seconds before placing her palms onto the man's chest and closing her eyes.

"What the fuck now-" Sean muttered in the background, but we told him to quiet down. We knew – Lila was going to heal him.

We hadn't seen her do it before, but if anyone could, it would be her. We had always known it, yet feared to admit it – Lila Mason was not one of us, and _not_ because she was from Beverly Hills. There was something stranger about her, something that simpletons like us wouldn't grasp in a million years. And so we all backed away, waiting for her to work her magic.

And there, beneath the twilight skies of Sedona, a young girl's hands flashed with a cosmic blue light, pouring their healing powers into a man that was dead.

And the man opened his eyes and breathed.

~~*~~

The incident in Sedona marked us forever. I recall us avoiding talking about it, praising or condemning it in any way. If anyone ever discussed it extensively with Lila, it was me. I remember asking her how she did it – her answer was simplistic: "I healed him with my powers."

I knew about people who used alternative healing energies like Reiki to heal others, but she assured me her powers had nothing to do with that. She even demonstrated them to me in private one day, upon my request.

It was a Sunday about two months after the incident. School had commenced again and we were now in Year 11. Feigning to want to study together, I went over to her grandparents' place in the early afternoon. I remember watching an odd black SUV parked outside the house, the outline of a man with dark glasses peering through the window. His head was shaven and he appeared to be in his late thirties. He seemed suspicious.

As soon as I rang the doorbellshe was already behind it, as if anticipating my arrival. I then noticed she was positioned next to the window, glancing inconspicuously at the noticeable car stationed outside. I could detect her uneasiness.

"Lila, who's that guy in the car?" I inquired, noticing her glare moving towards my background as I came in through the door.

"No one," she closed it nervously. I could sense she was lying. She'd tend to do that when she was hiding something.

"I'm not stupid, tell me," I insisted. "Is that baldy stalking you or something?"

"No...please Billy, don't worry about him," she tried to articulate persuasion. "He's nothing."

I suspected some kind of an ex, but as far as I knew, Lila hadn't been in any relationship. At least with no one from our area and not in the past year that I had known her.

"Lila, we have to report this," I refrained from following her to the staircase, standing there, anticipating the truth. "If this guy is stalking you-"

"He isn't!" she snapped, pausing her pace and turning towards me. "It's...much more complicated than that," her tone descended into a deep whisper.

"So there is something up with that guy, I knew it!"

"It's not what you think you know though," she reassured. "He- he just checks up on me from time to time, that's all. Like a bodyguard."

The answer didn't immediately strike me as genuine. But I did eventually realize that Lila was the adopted daughter of a famous actress and did perhaps need the protection. At the time, it seemed acceptable.

"Your mum, right?"

She nodded and we left it at that.

We entered her room, which I hadn't been in before. I marveled at it like a child would; posters of galaxies and planets hanging on walls, a miniature planetarium which shone constellations all over the walls, a two-seat sofa with starry pillows, planets hanging in papier-mâché balls from the ceiling, a large blue bookshelf flooded with odd antique-like books among comics and sci-fi novels, an accompanying desk and a star-adorned blanket on her double bed.

"Wow," I awed at the spacious room that could have easily been the remnant of a small planetarium room. "You really like your Astronomy, Lila."

She smiled and her blue eyes beamed. "It's what I want to major at when I go to uni.Astrophysics, specifically."

"I-I never knew you were really this into it," I said, still gawking around at the odd décor of stars and galaxies. "I thought you just liked Astrology and stuff."

We both giggled.

"I used to have a telescope when I was younger. Never really used it."

"I have a telescope too," she said, moving towards the window and pulling the curtains shut, which made me wonder. "It's up in the attic, I'll show it to you later." She moved to the sofa. "But now, you've got to see something else."

I sat next to her, realizing she was now going to demonstrate her healing powers to me, just like we'd agreed. There was a tiny flowerpot ona table in front of us, a miniature rose plant embedded inside it. One of the rose blossoms had withered, its petals scattered across the table and its bud almost bare. She pulled the pot towards her.

"I've never told anyone before what I am about to tell you now," she uttered solemnly. "Please promise me you won't tell anyone else."

"I won't," I said in a gulp, glaring between her and the flowerpot.

She moved her hand over the dying flower, much like a witch working a spell. She shut her eyes and within moments, her palms began to emit that same blue light as they had that night in Sedona. There was something calming about the light that beamed from her hand, something otherworldly yet familiar at the same time. But what I noticed was more peculiar than that; the stone around her neck, the odd little rock that hung from her necklace, was beaming blue too.

I didn't utter a word. Instead, I watched inexorably as the wilted flower began to resume the life that was exhumed of it, its stem straightening out until the bud now ascended proudly, its petals entirely rejuvenated. Then, the bud opened into full bloom. I gaped at this small wonder, this fragile beauty that presented itself before me.

The blue from Lila's palms and necklace faded subtly and slowly, till nothing was left of the iridescent healing light.She opened her eyes, a sense of accomplishment shining from her pupils. "Now, ask anything you want."

"I-I am stunned, obviously," I began in a stutter. "I don't know what to say other than...how do you do it?!"

She smiled. "You saw the stone."

"Yeah, what's with that?"

She then palmed the odd little stone in her hand and held in front of me. It looked so ordinary now, grey and uninteresting. There were, however, some subtle blue grains to it that I had never seen before. "This stone generates the blue light that you just saw. I cannot heal anyone or anything without it."

"Where's it from?"

She silenced for a moment, as if uncertain of whether or not such information should be revealed. "It's not from Earth," she then explained. "It's from a planet in the Pleiades."

"You're blowing my mind right now, Lila," I raised a brow. "How did _you_ get it?!"

She gulped and I sensed her nervousness. "Billy...I am not _from_ Earth."

"What?!"

"I am from the star of Asterope as you call it, in the Pleiadian constellation."

I couldn't help but laugh nervously. "Lila, you're so funny!"

"Billy!" she bellowed and I had never heard Lila speak so intensely before. My laugh was broken. "I am telling you the truth." And she was. She had a dead serious look on her face that I had never seen before.

"Lila...Are you-telling me....that...."

"I am an extra-terrestrial, Billy."

It seemed the world paused in that moment of revelation. Lila, my classmate and one of my closest friends in the world, was an extra-terrestrial. It would explain a lot about the way she acted, her powers, and the supernaturally-empowered stone she had acquired. It would also explain why she could never blend in and why she had never told us anything about her heritage or birthplace, other than the fact that she had grown up in an orphanage in London.

"You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

She nodded. "This is all I have left of my homeland," she stroked the odd rock nestled in her hand. "Our whole planet is made of the mineral that comprises this stone. Everyone can heal on Asterope or Asra, as well call it. Everyone can foresee."

"Just like you do."

"Yes," she seemed saddened now. I could tell that any reference to her home-planet brought nuances of sorrow to her conversation, but I wanted to know.

"But...how did you get here?"

"I cannot tell you that...at least, not yet, Billy."

I sensed her uneasiness and opted to back off. The information was overwhelming enough as it was for one day. "I understand."

She attempted a smile as her hand wrapped mine. "Now you know my secret."

~~*~~

Lila and I became closer after the incident at her house. And while Sean, Matt, Jerry, and Sylvia had simply run off on our friendship after what happened in Sedona – and as I was led to believe, had insured their own rumors about what had happened on our road-trip – she and I remained close pals. As far as I knew, I was the only one who was aware of her secret; and she was the only one aware of mine: I was and am a homosexual.

After graduation we parted, only to meet again at random in Hollywood on May of 2014, where I had been sent to interview the cast of an upcoming blockbuster. At the time, I was a working journalist, freelancing for various magazines in the entertainment genre.

I was exiting one of the studio buildings and entering an alleywhen my eye caught the platinum blonde colors of a woman being forced into a black SUV by a man in a black suit. She was kicking and screaming, trying to pull herself away. Instantly a tingle ran up my spine. This wasn't any random woman; it was Lila.

