Corridors

An epic tale of friendship, discovery, survival; and, monsters.

                                   

                                          Corridors

         

                                                                A. J. Powell

When we were young, we didn't know the difference between what was real, and what was not. To us, everything was real.

Part 1
Mr. Noonan  July, 1937    

   A bird’s eye view of New York City from an airplane is stunning and inspiring. It occurs to him how much it reminds him of a cemetery. He inwardly shrugs his indifference at the thought. He didn't really care; he was just mildly amused. He felt it  fitting, on some level; the world was coming to an end, after all.

"When you wake out of a dream, does the dream end?" Mr. Noonan hears himself ask.
"No, it does not," a woman's voice replies. Then; "When a person leaves this life, do those who remain, cease to exist?" 
"Those who remain, cease to exist for the person who died," Noonan mentally voices his response.
"If you live long enough," she continues, "you begin to make sense of things. Revelations occur, and old things take on new meanings. You question your beliefs, and reflect on your ‘on again, off again’ relationship with god. And, despite fervent testimonials to the contrary, it becomes arguably apparent that god is not always merciful."

Noonan feels himself nodding in agreement.

"Most people are convinced that in the scheme of things, they matter," she voices. "I suppose that everyone matters to someone. But in the larger sense, do we really?"
"Of course we matter," Noonan hears himself reply. "Everyone matters."

"I'm not seeing it," she says.

" We're not here for nothing," he says.

"Why are you here, then?" she asks.

"Our plane crashed," Noonan, annoyed. "I don't want to be here."

(The sound of footsteps).

"Amelia, how did you get here?" Noonan asks, surprised. "I thought you were dead. And, what the hell is that noise?" (The loud, reverberating clang of hammering on hollow metal).

Presently, consciousness reels Mr. Noonan out of sleep. He's surprised that he actually slept. Passed out is probably more accurate. And, Amelia is not there. There's a faint glow amenating from somewhere, but he is almost in total darkness. He suddenly recalls where he is now, and reels at the horror that has befallen him.

The batteries are surely spent, or those monsters have somehow tampered with the power, he thinks. The hammering noises seem closer; louder now. Reaching into a plastic pouch tied to his waist, a small recording device is retrieved. The sound of his voice competes with the banging from outside.

Part 2

The Discovery In The Tunnel

Day 1 -  March 14, 1961  New Orleans, Louisiana - Ursuline Convent (built 1751)

     "Is that a car?" asked Captain Alston, leaning into the hole.
Naval Captain Lee Alston was in charge of engineering at the Naval Air Station and Joint Reserve Base, in New Orleans.

"It seems to be, sir," replied Lieutenant Spencer, who was in charge of the construction detail. "We punched through the wall here yesterday, the floor gave way on the other side, and one of my men landed on the thing. We didn't know that a tunnel was routed here."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No sir, no one was hurt. There is something that's not making sense, though."

"What would that be, Lieutenant?"

"Well, this building is over 250 years old. Which means that this tunnel is at least that old. We know that the tunnel wasn't constructed after the upper structure, or we'd see disturbances and restructuring of the buildings foundation. And certainly, someone inside would have known about it. This foundation is as it was when it was first laid here. But, the tunnel wasn't here when the foundation was laid."

"Ok, so you're saying what?"

"That the technology needed to build this, so far as we know, did not exist 250 years ago. And that car, or whatever it is, shows signs of being underwater. Like it was made for water, or other extreme conditions. This tunnel shows no signs of exposure to water. It's not part of a drainage or sewerage system. This vehicle was brought here, sir.

They both stood silent for a long time, trying to formulate an answer; or, a question.

"I'm not liking this, Lieutenant. Let's stand down, for now. See if we can't get someone down here to help us work this out. There's an explanation here. We're just not seeing it."

Part 3
The archaeologist and Aladdin's lamp
Day 2,  in the tunnel - March 15, 1961 

     “Oh my, this is interesting,” commented Dr. Condis, examining the wall as if it were a patient in the examination room. "So, you're saying that this tunnel isn't recognized as part of the main foundation?"