"Hey!!" I called out moving towards the car, briefcase in hand. The man who was pulling her arm turned towards me; he could have even been the same guy I had seen outside her house that day when we were teens, but I wasn't sure, as this man had a long mane of hair in contrast to the bald one I had seen that day. The SUV was nonetheless identical.

I reached for my phone, "I'm calling the police!" The man froze briefly, then unhurriedly entered the driver's seat and hit the pedals, tires screeching and emitting slight burnout. He fled, yet something about the way he ran off didn't strike me as what a real criminal would have done. He had no weapon on him, nor did he move as quickly as I would have predicted. It seemed that he was more irritated than afraid of me calling the cops, as though I had just rained on his parade and that he'd be back to reclaim what he wanted.

She stood there, looking at me in a long blue dress and jean jacket, her scruffy braid over one shoulder and mascara dripping in long lines from her eyes. It really was Lila. She was older, but I could tell it was her. Who else would have had such non-human blue eyes and pale porcelain-like skin?

We ran to each other, like family reuniting after years.

"Lila?"

"Billy," she said desperately clinging onto me.

"Who the – what the hell happened?! Are you alright?"

She pulled herself back from my embrace. "My gosh, look at you, you're a man," she rubbed me on the shoulders.

"Lila , tell me what's going on," I insisted, my glare fixed on the bruise on her brow. "Why was that guy pulling you into the car??"

Her glare descended silently in a childlike manner. As if she had done something wrong and was too afraid to reveal it. She hadn't changed a bit.

"Can you at least tell me that you're alright!" I stressed.

"Physically, I am fine," she finally spoke. "But now...my life, as I know it, is over."

"What do you mean, what did he do to you??"

Her eyes shone back at me, tears welling in them. "He took the stone, Billy."

#

** **

###

**Episode 3**

**CATHERINE BORLAND**

**(** **retired** **Chief Inspector of the London Metropolitan Police)**

30/05/2032

Dear Mr. Matheson,

I am happy that you have acquiesced regarding our little information exchange. It is a relief to have someone to finally talk to who will not taint the current situation with any form of prejudice or distrust. I do hope my account of things aids you in the composition of your new book.

Call me old-fashioned, but I do not own a computer anymore and prefer to hand-write. I am, after all, a sixty-three year old woman, a pensioner with all the time in the world at my disposal and an undying love for stationary, which I must say seems to be making a comeback after WW3. After retiring in 2029 – a year prior to the collapse of all authoritarian services like the police, as you had successfully predicted – I seemed to have had little need for anything technological. I even handsomely sold my laptop to a collector two months ago, imagine that.

I now reside in a little house in North Lincolnshire with my seven cats and my two elderly greyhounds. I never seemed to have devoted my life to anything else other than the police force. I was engaged at one point, but even that didn't result in a happy ending. Perhaps I was just too out of the norm to have a normal life – a tall, long-faced brunette with one green eye and one blue, a muscular figure for a woman. My odd looks tended to scare people off on occasions, especially men. Thanks to the uniform, I was a tad scarier, I believe. I am a white-haired lady now, no muscles left, no gracefully long brown hair.

I was raised by a single parent – my father, a chief inspector himself, because my mother died in a car crash when I was two. I suppose that was what led me to choose a career as a policewoman. As far as I was concerned, my sole life mission revolved around protecting and aiding others, perhaps the way my mother should have been protected from the drunk driver who killed her. Never did I ponder about what it would be like to have a family of my own and live my days worrying about common things like day-care and cooking – or in fact, perhaps I did, once... But no matter how many times I attempted to alter my reality as it was, my duties kept on creeping up on me, reminding me that I was a woman of the Force; nothing more, nothing less.

I dedicated my life to the Force. When it earned me my escalation towards Chief Inspector and a larger office, I couldn't ask for more. I poured myself into my work daily, intensively, passionately. What's more, I transformed a mere investigation into a life mission. It was a peculiar case, unlike any other I had come across before. The subject's name: Lila Mason. Case number MP 21/03/92/3714. Incredible how I've managed to memorize it even at this old wrinkly age.

As I stated in our previous correspondence, I was anxious to approach you after your announcement on the independent radio stations regarding the commencement of your new book, the one you claim will prove the existence of a worldwide conspiracy that has been striving to keep the real extra-terrestrials of our planet a secret. Your reference to the 'blue energy' and a young blonde woman who taught you all you know about the extra-terrestrials on our planet were rather familiar to me. Thank you for verifying the woman's name, as she, Lila Mason, is the one I want to talk to you about.

Now that the global governments have fallen, I am safe from any harm or censorship regarding the following that I am about to reveal to you.

As you know, I have been looking into Lila Mason's case for over thirty years, ever since I was a young Inspector who had been assigned to pick her up from the middle of nowhere, in a cornfield on the plain of Salisbury in 1995. Naturally, my job was to attempt to investigate her background and find her nearest of kin - which was of course, impossible. The girl ended up in an orphanage in Finsbury a few days later. This was an atypical missing person's case, wherein the ones missing were in fact the child's family members. In spite of our countless efforts in collaboration with the Wiltshire police department, neither I nor my colleagues were able to track down the girl's family, a situation that evoked my concern as well as suspicion.

The only crumbs of evidence regarding this girl's background that I ever assembled was her transcribed testimonial – a rather unsuccessful one, I may add, as the child was obviously not an English-speaker at the time and could only mutter incoherent gibberish. During the first interviews, the girl would often call out the word "lila", hence the name we decided to give her. Mason, as you know, is the surname of her foster mother, the deceased American author Ashley Mason, who adopted her in 1997 at the age six and a half.

But let me narrate my story from the beginning, as this is essentially what I have to offer – a story and a burden.

On the night of March 21st 1995, at age twenty-six, I was tasked to patrol to a small farming area in Salisbury Plain to collect a child that had been found wandering alone in one of the crops belonging to the Grisham couple. David and Macy Grisham, the middle-aged couple that had contacted the police that night, had taken the girl into their care, fed her, cleaned her, and tucked her in for a nap. She wasn't afraid or shaken in any way, they had informed us, but she was nonetheless a wandering child, orphaned as it seemed.

I arrived on scene at the farm of David and Macy Grisham with my partner Jason Fry at approximately nine o'clock. We met with the Wiltshire constables that had already arrived on-scene, who at the time weren't particularly cordial to our arrival. To be honest, I myself wasn't fully aware as to why the London Metropolitan Police had been meddling with a case in rural Wiltshire. As a member of the CID, I was usually assigned to missing persons' cases only in conjunction with criminal investigation. And as far as I could tell, there was no crime affiliated with this case.

Upon our arrival, one of the constables -I believe his name was Peters- briefed us on how the girl was found. What surprised me and remains part of my memory to this day, is what he whispered to me before handing over the case to us:

"I have never seen a five-year-old like that."

At first I couldn't comprehend what he was trying to say. "You'll see, once you question her. And them," he added a second before popping his hat back onto his bald head and departing with his partner. It was then up to me and Fry to see to the remainder of the investigation, for reasons we were still unaware of.

I entered the shabby cottage-like farmhouse, every step of mine creaking on the desiccated floorboards.I could hear the pigs snorting in the nearby shed and a distinct smell irritated my chronic allergic rhinitis. I sneezed and the elderly couple noticed that I had entered after the previous officer. Fry remained outside, scanning the perimeter for any evidence that may have indicated a criminal action of some sort.

What followed has troubled my mind for years since.While my partner and I found nothing of substantial evidence that may have indicated how the girl ended up in the farm or where she had come from, we still relied on the testimonial that the couple had given us, which at the time, seemed to bear ground. Upon questioning Mr. Grisham, I admit I believed every word. Butas the incident became more perplexed, the more I doubted my initial judgment. I am including the transcript of what Mr. Grisham told me that night:

_"We heard a knock on the door earlier this afternoon, just as we were setting up for supper. I came to answer, only to see the little girl in front of my doorway wearing nothing but a_ _white piece of rag and shoeless_ _. She wasn't distraught or anything like that, but I could tell she was lost. She looked at me with those big blue eyes and started muttering in a foreign language. It sounded unlike any tongue I had ever heard. Not that I am of any academic background, I am a simple farm-man at best. I couldn't decipher her odd words, but I could sense she was asking for someone or seeking directions. It seemed brave of her – a little rabbit like her stranded in the middle of nowhere_ _,asking for directions. I_ _t was quite mindboggling, the fact that she wasn't crying or shocked the slightest._ _"_

_"What did you do next, Mr Grisham?"_

_"I-_ _I welcomed her in, told her I'd help her. Strangely enough, it seemed as though she understood. How peculiar, I thought. Wife met her and was just as befuddled. We welcomed her to our table and gave her some pumpkin soup, cut up some steak on her_ _plate, served her chips and, what else...ah,_ _steamed carrots. She ate everything but the meat. It was as if she was disgusted by it; she even pushed the plate away, forked the chips and carrots which she then splashed into her soup bowl. She muttered something like 'nekia' every time we brought the steak closer to her. That could have been her word for 'no'.She seemed happy to be with us, was rather excited too. After supper, wife took her to the bathroom and gave her a nice warm bath. I believe she enjoyed it. She dressed her in a nightie and put her to bed, the girl did after all seem tired. And that's when_ _we called the police, inspector_ _."_

The more I replayed Mr Grisham's testimonial those few months after the investigation, the less sense it made. At the time however, it seemed reasonable. But upon returning back to London and studying the tape's content over and over again, I detected a few discrepancies which only seemed to multiply as time went by.

Let's start with the initial statement regarding the girl having been dressed in 'nothing but a white piece of rag'. That night, I asked Mrs. Grisham to show me that 'rag' which I was primarily appeased with. However, I did ask to take the piece of clothing back to the department with me, something that appeared to provoke a slight uneasiness between the couple, who glanced at each other almost fearfully upon my request. After the garment had been examined by the lab a week later, I was given a report stating that the rag was in fact a hand-sewn nightgown, with no other fingerprints present on it other than the girl's and the Grisham couple's. Had someone else dressed the girl in this attire – which is highly likely for a child of five – those fingerprints would have at least subtly smudged on. Moreover, the piece of clothing that I was presented with was sparkling clean, nothing that would resemble a dirty rag that a girl had been wandering in through a muddy cornfield from God knows where. Mrs. Grisham nonetheless assured me that the gown hadn't been washed. If it was, however, why would such an action be so bound to secrecy?

The next paradox was the reference to the girl not speaking English, yet when we took her from the farm, she did spur words like 'thank you' and 'tree' and 'happy now'. Did she pick those words up from the Grisham's and learn them within a couple of hours, 2 of which were spent sleeping? I think not. Consecutively, Mr. Grisham states in his testimonial that he 'could sense' the girl was asking for something. I crosschecked with a linguist, who verified that an interrogative tone can be detected by a foreign speaker, but it still didn't satisfy my suspicion. And I'll tell you why.

David Grisham, aged sixty at the time, suffered from a rare case of Alzheimer's disease known as early-onset Alzheimer, as his wife had informed me. This I verified by looking at his prescriptions. Early-onset is the type of Alzheimer that appears in the subject before the age of sixty-five and is said to be the most severe as the years progress. Mr. Grisham was quite the conversational one in spite of his tendency to forget. His words however entailed more flattery than any real information. As I deduced from our conversation, Mr. Grisham wasn't a man who spoke in specific, coherent terms. He never pondered or supposed or had an answer for most things and always looked to his wife for any answer regarding the date or where his pills were or whether they had had lunch or not that day. Seeing as he had made up his own assumption about the girl 'asking to see someone' or 'asking for directions', it seemed rather odd to me for a man of his health and mindset. Fry said I was too suspicious, too stressed out to find an answer that I saw a conspiracy in everything.

Following up on Mr. Grisham's testimonial and taking into consideration his casual short memory span, I was surprised at how well he had memorized the previous 3-4 hours of that day. His wife assured me that he tended to forget things that happened within the day, yet could recollect poems he had read in the sixties, childhood memories, and names and numbers from the distant past. True, his disease was still in its early stages, but nonetheless it was a disease. His overall testimony in my view contrasted with everything else he projected to us that night. He wasn't senile, but nevertheless a man dealing with memory problems.

What I found most interesting was that he recalled the word 'nekia', the word the girl would utter when being presented with the meat. Again, I consulted a linguist, only to find that the word meant 'dead' in Ancient Greek and not 'no' as Mr. Grisham had hypothesized. I presumed that could simply be a mere coincidence, even though meat is in fact the product of a dead animal.

Upon taking the girl to the station for questioning, after a long drive during which she slept most of the time or kept silent, I attempted some idle chit-chat with her, still surprised as to why she hadn't articulated any words like 'mama'. I was almost utterly convinced that this little thing really hadn't known any parents at all. I began talking to her, asking her name at first, tickling her verbally with words like 'cat' and 'play', but she seemed to have wanted to make it hard for me. She didn't respond, even if she did accept to play with a rubber ball and a plush toy. It made me wonder how she had been so talkative with the Grisham couple.

We had her stay in housing for a few days and I'd visit daily. Within a few days, she began talking again. Naturally, I began to jot down the words and address the linguist, Dr. Maria Sergey, for her interpretations. Again, words in Ancient Greek popped up. It was high time to have Dr. Sergey meet the girl.

At first, the girl was tense, silent as she was with me the first few days. How on earth she had managed to be so extroverted in the presence of the elderly couple became more and more of a mystery to me. When she finally opened up to Dr. Sergey, she began speaking the most elaborate Ancient Greek the linguist had ever heard, among other words that didn't really make much sense.

Maria and I agreed to not reveal this vital piece of information to the department. As much as it jeopardized our careers, we didn't want the girl to be put under a microscope. I still can't understand why we were so partial to this. It may as well have been a breakthrough in modern psycholinguistics, but it could have also just been the result of the girl having been raised by Greek speakers who simply had a particular dialect that resembled the dead tongue.We never found out why the girl spoke the peculiar language she did, but Maria continued her research in silence for as long as she could visit the girl officially.

Lila and I came close during the two weeks that the police had provided housing for her. I visited her daily and not because she was the subject of my investigation. The social workers who attended to her had been teaching her English, an endeavour she came to example keenness on quite quickly. As the days passed, she became more and more extrovert, which made me wonder if, in fact, the Grisham's had known Lila prior to her arrival at their front door that night. But that was a ludicrous idea, one I never revealed to anyone other than you now, Mr. Matheson. And of course, there was evidence to back up my suspicion.

Once the girl had begun to utter a few coherent phrases in English, I was assigned to continue questioning her, which was naturally far from successful. The girl we fondly called Lila was willing to attempt discussion, yet without revealing anything about herself. I found a certain genius in her during those days. I could sense she was wiser than she was letting on.

When the police department could no longer offer further housing for the girl and since no relative had come forth to claim her, Lila was sent off to St. Mary's Orphanage in Finsbury. I opted to visit her often, checked her progress, and reminded her that I was still there for her if she needed me. She began to practice her English extensively and I was stunned to have her greet me in a lovely Londoner's accent each time I visited. It made my heart soar to see her get along so well with other kids. Yet something was still burdening my mind. The case of little Lila was attended to, yet not resolved.

That's when I began to replay the testimonial recordings.