"That is correct, ma'am," replied Lt. Spencer, mentally making note of Dr. Condis' resemblance to the actress, Norma Shearer. Except for the eyes. The left one was blue, the other brown. Heterochromia was the term for this anomaly; more commonly found in dogs, cats, and horses. "We show nothing verifying the construction, or location of it. Every room, hallway and stairwell corresponding to the blueprints that we have, has been accounted for. The drainage and sewers, accounted for. But, there's no accounting for this tunnel. The material used for the respective structures are not compatible. What I mean to say ma'am, it's like this place is two different places occupying the same space."

"Ohhh-kay," mused Dr. Condis. "Well, it's certainly here, and here we are. Where does it go?

"We don't know yet, ma'am.

"Okay. Let's find out. And, let's get this thing outta here," referring to the car-like vessel. "Oh, by the way Lieutenant, uh ... ?"

"Spencer, ma’am." shining his flashlight onto his name tag.
"Lt. Spencer, what were you gentlemen looking to do down here?" 
              
"Well, ma'am, we were told that there were some drainage problems down here lately, and I was ordered to see about it. This building was constructed in the 18th century, so I'm guessing there's a wall collapsed somewhere."

Dr. Condis nodded, saying "thank you, Lieutenant," mentally making note of his resemblance to the actor, Rod Taylor.

Part 4 
     Later that evening, in an old airplane hanger converted into an administrative facility at the Air Station, Dr. Condis, Capt. Alston, and a male assistant to Dr. Condis began sifting through the debris recovered from the tunnel. It was soon learned that the tunnel debris was consistent with material gathered from the ocean. That made no apparent sense. The logistics to import the material from the ocean would cost more than the construction. And, assuming the tunnel was constructed prior to the building of the convent, underwater technology did not exist at the time. The group puzzled over that for a long time, but could not agree on an explanation. None of the explanations made sense.
The 'car' had the look of an old Cadillac Hearse, but had no steering wheel. It had no identifiable brand markings, and no one could figure out how to access the vehicle's interior. There was no access to an engine, assuming there was one. There were no doors, or place to insert a key. The windshield was apparently glass, but could not be broken. Numerous blows from a hammer left barely a smudge. The tires were an algae colored greenish brown, and not made of rubber. They had dissolved somewhat. Samples were gathered that were yet to be analyzed. The vehicles bottom was sealed, and it’s workings, inaccessible.
Dr. Condis was an accomplished scientist. She never sought publicity, though she was well known in certain circles. She was never one to take credit for what others achieved. That she was surprised and amused by her thoughts, all the more underscored the enormity of this discovery. It startled her to inwardly entertain how she might profit, by fame or fortune, should this discovery yield anything of value. A more durable, possibly biodegradable alternative to rubber. Or, a safety glass that was stronger than steel. The applications were limitless. While she worked, she briefly allowed her imagination to run away with her, anticipating what they might discover once they were able to access the interior, and dissect this marvel. They'd found Aladdin's lamp. And, already she'd made her first wish. To know the secrets of the lamp.

Part 5 
Dempsey and Chey - Present day

     There has always come a familiar and pleasant nostalgia with the perfumes of summer. The memory of those days lingered still, as Cheyenne and I sat together at the edge of the old pier in back of my mother's house, our bare legs dangling. Cheyenne, 'Chey' (pronounced 'shy') I called him, was my closest friend. Except for an occasional chirping, or faint buzzing, all was quiet. There was no one on the lake today. There was not the usual whine of car tires on black top, hidden by trees. We felt no joy in our languor. Shirtless, jeans rolled up past our knees. And I particularly, was not ready to broach the events that brought us back here. Just being here was the balm I needed to salve the emotional wounds of the last few days. My mother inherited this old place from grandma. It's was about 50 miles north of where we lived growing up in Manhattan. It is such a comfortable and charming place, but always in need of repair. Grandma and Grandpa bought it new, just after grandpa returned home from Vietnam. From what my mother told me, grandpa never fully understood the U.S. involvement there. And, he never fully recovered from the emotional scars that he came home with. He had told her a couple of times that it wouldn't be long before humanity blasted itself into extinction. Despite grandpa's cynicism, he was a kind and loving husband and father. And, this place had so many good memories for mom, that she could never bring herself to sell it. I was glad.