Macy Grisham's testimony was almost identical to her husband's. I thought little of it until a few words caught my attention. Here is the excerpt I am referring to:

_"Well, I gave her her bath, scrubbed her well, I even gave her a little rubber duck to play with which belonged to m_ _y granddaughter; she had left it_ _here on her last holiday. She loved that rubber duck, that's why I want her to take it with her...to remember us. She was quite active and jumpy, no frown on her face, as if she was in a home she knew too well. When she was all pampered up, I put her in a nightgown and put her to bed. The poor little darling looked like she needed a good rest._ _I kept that rag of hers in a safe place, because I knew the police would ask for it, inspector._ _"_

Both David and Macy Grisham refer to how the girl was 'excited' or 'active' and 'jumpy' and that all of sudden, she 'seemed tired'. To me, this sounded like a sudden lack in scenario. My father always used to tell me that if a story ends with someone leaving or falling asleep, then half the story is missing. I couldn't help but to suspect the elderly couple of hiding something.

Then there was the rubber duck, which Lila was so keen on playing with. It took me at least an hour to get her to touch a rubber ball and a plush cat at the station.

The case was left cold, as was I, and I was forbidden by my superiors to re-open it even if it wasn't closed per se. I had to look into it further and that's when I decided to visit the Grisham couple again. This was a month after their initial testimonials. I drove up to the Salisbury area to meet with them unofficially - secretly. I made a phone-call to them first and they agreed to see me.

Upon my arrival at the farm, I met with no one but pigs and chickens. David and Macy Grisham had simply disappeared. At first, I presumed they had encountered some health issue and had to leave. I contacted a friend at the department and asked him to track them down, which was quite difficult. It turned out, they weren't registered at any hospital or institution, nor had they used a Visa which we could have tracked down, nor was their old shabby farm-truck missing from the shed. I waited and waited until it was approximately 7:00 pm and the skies were dark. I had been there for three hours.

And all of sudden, the most extraordinary thing occurred. As I was sitting on a stool outside the farmhouse, a flash of light pervaded my surroundings, lighting up the whole area. It was too bright and too blue in colour to be deemed lightning and it did cause my eyes to squint and hurt. If I wasn't mistaken, it was accompanied by a thud, or rather a sound that resembled a beat, much like an amplified heart-beat; it even caused the animals to dissent in grunts and moans. For some reason, I felt it derived from the corn field, which extended from the front barn all the way to the next field, which lay six-hundred yards away.

I unsheathed my revolver and cautiously moved towards the field that was now dark in taint again, as if nothing had happened. In one sense, it could have been some kind of explosion, so I made for the perimeter slowly, my flashlight parallel to the gun. As soon as I had scanned my surroundings, I called out "Is anyone here?" only to receive no answer. I seeped through the plantation slowly, my gun ready. I knew there had to be someone else in the field with me as I could faintly hear their footsteps. And then, I saw them: Mr. and Mrs. Grisham walking through the towering cornstalks.

I was flabbergasted. What was the elderly couple doing at that hour in the middle of the field? They were moving towards the house in a rather awkward manner, whispering and scrutinizing their surroundings as if not wanting to be seen. Their behaviour flared my suspicion even more. In that instance, I knew I had been doubting them all that time for a reason. I was right; there was something not normal about these people.

I initially opted to wait for them at the doorway of their house, but then I deemed it best to just follow them. After all, there was something weird about them appearing only after the explosion of light, which was another aspect I was willing to investigate. What was that blue light, I wondered, and how were these two elders affiliated with it? I assumed they were in some way..

I tagged along behind them, keeping a good few yards' distance away and hiding behind the cornstalks when I had to. I watched them move through the field and casually enter the house, as if they had simply returned from their local groceries' store. Once they were in, I snuck up to the side of the house, cloaked myself among a few trees and observed them through the window. What made me shudder with panic was not the elderly couple's overall behaviour and suspicious walk through the field that night, but something much less tangible, something rather of the supernatural.

I remember seeing a fierce blue light emanating from within the house only for a mere few seconds, a light identical to the one that had previously beamed throughout the whole field with the accompanying pounding noise. I knew the elderly couple was up to no good. Furthermore, I could tell they were fidgeting with something in their hands, perhaps the source of the blue light. I fled towards the window, tapping on it so that they would realize I had seen them.

Naturally, they both froze. I then proceeded to the door to meet with Mr.Grisham's pale face.

"Sir," I greeted him.

"Inspector Borland, I-"

"We were supposed to meet at four, Mr. Grisham. Please step aside."

I barged into the house like a trespasser, but both of them were too shocked to utter a word or hinder me in any way. Mrs. Grisham stood aside the kitchen table, an odd grey stone poised on the wooden surface in front of her.

"Mrs. Grisham," I greeted sternly, "Could either of you explain why you weren't here at four o'clock for our meeting? Please feel free to elaborate on why you were in the field instead."

Mr. Grisham approached his wife slowly. I could tell he felt cornered, like a little child who had been caught for stealing candy. "We may as well tell her, Macy," he whispered in a wrinkly frown. "There's no hiding from it now."

"Hiding from what?" I snapped.

In retort to my question, the old lady pushed the little grey stone towards my direction. "This," she said.

I moved my gloved hand over the peculiar object. It was a plain grey stone, one that resembled a large pebble, if anything else. Tiny peculiar blue granules were dispersed around it, which I initially thought nothing of. "What is this?" I questioned.

They both exchanged looks. "We...don't know," Mrs. Grisham responded. "We just found it in the field. It was shining a blue light, just like the one you saw earlier. When we touched it, the light dimmed. We believe it may have something to do with the girl..."

"I'll take it then," I said, wearily grasping it in my clutch. "That will be all, Mr. and Mrs. Grisham. But I will be back. That, you can count on."

The elderly couple stood inexorably behind me as I left the cottage. I could feel their glares penetrating my back.

I departed from the Grisham's farm with a deep fear in my heart that night. I knew I had to take the odd object to a lab unofficially, but that was not my primary concern. What befuddled and troubled me was that I too felt that the odd stone had something to do with Lila, and I could not explain why. It was the strangest gut feeling I had ever felt in my life.

Once having received the lab results, I was faced with an appraisal that stated the following words:

_...unidentified material..._

It was a good thing I had entrusted the results to a friend who had sworn to keep the case under a confidential scope. She did, however, express her frustration to me on the day of the results' delivery.

After receiving the results from the lab that morning, I could have sworn a black car had been tailing me until I reached home. It was my day off so I did some groceries, met with my brother and nephew in a café, and took the dog out for a walk in the park. For each and every turn I took, I felt like I was being followed. I noticed the same black car at least three times that day, to a point where I believed I was clearly just hallucinating. After all, who would be stalking me? And why?

I knew I had to take the stone to Lila. If anyone was to have the answers to where it came from and what it was, she was. I utterly, unreservedly knew she had to answers.

That Sunday, I visited the orphanage in Finchley. I was taken to the playground where the girl had been playing. She greeted me with a tight hug, which brought warmth to every cell in my body and peace to my mind. Lila was the only one who could accomplish that. I asked her to come with me to her room where we could be alone. We sat on the bed and I asked her how she was being treated. Again, I was impressed at how her English was progressing.

"Lila, tell me, where is your home?" I remember asking.

She looked at me somewhere between neutrality and sorrow. "I...I can't remember."

"Lila...at least try. What about your mummy and daddy?"

"What is a mummy and daddy?"

I knew that this informal interrogation would end just like any other, so I gave it a rest. Mutely, I revealed the stone from my pocket and gave it to her. It just felt right.

"I have a feeling you know what this is," I said, noticing how fixed her glare suddenly was. She didn't utter a word, and I felt she didn't have to. "You can keep it," I said. "You don't have to tell me anything. It's alright."

What led me to say those words, I am unaware of to this day. It was as though a spell had been cast upon me. Why wouldn't I, an inspector of the CID, look into the matter further? Why did I not ask her about the stone? When my mind finally wrapped around those thoughts, which was months later, I revisited the orphanage only to find that the girl we called Lila had been transferred to another orphanage. I was addressed with quite impolite looks that day when making the inquiry at St. Mary's, as though I wasn't entitled to know about the girl's whereabouts.

Luckily, I tracked her down a few days later, only to find she was taken in by a temporary foster family. It was too awkward at the time to approach the family and ask to speak to the girl in private, since the case had been officially closed and I was left with no excuse for meeting her. I eventually lost contact, but not because it was my intention. Lila's case still burdened my mind for the ensuing years. In 1998, I found out about her adoption months before in 1997, which again, did not soothe my mind, as she had been taken to the United States and to a life she wasn't accustomed to; the life of an actress's daughter – Ashley Mason's daughter. She'd be raised by babysitters and housemaids and would again miss out on what it means to have two parents, a mummy and a daddy.

I kept looking back on Lila's case year after year, even though accessing the files over and over again made my colleagues at the department wonder. Soon enough, I had run out of excuses, so I had the files printed and kept them in a locked drawer at my home-desk. I kept Lila's photo in the drawer by my bedside, which strangely seemed to comfort me during times of great solitude. It was in 2000 when my engagement broke off and my life was back to where it started. That was around the same time I realized I had a contact in the States who I could ask a favour of.

My contact was a private detective based in Los Angeles, but for obvious reasons, I cannot share his personal details with you. He was able to gather information for me when I asked him to. So every single year on the day of her appearance, March 21st, I'd ask for information about Lila. Insane, it must sound now. As I was led to understand, she grew up quite normally for a girl adopted by a Hollywood star, but her life as I found out, did get rough after the death of Ashley Mason during her teens. Of course, you know all this, you practically grew up with her.

I understand your reference to secret agencies who may have wanted to harm her. I am sure you have accumulated your information after all these years, so there is no point in me offering you a biased opinion on the matter. As you claim, you did, in fact, save her from one of these mystery-men in the past, and I believe you did. But I cannot offer any further speculations on who these people were, only that they still _are_. Mr. Matheson, please do not think little of them. People in such places are capable of many things. The worldwide governments may have fallen – and I believe Lila's coming to this world was somewhat responsible for that – but I do also believe that these dark forces, if I may call them so, have not exactly perished. They will try and always do manage to find a dark withering place to infest, a place wherein they can control and grow to the might they aspire to by trampling over those in the bottom of the pyramid.

But the bottom of the pyramid is always greater and denser than the peak, Mr. Matheson. It is below all others, but at the same time, stronger than all the higher ranks put together. That is what Lila's legacy has revealed to us.

I never saw that strange black car again after placing the stone within Lila's little palms. I never ran into any other problems, nor did I complicate the case further. I did, however, opt to visit the Grisham's in 2013, but the house was empty. Tidy, but empty. I looked the elders' names up online, only to find that they were both listed under the obituary section of a local newspaper, both having died on the same day during a car accident. At least, that is what was stated in the obituary.

And now I must bring this letter to a close, Mr. Matheson. I do appreciate the time you put into reading this diatribe. I have more to tell you and will in my following letter.

Before I leave you with nothing but words, I'd like to reveal one last piece of information that I think may interest you. Unfortunately, I cannot elaborate much on it at present, but here goes:

My nephew Matthew took me on a helicopter ride three months ago as a birthday present. He said he would take me to all the crop circles that had been found in various parts of central England; of course, you know how popular crop-circles are these days. We reached the Salisbury area and even flew over the Grisham farm. Guess what we saw as we flew over the cornfield.

My kindest regards,

Catherine Borland

#

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**Episode 4**

**QUINN KERRY**

**(** **Transcribed Interview with the New Age Guru, Bali 2031** **)**

It is May the 5th, year 2031 and this is the interview of Quinn Kerry. Mr. Kerry, we are now recording. Feel free to begin whenever you like.

Yes, um, thank you for coming all this way to Bali just to hear me out, Mr. Matheson. Whe-where should I start?

Let's begin with you – and how you first met Lila.

Ahh, well, it was in the year 2013 on August the 1st, I remember the date because it was my 37thbirthday. I was a fit man back then and I still had my hair in long honey-blonde locks and prided myself on my muscular figure and overall wellbeing – which may seem odd due to the fact that I'm bald and a tad overweight now. But there was a time when I was a real character, actually. A Psychologist-turned-New Ager with a face that everyone was acquainted with, either via my online channels or TV shows or documentaries and such. I was, as you may recall, a motivational speaker and an advocate for the arising new awareness on our planet, as well as the renowned "Change In to Change Out" philosophy that I had promoted for years through my books and seminars.

And yes, it was a time of change, but people were still unaware of how to attract that change into their lives. I was their wayshower, their "guru" if you like, the one who taught them how to manifest the success they desired, how to attract wealth, beauty, possessions, happiness... You remember all that Law of Attraction rave at the time, right?

Well, at that time my career was at sky-high, having exceeded all my initial expectations for it. A lot of people those days thought they knew how to manifest success, even if they weren't putting their concepts to the test themselves. A lot of conmen thrived in that era, that's what I like to call it now. I can't say I was a conman in anyway, I was genuine in my trade.I had a few postgraduate degrees and experiences to support my credibility. Ihad majored a dual degree in Psychology and Life Coaching,and as soon as I graduated, I spent a great few years of my life travelling; living in ashrams in India, being trained by Kahunas in Hawaii and shamans in Peru and Bolivia... I then deemed it wise to share all the knowledge that I had accumulated and the way I did that was by using the internet, you know, how original, right? Well, at first, that is. The TV proposals came in later.

I self-published in the beginning, then got noticed by traditional publishing houses and within months I was the next big thing after Deepak Chopra and Wayne Dyer. Ihad it all, it seemed, and I was proud to be making all the money I did via my expertise. Being the mentor of personas such asTV hosts, celebrities, even politicians was what built my reputation and put an extra couple of digits on my salary. Who would say no to that, right?

Yet...it wasn't until Lila came through the door that I began to question if I truly was happy in my life; if I really practiced what I preached, if I really was the living example of "Change In to Change Out". You see, she was sent over to my house in Beverly Hills as a birthday present from my manager Max Riley, you should know him, the celebrity manager. Max was, of course, a dear friend prior to becoming my manager and promoter, and would often make fun of me by means of keeping my feet on the ground. "Quinn, you don't know jack-shit about the future, I'll send you over someone who does." That's what he told me that day he called to wish me a happy 37th.

That day, it must have been around...four in the afternoon, a young blondein a flowy purple dress walked through my door. Max had already notified my housemaid, Carla, so I found the girl in my living room waiting for me as soon as I had finished my afternoon yoga session. When I walked in and saw her on the couch, her long whitish-blond hair draping over her shoulder and those big stellar-blue eyes staring right at me, I gaped.

"What are you doing here? Who are you? Did Carla let you in?" I asked her frantically. She introduced herself as Lila Star - not Mason - and then explained to me that she was a psychic medium who had been employed to give me a tarot reading for my birthday, along with some other 'soul readings', as she called them. Not wanting to send her away, I accepted Max's gift and sat opposite her in my sweaty yoga apparel.

We got acquainted, Carla served her some tea and then Lila began spreading out the cards. "So, you're the best tarot reader in Beverly Hills," Carla remarked as she came to serve her. Lila reluctantly cracked a smile without removing her glare from the cards. There was something...I don't know...humble about her presence, not like any other girl I had seen at her age in the area. And she must have been in her early twenties at that time.

I observed her closely, being trained in the art of divination myself in the past.However I...I hadn't seen a person read the tarot like she did. She had her own techniques, even her own deck which was quite fascinating and all based on archetypical astronomy. She was...silent, austere, and yet gentle. For a moment, it felt as though she wasn't really getting much pleasure out of her work, in spite of her obvious talent.

In the reading, she told me that I wasn't living by the philosophy I promoted and prided in having... She spoke of greed and how I had succumbed to it, how I had molded the contentment of my life simply around the fact that I had money pouring in daily...Money, not true bliss. And she was right. My Beverly Hills villa, my expensive car, my exotic lifestyle; they were not the things I had ever really pursued in my life. Starting off as a new, radical psychologist, my goal was to aid others and to contribute to the betterment of the collective human awareness. But fame got in the way of it all...seemingly in a positive way, at first. And then all these possessions began to pile up on me and I, as a new brand name in the modern self-development movement, wasn't the slightest unpleased about it. I just let it evolve...I really entertained it.