My parents brought me here when I was little, but I don’t remember much about those times. My grandfather died when I wasn't old enough to know what dying was. I don't remember him, though his photos seem familiar. Grandma got sick, and died in May of the year I turned 12. The summer of that year, Chey came here with us for the first time, and every summer since, until we went off to college. We became blood brothers that first summer. I didn’t know it then, but it was his blood that changed me. It was that summer that I stopped being the me that I knew.

In hindsight, I recall the day that I began to change. I just didn't see it then. There was an island, about an acre in size, on the far side of the lake. It's not there anymore. Some fat-head thought it was a safety hazard, and got the city to sink it. I guess, one too many had tried to swim to it, and didn't make it, or some idiot rammed into it with a boat or Wave Runner. Anyway, it was maybe fifty yards from the opposite shore, but almost a hundred yards from our side. It was in the second week of that first summer, a day before Chey was to return home. We had just finished tossing the football around, and sat by the water drinking lemonade. Leaning back on his elbows gazing across the lake, Chey says “Hey, 'Demps'; we can make that," his eyes fixed on the little island, gesturing with his chin. "Maybe we’ll find something.”

“You can make that," I returned, laughing. "I’ll drown; there’s no way I can.”
I wasn’t that good of a swimmer, reminded myself.

Smiling, he said “okay, but we can.”

That afternoon, we did. I did.

My mom came out to collect the lemonade glasses, and had a fit when we started calling her, and waving from the island. She was screaming for us to stay put, and made my dad row the boat out to retrieve us. We got an earful from dad. Not because he was concerned about us, but because of the tongue lashing we were going to get from mom, and the earful he was going to get for not keeping an eye on us. Chey and I still laugh about that sometimes. Remembering mom screaming, her arms flailing. She reminded us then of Olive Oyl, from the Popeye cartoon. She was kind of thin, and even wore her dark hair in a bun. She didn't really look like Olive Oyl, though. Mom was really pretty, dad always said.

Part 6 -    Dempsey and Chey- Back in 'The Day'.

     I first met Chey when he and his family moved into our neighborhood in Manhattan, back in 1989. He wound up in my 4th grade class. For a short while, we called him 'the peacock', because of the oddball color combinations of the clothes he wore. We made fun of him behind his back. I didn't learn that he was adopted, until years later. Either, he eventually got wind of our making fun of him, or by coincidence, he began wearing color combinations that were less chaotic. We never asked, and he never said. I do know though, that most of us couldn't dress ourselves worth a damn, either.

Chey soon became the nucleus to the 5 or 6 of us who sort of orbited around him. He was different from us we thought, which made him interesting to us. He drew a little attention from a couple of the school bullies too, thinking that he was the 'big cheese' of our 'gang'. We never considered ourselves a gang. We didn't even consider ourselves tough, which we weren't. Quite the opposite. We were just awkward kids trying to find our way. We learned about gangs, erroneously, from the movies. Despite James Cagney, or Edward G. Robinson getting machine gunned, or electrocuted in the end, it was their cavalier recklessness that impressed us. We all secretly imagined ourselves gangsters, in pinstriped suits and spats, topped off by a fedora, or bowler; toting a 'Tommy' gun in a violin case, in the company of an adoring 'moll'. I found out years later that the Tommy gun in the violin case was a product of Hollywood. The fact is, a Tommy gun wouldn't fit into a violin case. Either way, what we really wanted to do was to impress the girls. The entire process of impressing the girls, proved to be a colossal comedy of errors.
About the bullies, though. Chey had a way of diffusing a situation that prompted his challengers to walk away, their perceived lordship and pride intact. Knowing what I know now, he let them walk away with more than just their lordship and pride

Part 7  Dead Men Do Tell Tales   March 15, 1961

     Dr. Condis and crew were several hours into sifting through the debris from the tunnel, when a small plastic container was found. Inside the container was what appeared to be a small battery operated voice recorder. The device seemed very old, and was unlike anything they had ever seen. Perhaps it was a prototype of some kind, it was suggested. The battery was most assuredly dead, but everyone was anxious to know if there was anything salvagable on the recorder. 
     Later, in another section of the airplane hanger, huddled around a more familiar, and serviceable recording and playback device, sat Dr. Condis, her assistant Will Dennis, Capt. Alston, and a technician, Sergeant Coleman, who provided the playback device. The tape had degraded greatly. From it, a copy would have to be made. There were concerns that, once played, the emulsion on the old tape would strip off, so the recording will have to be done while rewinding it. Everyone sat in awed silence marveling at the rewinding tape's speedy reverse gibberish. The original tape degraded to uselessness after the rewind, but not before delivering it's payload to the playback device. Nothing could have prepared them for what came next.
The Recording
"My name is Fred Noonan. I am the navigator and co- pilot of the Lockheed Electra. It is July 2 or 3rd, I don't know which. The year is 1937. Amelia Earhart and I took off from Lae, New Guinea bound for Howland Island, on July 2nd. Howland Island being some 1700 nautical miles southwest of Honolulu, Hawaii. We’d flown a total of about 22,000 miles, in our attempt to circumnavigate the globe. We had about 7000 miles to go, from Lae. We were not able to establish radio contact with the US Coast Guard Cutter, Itasca, which was to provide air navigation and radio links, and we, therefore, could not determine our position. We ran out of fuel, and had to put down in the ocean. We were able to utilize flotation jackets, and salvage a few things, but the Electra has sank. During the night, there was a storm. I was swept under, and was deposited into the mouth of an underwater cave. I discovered that the small opening that I was swept into, preceded an enormous structure of some sort. I don't know what happened to Amelia."
"For lack of a better option," Noonan continued, " I removed the flotation device, and swam through an opening to what seemed to be the entrance way to an enormous stone structure. I found my way to a landing that was completely out of the water. I can't say what produced the pressure to keep the water out, as I believe it to be below water level. It occurred to me that there was light all around me. As my eyes became accustomed to this light, I realized that it was some kind of bio-luminescent fungus covering the walls. I felt tired and weak, and found a place beside a large rock where I might rest. I fell asleep, but don't know how long I slept. Awakened by sounds that I could not recognize, and remained still until I could orient myself. When I had sufficient presence of mind, and my eyes were again accustomed to this unusual light, I ventured to pull myself into a position where I could peer around the rock that concealed me. What I saw unseated my reason. My mind would not process it. What I was seeing resembled nothing real. I was paralyzed for a time, but regained control of myself sufficiently. What ever sustained me at this point was beyond me. Monsters! I was seeing monsters." 
"Their bodies were odd, and inconsistently shaped. And there was something about the way they moved; as if they had no bones. I couldn't really determine their size. It was difficult to guess because of the way their bodies seemed to contort. 7, maybe 8 feet tall, or long, depending on their posture. They each had 4 appendages, somewhat like that of an octopus. They were able to move about on two, upright, or four, like some grotesque spider. And, there were others slithering about like snakes, their appendages becoming one with their oily smooth bodies. Their bodies, when fully elongated, looked like that of an eel. The eyes, nose, and mouth, 'eel-like' at the top. The only place of retreat was within. And somewhere in there, I asked God why?  I almost welcome what will soon be my release from this unimaginable horror." 
"A short distance beyond where I crouched, I could also see what looked like a large vessel of some kind. It was perhaps the size of a train boxcar, and like nothing I had ever seen. They were retrieving things from it, and carrying them into the edifice. In addition to some small crates, and a variety of curious objects, they were wheeling out cages, and large transparent tanks filled with liquid. I couldn't see what the cages contained, as each had a covering. But, inside each of the liquid filled tanks, which might have been 6 feet in length by 4 feet wide and 4 feet tall, was something I could not readily distinguish. Oh, god ... ! (There was a brief pause, then the narrative continued). I don't know what thing was inside that tank, but it was thrashing about in a frenzy to get out!" 
Dr. Condis and her team listened intently as the narrative began to slur, indicating that the original recorders batteries were losing power; the voice modulating down in pitch:  "I don't know how long the batteries will hold out in this device, so I'll get on with it, Mr. Noonan continued. I stayed concealed until the creatures had all gone into the structure. I don't know where I got the courage. Maybe I thought Amelia found her way here, somehow. Either way, I needed to see what was inside. Going back into the ocean wasn't much of an option. And staying where I was, after seeing what I saw, wasn't much of an option, either. I was afraid of being discovered by the inhabitants here. But, just as afraid of encountering one of those things they were bringing in." 
"The entrance was a passageway cut through the rock. Beyond the entrance, and a short detour left or right, found you looking out at what seemed to resemble the inside of an enormous bee hive. I don't know what kept me conscious, and gazing at this wonder. Those eel-like creatures were scaling walls and cliffs, as if not effected by gravity. There were hundreds of them. There were dozens of cave-like openings dotted about the walls. The place was buzzing with activity, none of which made any sense to me. The wall curved in such a way as to obscure its full configuration. What I do know is that I was witness to something purposeful. And no doubt, intelligent. I was no longer just afraid for myself. I was afraid for humanity."
" I discovered a path that looked, surprisingly, man made. It was completely out of place here. The creatures seemed to avoid it, or had no need to access it presently. The choices available to me left no reason why I shouldn't discover where it lead. I still had hopes of rescue for Amelia and myself. I was able to make my way to it without being discovered, and began my climb. And a climb it was, as the path became steeper and steeper. I proceeded in a crouch, lest I be discovered halfway into my ascent. Fortunately, the walls were sufficiently high on both sides, the entire length of the path. I had resigned myself to jumping over it, hopefully to my death, should I be discovered."