That reading....wow. Lila even knew about why I broke up with my first wife, Linda, wh-who had cheated on me with a friend and colleague of mine. She knew about my abuse as a child by my stepfather, how my mother raised me in poverty until I started working at the age of fourteen, and how I had my uncles as a father-figures, who were both in the health industry by the way. Had it not been for them, I guess I never would've been cut out for uni or anything serious in life. Sh-sheknew all that...she knew me inside out...without knowing me at all. I was astounded by all the details she revealed an-and all the insight she had offered. It was like talking to a friend who really wanted to help out and who really knew my problems – problems I had never really confronted until then.

I found myself burying my face in my hands and rubbing my watery eyes, telling her "You're right, you are so right..." No one had ever brought me to tears like that. It was as if this young lady had opened a gateway of self-awareness for me. As if she was the mirror for the reflection I hadn't realized I had. Until then, I thought I was a perfect man, a role model, a real pro at what I did, but...I wasn't.

Moving onto the core of the tarot reading, the part where she would predict my future, she told me that my life would change abruptly, quickly, and that all my possessions would be gone overnight. This would happen within days, she said! I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or take it seriously and thus be warned. She spoke softly and deeply like a sage and-and I could feel the truth her words bore, so I couldn't mock her prediction. But it was also so...it was too much to think that I'd lose everything in a matter of days! "You will not be the same man," she said, "but you will be the right man." Amazing how I can recall her every word even after the passage of eighteen years. She explained that I'd be living in another continent within the next two weeks, in a place that will revive my heart and soul, but not my body. Truly, I have been living in Indonesia since,a place that has always called to me, a place of karma. I am happier than ever, living with a woman whom I love with every cell in my body, I am free of my attachments, my phobias, and weaknesses, yet...within ten years of living in Bali, my body was afflicted withcancer. A cancer which endured for seven years, with on-and-off chemo, regular flights to China for treatment, and abstract responses by my doctors, who deep down knew I was never going to be fully cured. And yet,I cured it on my own a few months ago...with a little help.

Oh, what a magnificent and captivating person Lila was. Yet, that day in my living room, I could sense something about her that hinted fear. The young lady was afraid of something. I recall accidentally bumping my hand into hers while attempting to pick up a napkin that had fallen from the table, and that she drew back as if frightened of me rubbing against her. I knew that fear. I had seen it before; in me, as a child.

"What's wrong?" I asked her. "You can tell me. You know my story and you know what I've been through. You saw it all in the cards." I can tell an abused person when I see one, Mr. Matheson. I told her that we must have been through the same ordeals in life. At that, she nodded, eyes descending.

Unfortunately, and as I could sense, she was unwilling to open up, so we continued with the reading. When we had finished, she left without drinking the rest of her tea. I could tell that my words had revived bad memories for her.

Upon her leave, she turned towards me and said, "It would be nice to talk again."

I simply replied that I was there, had she ever needed someone to talk to. I told her it was my profession, but that I was offering my service as a friend.

Two days later, I received a phone call. It was her, asking to see me. "I sense you are part of my journey," she said, "but I cannot understand why."

"I can sense you are a part of mine, too," I reassured her.

We opted to meet at a café on the boulevard. She was wearing tight jeans and a white shirt that day, nothing like the long draping tarot-reader-dress she was wearing when she visited me. I remarked about her simplicity in dress code and she casually said that those were her 'work clothes' and that she didn't mean to prove anything by wearing them all the time.

A more...casual, simplistic Lila was revealed to me that day in the café. She was not only down-to-earth, but talkative too, as if some kind of veil had been lifted off her. What was, however, slightly unusual was the fact that she kept on peering around beneath her big black sunglasses, as if not wanting to be seen. And to think she was not a famous face like I was back then. I mean, she had been on local TV, but I doubt her concerns involved a paparazzi invasion. No, no...she looked too scared for that.

We began talking and she said something around the lines of "I don't know if I can trust you, but I have to tell someone." I explained to her that I was a professional psychologist and accredited counselor who could listen and help resolve her problem. And that's when she took her first baby-steps into opening up.

-takes a sip of water-

Ah, now where was I? Oh, right, her story. Lila began to unfold like a flower in bloom, telling me about how she grew up and how her mother's partner had raised her after her passing. Between the age of seventeen and that time, Lila had been living with a man who abused her and exploited her for her talent.

You mean Ashley Mason's manager, Kyle Harrison?

Yeah, that guy...They had been together, I suppose. But he was there like a pest, feeding off of her and her adopted daughter. I read a couple of years ago that he was killed off by some kind of mafia brotherhood; goes to show what kind of man he was.

You see...when Ashley Mason died, all her inheritance passed onto her niece, the model Lana Ardale, not her foster daughter Lila, nor her partner. Harrison was obviously distraught by this transaction and tried to claim at least the house he had been occasionally sharing with her, which he did in the end. I suppose he had friends in high places, lawyers and such. Lana Ardale, on the other hand, as you may recall, did end up close to death a few days after the will statement was released. She had been attacked by a stranger in a full face hood, was thrown off a bridge and nearly died. It was all over the news those days. Makes you wonder, right? Luckily, the girl survived but was in a coma for well over a month. Lila knew Lana well and told me how she wasn't even allowed to visit the girl, who was practically her cousin.

Wasn't allowed by whom?

Harrison, of course.The whole case was tainted as confidential and I don't think it had to do with paparazzi harassment. But Mr. Matheson, you may still be able to find her. Lila told me she abandoned the modeling scene after that and moved, I don't recall where... you see, the girl had a handicap after the accident and never returned to her profession. I had heard about it myself from my manager Max, who personally knew the Ardale family.

So...with Lana out of the way, Harrison eventually claimed his right over the house and he also ended up with custody of Lila. I'm not sure whether he pursued it or not. I suppose he was onto her...secret and that's why he opted to take advantage of her.

Secret?

Lila...as I'm sure you know was a very special person. She had, I guess you could call them powers...she was a natural intuitive and a healer. Harrison was aware of her supernatural attributes. With his client's death, he wouldn't be making any more money off of Ashley so Lila was the next big revenue source for him. Lila was a teen at the time and was left with no money and no parent, but a man who abused her talent as a psychic to make a quick buck...and even abused her as I later on verified.I came to confirm it after noticing bruises on Lila's arm – and you really can't hide bruises like that in the summer, can you? Anyway, he lured her into the psychic medium world, made a product out of her, turned her into a female Yuri Geller, even put her on TV. Lila told me all this, without naming Harrison at first and without even removing her sunglasses during our whole discussion. She said she had been put in the business she was in to make money for him and that she had been blackmailed to do it.

How had she been blackmailed exactly?

Harrison...he had stolen something from her. A stone – a special stone; one that fueled her with energy as I later on found out. I'm sure you've heard of it too, Mr. Matheson.

I'd like to hear your take on it.

Yes...Well, that day in the café, Lila only revealed the abstract blackmailing issue. She told me she wanted to go to university like a normal girl and study Astrophysics and Aerospace Engineering, but she was tied down. She wanted to somehow find a way to study abroad,preferably Russia. She had even been learning the Russian language on her own, online. But she was broke. Harrison would reap all the income she'd make from her readings and TV presentations. She told me she tried to run away several times, but he'd always send his men to find her. Moreover, she claimed he always had his eye on a necklace she wore, ever since she was a little girl – she explained nothing of it at the time, except that it was the only thing she had to remind her of her true family. Harrison managed to take the necklace from her and the stone that hung from it, threatening that he'd only give it back once she'd provide him with sixty-million dollars in cash! How ludicrous! Poor Lila was thus playing along with the whole tarot-reader profession for the money. It was a charade in a way – not that she wasn't gifted and all, but she was doing it out of mere force. She said she pressed herself every day to get out of bed and make at least five hundred dollars from clients. She was determined to get the necklace back, for whatever reasons. And that's how the conversation ended that day. I found out more about the stone the next time we met.

You met her frequently?

Yes, in that particular timeline. We must have gotten together maybe four or five times. I had offered to help her. You see, she had given me an AHA moment, she had changed my life and mentality forever. I owed it to her. And she needed someone to talk to. She was onthe verge of committing suicide, I could tell.

The third time we met was at my house. I told her she would be safe staying the night in the guest room, but she didn't want to jeopardize my life,as I recall her saying. I was, however, already jeopardizing it myself, voluntarily that is. The more she spoke to me about the stone and its powers, the more familiar it sounded. Specifically, it reminded me of a stone one of my clients wore and had been wearing for three years... His name: UbertoMilltan, a man of a high place. A dark place.

I always had a hunch Milltan was not of the norm, not a man who walked in life without an agenda. A man with secrets, possibly a figure tied to a governmental conspiracy as we used to see in certain films and TV series. He worked for the government, that was clear, but I wasn't aware of his position or ranking – he'd never reveal his exact line of work. I kind of looked into him when I first took him on as a client but...I'd never found anything, not even a profile with his name on it. I was even considering employing a detective to get some info on him but then I thought, nah, there's no point; this guy pays me well, no matter who he is.

He would visit me in a long sleek black limo, always accompanied by two bodyguards who pillared his every move and a chauffeur that would wait for him outside for hours on end. He'd wear the finest of the finest designer clothes, always a black suit with a dark shirt and an even darker tie, a crimson handkerchief constantly peeking out of his front pocket like a trademark. He was a plump, portly man of sixty, and he had a very superior disposition to him. His grayish ebony hair was always combed back, like hair that tried to lengthen but never would, and his eyes were an obscure dark greyish-green. A frightening man at times, yet with a dark charm, like a retired actor of classical noir movies. He looked down on anything and anyone he had the capacity to, but nonetheless strived to bring more spirituality into his life. That's where I came in, as the calm to his storm, trying to make him a better person, even if that only meant making him more successful as he'd frequently request. We used to work on a lot of intent exercises together, cleansing, abundance, and wealth-provoking activities, stuff like that. I suspected he may have been a CIA superior, but I was in no position to find out had I wanted to. He may have been something darker, nameless. Something no one spoke about.

He had the flair of an aristocrat at times. He was traditional as well as progressive, and a man whose soul I was too daunted to attempt to peer into...and believe me, I can scan a person's soul if I choose to. But I couldn't...not with Milltan. It was as if he didn't even have a soul, just a black hole that would devour anything and anyone who attempted to get close to him.He was,however, a client and paid well as I'd previously mentioned,so I gradually surpassed my initial distrust towards the man.

And the stone...the small grey stone with the shiny blue speckles around it. Oh, he was obsessed with it. I gave him a healing session one day and he disobeyed my instructions to remove all jewelry. We almost picked a quarrel over it. That's when I realized there was something about the odd rock, something he didn't want to reveal nor part with. In my practice, I often use crystals as healing vortexes around the client's body, so I know my crystals! I know every single name of every single semi-precious stone on the planet. And this one was not one of them.

Back to Lila... I told her about Milltan and his odd stone. I mean, the evidence was too overwhelming, it had to be the stone Lila had lost. He even acquired it the same year Lila claimed she had lost it, a stone that was exactly how she had described it. She was apparently thankful for the information that I disclosed and was willing to open up more after that.

The last time we discussed, she told me the stone was not ordinary rock and that it came from another planet. She didn't really explain how she had it in her possession in the first place and I didn't force her to, either. She did, however, elaborate on what the stone does.

And what does it do?

She described it as many things: a healing tool, an energy generator, a warming device, medicine...I asked her if it had a name and she said "The name cannot be spoken in English". I didn't ask more. I put one and one together and realized that this stone of extraterrestrial origin, which was said to be the only family heirloom she had, must have simply meant that Lila was....not an earthly human, just as your books describe, Mr. Matheson. And I could tell that this stone was very dear to her. Her eyes welled up every time she mentioned it. I had to do something, I had to help her...

That evening, we devised a plan, Lila and I: I would have my assistant call Milltan and have him come over for a free session, as a token of gratitude to one of my supposedly most favored clients. Milltan would surely take up the bargain – and always did.

That was also the last time I saw dear Lila... We both knew that our parting point had come. I,of course, couldn't bear to have her go back home to that perverted man, to bear that thought within my conscious. Lila didn't deserve the life he had carved out for her. She didn't deserve the maltreatment she had befallen.

I had to do it...I had to give her the money to go to Russia. It was nothing for me, I was a wealthy man at the time. Thirty thousand dollars was nothing.

That sounds like more than just ticket money.

I wanted her to have an education. To find an apartment, enroll ina university, and have a normal life. She also said she wanted to get as far away from California as she could. At first, she told me, she would try to get in touch with one of her relatives in the US, I think. Then she wanted to go to England, because that's where she was born. She had family there, grandparents. It was as if she was following a plan, adhering to a certain schedule it seemed... She said she'd put the money aside for when the time came to go to Russia. I suppose Harrison knew she wanted to go there, so she didn't want to make that fast a move. Perhaps, she even wanted to get back at him before moving abroad...well, maybe that's what I would've done!

I remember giving her the check that night and embracing her, as if she were my little sister. She thanked me over and over again, crying. "We'll get your stone back, Lila," I kept telling her. And within a few days, I did. The plan was to send the stone to her via courier to one of her friend's houses at the time. I couldn't risk having her back come to the villa after...well after what I had planned to do.

The next day, my assistant made the call to Milltan, giving him some crap about winning a complimentary chakra alignment healing session.

He came over to my Healing Room two days later. My villa was rather spacious, so I kept my work in the rear of the house and mainly in a large mirror-encircled room filled with sit-on cushions I called it the Inside-Out Ashram. This peculiar part of the house led to smaller rooms, and one of them was the Healing Room.

He strolled in like a man of authority, his two bodyguards on each side of him, who eventually remained outside the room. I had told my assistant Alicia to make it clear to him that this session would last longer than usual, in the hopes of him sending his driver away. Luckily, the driver simply dropped him off and left that day, so the first part of our plan had worked.

I was quite edgy that day, but I knew this was my mission...I had to get that stone.

"What's this free session about?" he asked quite suspiciously in that deep eerie voice of his. I explained to him that I now offered free healing sessions to my most favored clients, simply out of the gratitude that I had for our chronic transactions. He accepted the answer, without really expressing his appreciation. "I was hoping for more of a wealth and abundance empowerment," he said, and I assured him we'd get into that too, since he requested it – again, for free.

I asked him to lie on the session couch to calm down before the actual alignment procedure. Luckily, he didn't realize my own two bodyguards were crouched behind it, awaiting my command.

I lit some of the most intense incense I had, the kind that could knock you out if you'd have no windows open. I then put on the regular music I used in meditative sessions like these, just to make him feel relaxed and unsuspicious. "Close your eyes and take deep breaths as I've taught you," I said to him, while concocting a meditation oil for him.

I soon approached him and asked him to move to the massage table, take off his clothes, and lie down there in his underwear. I then moved over to give him a head massage, a technique I use to open up the client's Crown chakra and thus make him more receptive to cosmic energy flow. I went on with some soothing words that I'd often recite during the meditations, as my hand slowly slid around his neck muscles. Instinctively, his own hand grabbed mine as soon as my fingertips touched the chain that the stone hung from. "Not the necklace!" he barked at me, eyes open now.

I assured him that I wouldn't be taking the necklace from him, but I told him he'd have to take it off sooner or later and that his clinging to an ornament was a lesson in detachment that had to eventually be taught. At this, he cringed. But surprisingly, he removed it and left it on the small side-table beside the couch. I believe his ego was bruised that day. He wanted to come off as a spiritual man when he could, and it obviously hurt him when I implied that he was attached to possessions. "Don't touch it, though," he ordered and lay back down.