"The end of the path found me facing an enormous, ancient door. It was adorned with strange carvings, and massive black iron hardware. I looked back down the path, then proceeded to make entry; or exit, depending on what was on the other side. I was able, with tremendous effort, to open the door enough to squeeze through. I made no effort to close it. I found myself in what looked like a large courtyard or garden. It was well groomed, with an array of beautiful trees and flowers. There was even a small, beautifully sculpted marble fountain, with water pouring from the mouth of what looked like a serpent. What place is this, I wondered. I was in the middle of the ocean. Or, thought I was. Perhaps the undertow took me much farther than I thought. The place seemed deserted. Searching for another door, or a path to follow, my eyes fell upon what I thought was a memorial of some kind, or a corner stone. It turned out to be a dedication carved into the wall. To my astonishment, on it was written: 'This garden donated to The Ursuline Convent with appreciation and love. Dr. Leo Stanley'. It was dated September 16, 1935." 
"The silence was shattered by a loud shriek, which was followed by a multitude of shrieks all around me. I couldn't see them, but I could hear close by, the heavy, dragging sounds made by those snaky, eel-like bodies. I rushed in a panic to the door, and squeezed back onto the path. It wasn't long before the 'hive' was alive with movement, and that horrible shrieking. As I ran, I could see the things pouring out of those holes and cascading down the walls, piling onto and over each other in their frenzy. I ran headlong down the path, and back through the entrance toward the water, just seconds before a throng of them converged on it. The creatures were not very fast, but that did not matter. There was no escape, save entering the water. It was dark in that space between the entrance and the water, so I had to feel along the wall. When I emerged, I felt movement on my palms and fingers. Something slimy had attached itself to my hands. I ripped off my shirt, and used it to wipe off the slime. I made my way to the water. I could hear them gathering behind me. The sounds that they made ripped away what bit of courage and reason I had left. It echoes in my mind, still. The water was my only chance. But, how far would I get before I was overtaken or drowned. I was in a panic. But, instead of diving into the dark water, I fell to my knees in surrender, hoping that this gesture might inspire mercy. They were almost upon me now. A crescendo of revulsion and fear rose within me. The thought of being assailed by these cold blooded, boneless eel-like things, and possibly being eaten alive was unimaginable. I began to scream. Looking frantically about me, my eyes fell upon something unexpected. It was open! The door! The door to their vessel was open! I bolted to it, and fell through the opening. In the dark, I began fumbling around hoping to discover a hatch, or door to keep the creatures out. After a long moment, feeling along the wall, my body fell against a lever. I perceived gears engaging, and heard the soft 'whoosh' of a shutter sliding into place, closing the aperture. The interior was faintly illuminated, and I felt a low vibration, as if a motor had engaged. It would be difficult to describe what my eyes saw within this dimly lit sanctuary."
"There was little here, that I could compare to anything that I was familiar with. Whatever this was, it was no ordinary craft. There were panels of illuminated dials and switches, but I could not decipher the strange symbols underneath them. In a console along the wall opposite the entrance way, there was what appeared to be some kind of imaging device, somewhat like the Iconoscope, developed by Zworykin. The resolution, however, was exceedingly superior. It kept flashing a series of what looked like letters, and those symbols again. And, there were numbers. They seemed random, with no sequence that I could determine. 1861, 1880; then 1940 and 1945. There were many more, with no apparent order. I dared not speculate the meaning of those numbers, nor the nature of this vessel. I got a sense that there was something chronological about them; calendar years, perhaps."
The listeners were momentarily jolted to the present by two 'clicks' from the recording, which sounded like the device was clicked off, then back on. The time interval between narrations was unknown. 
The narration continued, slower this time; the voice modulating down, wavering, and sounding muddy: "I am trapped, and fear that this vessel will not much longer deny entrance to those things outside. This craft is like nothing I've ever seen. What I would give to learn what it is. For a while, I actually thought that I might escape in it. I’ve no understanding of it, and could not discover how it might operate. Something peculiar, though. The Iconoscope device has been flashing scenes of places unknown to me. Exceedingly tall buildings, and strange looking motorcars. And, there is a beeping noise from what seems like a radio receiver. It seems to be receiving transmissions of some kind, but I can make no sense of them. Could there be another vessel somewhere, trying to communicate with this one. The signals have gotten progressively weaker, and the images on the screen have darkened. Perhaps god will be merciful and keep those things out until the air is gone. I don’t know if the recording device that I speak into now, is operating. If it is, no doubt you can here that maddening cacophony from outside. Apparently, the door to this vessel once closed, can only be opened from the inside. I am guessing that it is water tight, with a mechanically induced source of breathable air. If any one retrieves this recording, and if Amelia is found alive, let her know that she did everything right. The fault was in the radio, somehow. The tuner might not have been calibrated properly. Maybe you'll recover the plane, and find out for sure. At this point the recording begins to break up, the voice barely more than rubbery slurs. "But, tell them ... , didn't find ... , if we reach ... ."  The words became inaudible, and there was no more. At this point it is surmised that the batteries gave out, and thereafter, the recorder hidden. We can only surmise the fate of Mr. Noonan. 
     Dr. Condis, and the other three sat stunned for a few moments, all trying to digest what they had just heard. No one wanted to offer their thoughts, which were to incredulous to utter aloud. Presently, Dr. Condis collected Mr. Noonan's device, his tape, and the copy. She then produced a dark green plastic pouch, wrote something on the white strip outside it, placed the device and tapes inside, and sealed it. "Well, gentlemen," she announced. "I think it's time to take a break. Let's get some sleep. We'll put our heads together in the morning. What say we meet back here at eight?" She then placed the pouch inside a desk drawer a few feet from where they all sat, excused herself, and left the room. Silently, the remaining three followed.
By dawn of the following day, the 'car' was gone. So too, were the debris and contents of the examination room, and everyone who was immediately connected with the discoveries made. The renovation was mysteriously halted, and all activities beneath the Ursuline Convent were suspended.

Part 8    Looking For Dr. Stanley

September 2005 - Offices of FEMA - Atlanta, Georgia.

     Shortly after hurricane Katrina, a meeting between Dr. Lloyd Myers, staff surgeon at San Quentin State Prison and Dr. Sam Knoll, a senior official of FEMA, was held. 

"Hello, Dr. Knoll, come in sir," greeted Dr. Myers. "Good to see you again."  They shook hands.

"Good to see you, as well Dr. Myers. Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice." They both sit, Dr. Myers desk between them.

"So, what brings you all the way out here?"

"Well, as you might know," began Dr. Knoll, " I'm just returned from New Orleans. We collected a few things from the cleanup of ... ,"  he consulted some information on a clipboard, "a section 4, underneath the Ursuline Convent, which sustained damage from flooding in the aftermath of Katrina. We had to remove debris obstructing the sewers and storm drains. What we're talking about specifically, is the Chartres St. section. Fortunately, there wasn't too much damage to the main structure. A chimney got blown off, and there was a lot of flooding. Sad to say, we found bodies."

Dr. Myers frowned, nodded, and continued to listen.

"The reason I contacted you doctor, is the contents of a container we found. It was inside a plastic pouch, inside the drawer of an old desk, submerged along with the bodies, and assorted debris. The outside of the pouch had a label hand written by a Dr. Sidney Condis dated March 15, 1961."

"I know that name," commented Dr. Myers."