He shut his eyes and I continued the massage. I thensmothered his obese body with the oil and placed small crystalson top of each chakra point. I believe he was close to falling asleep when I turned towards the back of the couch and signaled to my men. One of them grabbed the necklace and replaced it with another 'fake' one.

When the session was over approximately two and a half hours later, he woke up as if from a trance. "Where am I – what happened?" he started mumbling and I explained the procedure to him, convincing him that he was now awakened on another level of consciousness and that these were the side-effects of it. He got dressed and left the Healing Room rather distraught. He did, of course, remember to put on the necklace.

When he and his guards exited the house, I heard a cry of wrath coming from the entrance. It was Milltan, who was banging on the door screaming my name. "Kerry!!!! Open up, you bastard!!!" I could hear him growl.

I didn't expect him to realize the fake stone so soon. I told Carla to stay away from the door and within minutes, his bodyguards were firing at it, blasting it open. I had my men ready and we were waiting for them. This now meant war.

They finally barged in, knocking down the front door. A fat man in a suit was running towards me as I stood before him in the hallway. He had his hands in a strangling position. Thanks to my years of martial arts training, I effortlessly moved away, conveying Milltanto sink onto the floor. "You piece of scum!!!" he yelled, getting up again. "What have you done to my stone????"

I mocked him, telling him I had no idea what he was talking about. But he continued charging at me. I-I could hear his guards fighting with my men in the background and soon a gunshot was heard... Carla's screeches echoed from the back of the house. I kicked Milltan inthe stomach and then elbowed him in the headso that his face met with the floor again. I ran over to my men only to see one of Milltan's guards lying down unconscious, while the other one was shot in the chest, blood seeping through the mosaic lines on the floor. One of my men was injured, his head streaking blood. I told my other bodyguard, who didn't have a scratch on him, to take him to the recovery room where all our pharmaceuticals were kept. I now had three bodies lying in my foyer; one dead, two unconscious. Carla came running out of the kitchen, only to start screaming against her palms at the sight. I told her to hurry and call Sal, our gardener.

"Wha-what do you want Sal for??" she said in a face of terror. I didn't have time to calm her down and instead I told her "We have to dispose of the body". I couldn't think of anything else at the time.

"No, no!!!" Carla started crying.

"Ju-Just do it!!!" I called back to her...I really...I didn't know what else to do. I had never seen a dead person before.

Soon, Sal came inside, a pale and dreaded look on his thin wrinkly face, and together we pulled the dead one out through the back. Carla came up with a mop, picking up the blood that trailed behind the dead bodyguard. I then came back to pick up one of the guns and noticed that the other guard was grunting, almost revived again. I pressed the gun to his head and threatened to kill him, my foot pressed against his torso keeping him down. "Leave now silently or I bury you with your comrade," I said.

The man opened his bleeding mouth. "You won't get away with this," he said, spitting blood at me.He then kicked me in the lower abdomen and flung back up. My weapon fell. We wrestled for a while and I got hurt pretty bad. To make a long story short, I plucked my fingers in certain meridian points as is done in Kung Fu, and it partially disabled him. But this was a very large man and he managed to start moving again... I then reached for the fallen gun, and pointed it at him, my body too sore to fight him off again. "We'll come back for you, Kerry!!" he shouted, looming at me again.

I then realized that, if I'd let him go, I'd have the government on my tail. I'd either be a wanted man or dead within a few hours. So I did it. I pulled the trigger, planting a perfect hole in the guard's head. I didn't feel too proud about that either, but it was self-defense.

Before I could come to my senses, wipe the blood from my nose, and realize what I had done, I felt a weight around my neck pulling me back. It was Milltan. He threw me to the ground, hitting me and pounding me as hard as he could. I started calling out my guard, who came running; I simply had no more strength to fight back. He pulled the weight of Milltanoff me and dragged him to the back of the house. "You will pay for this, Kerry!!! Mark my words, you will die!!!" the bruised fat man called out.

Another dead body lay before me and Sal came towards it, acknowledging his job. "Sir, how did this happen? What is going on?" he said, shaking. I explained that we were attacked by them and that there was nothing we could do now. "Bury them when dusk falls, and bury them deep," I ordered him.

"Why not call the police?" old Sal inquired. I had to briefly explain to him that these men ranked higher than the police. They were the government and there was no saving us had we reported it.

I went to the bathroom to wash the blood spatter off me and then proceeded to the back of the house. My guard had tied up Milltan to a chair and locked him in one of our inventory rooms, which was much like a walk-in cupboard. We left him in in there until we could decide what to do with him.

That night, I asked my uninjured guard to come to the room with me. We brought Milltan a plate of food, which he kicked back at us, and I attempted to get some information from him. I asked him to tell me why the stone was so important to him, but all he'd spit back at me were phrases like "You don't know what I am capable of" and "You don't know who I am". As he continued threatening me with murder, I noticed his facial figures had sort of...altered. Wrinkles had appeared where there weren't any wrinkles before. The bags under his eyes had swelled even more; his face was sagging. He was getting old!

My guard also noticed this and started nudging me. "Sir, what the.." he kept saying. I then realized – the stone had somehow sustained his youth. I threw the ball at him. "So this stone keeps you young, does it?"

"What do you know about the stone, you con-artist??" he growled in a much elderly voice.

"I know that it's not from Earth," I said. "And I know you've stolen it."

Then, he uttered the words that have haunted me ever since – the words that got me into reading your books, Mr. Matheson. "We have known about these stones for millennia," he said. And while I finally deemed him to be opening up, he stopped, just like that. I kept on asking him who "they" were. No answer...We kept him in the cupboard all that night.

The next day, I had my assistant send the stone to Lila's friend, I believe her name was Emily Sharpe – another psychic. I only ever heard from her about three years later, when she was already in Russia. She had sent me a postcard of Moscow with nothing but the words "Thank You" on the back. I knew it was her... I was already in Bali at the time, but my mail was redirected to my assistant, who was the only one who knew where I had moved, or actually fled to, after the incident... And that's my story, Mr. Matheson.

And what about Milltan?

That, I can only reveal to you unofficially, Mr. Matheson.

Unofficial it is then.

It-It turned out...he had an internal hemorrhage from the fight, Mr. Matheson... He died after twenty-four hours.

....You realize that thiswhole interview is a confession in and of itself, Mr. Kerry.

An unofficial one...

Of course. And I have promised to keep it that way. Had there still been laws and governments and police, I may have been considered an accomplice for keeping it undisclosed, you know. Then again...I still have no intention of telling anyone.

Thank you, Mr. Matheson.

So tell me now...how did you cure the cancer?

As I said, I haven't seen Lila since 2013 and only received a postcard from her in 2017. But someone who knew her did send me a small chip of the stone a few months ago. In the attached letter, he told me to boil it in warm water every day and drink the fluid. The rock never melted away, it just released a certain blue substance into the water. I drank the fluid for about a month and was cured, the tumor in my pharynx totally dissolved! After the treatment, this person told me that I had to pass the stone on to someone else who needed it and give them the same instructions.

And who was this person who sent the stone to you, Mr. Kerry?

His name was Alexei Penkin. I believe he is a Russian Aerospace Engineer.

You are right... He is the man who built the space shuttle that Lila managed to...evaporate in.

#

**Credits**

Written by

**Angie** **Droulias**

Producer

**Christian** **Jorda**

Executive Producer

**Manja** **Haensel**

Technical Director

**Baljeet** **Singh** **Kalsi**

Music

**Peter** **Nickalls**

Editorial

**Kate** **Teng**

Project Co – Director

**Adam** **Azani**

Art Director

**Abner** **Dumandan** **Jr**

Marketing

**Liliya** **Dimitrova**

Customer Support

**Erin Bell**

Voice over

**Eric Saint John**

Production Management

**Christian** **Jorda**

**Manja** **Haensel**

**Adam** **Azani**