"Yes, she was an archaeologist with ties to the University of Texas, and the military. According to records, she and an assistant ... ,"  consulting his clipboard, "an intern by the name of Will Dennis, disappeared without a trace in March of 1961, after being called to examine an excavation at the Convent. Records show that she, and the intern left for New Orleans from Texas on March 15, 1961."

"Ok. I'm not getting where we're going here," Dr. Myers stated politely.

"We're really not sure of anything yet, doctor. There's still some questions to be answered. We're pretty sure though, that something major happened long before Katrina. We just don't know what. Regarding the plastic pouch that the container was found in; if the date written on that is authentic, it's been literally floating around somewhere for 44 years. And, what's disturbing is that this was among the items retrieved from down there in the drains. It was tangled up in wads of newspaper inside the desk. The pouch and the newspapers were dated March 14, 1961. Now get this; the bodies were not found where the debris was. They were found in a submerged area several yards from the drainage area, along side a most peculiar motor craft. And, they were all sort of neatly stacked together. Judging by the clothing on some of them, we think that those people have been down there since the 60's. Where ever those people were since the 60's, they don't seem to have been dead very long. Certainly, not 40 odd years. They're too fresh. And, the ID's that we found among them, coincide with a slew of missing persons back in 1961. The desk is in pretty good shape too, despite the water damage. The device in this pouch remained dry.
Why I called you doctor, is that the pouch is addressed to Dr. Leo Stanley, San Quentin State Prison. Your being on staff here, we were hoping you might have access to records and information that might help us discover why this device is addressed to him. According to our records, he preceded you as staff surgeon from 1913 to 1951. It says here that he died in 1976."

"So then, the contents of this bag would suggest what? That it's been in this pouch, and possibly in this desk for how long?" queried Dr. Myers.

"What we've learned," answered Dr. Knoll, "is that Dr. Stanley hasn't worked in San Quentin since 1951. We don't know the relevance of all this, but we really need to know about Dr. Stanley. The contents of this tape is quite disturbing, and suggests a link to Dr. Stanley. We're also trying to determine the link, if there is one, between Dr. Condis and Dr. Stanley.”

Dr. Knoll extracted a photograph of Dr. Condis, and handed it to Dr. Myers.

“Interesting,” mumbled Dr. Myers, as he made note of Dr. Condis’ eyes. One blue, the other brown. “Heterochromia. Interesting.”

"Okay," decided Dr. Myers. "It would be helpful if I could listen to that tape. Then, we can decide which way to go." 

There was never a follow up to the meeting between Dr. Myers and Dr. Knoll. The reason is not known. And it is not known if there was ever a connection made between Dr. Condis and Dr. Stanley. The peculiar motor craft disappeared without a trace. There was never a mention of bodies found, or recovered.

Part 9  Dempsey and Chey - One summer night

     I sat nearest Chey in elementary school, and for that reason, we sort of became friends by default.
Somehow, he learned that I enjoyed reading, and wanted to be a writer. He asked me if I'd ever heard of 'Big Foot', and I told him I did. Then he said, "well, I bet you never heard of 'Little Foot'."  He then modulated his voice munchkin-like, and said, "Hi, I'm little foot, and this is my brother, Big," as he put his arm over the shoulder of one of our taller classmates. We all burst into laughter. And not really being aware of it, we found ourselves being best friends.

     Academically, Chey was smart, but he didn't really like being in school. He thought it was a form of punishment. He didn't understand the reason for it. Certainly, education was meant to fill our heads with information we didn't need. We didn't know that then. And much later, learned that there were other, more insidious reasons. But early on, he was rather uncooperative and surly when it came to participating in class. He especially didn't care for participating in class plays, or the Annual Folk Dance festivals that the elementary school sponsored every spring. He didn't know why he didn't want to, exactly. He seemed to perceive those activities as 'girlish'. He lived for physical education, though. ‘Gym' we called it then, where he would out run, out catch, out throw, and out do everyone. Back then we played mainly softball, kickball, and dodge ball. Every one wanted him on their team.

     He performed pretty well in sports throughout junior high and high school, as a member of the baseball and football teams. He had long since come to terms with the realization that going to school with a disagreeable attitude was not conducive to academic or social success. He wanted to be liked by the teachers. But first, he had to become a bit less obstinate. I was the one who helped him to do this. I was the one who made him understand that school was not a punishment, though sometimes it seemed it was. We certainly did get punished on an occasion or two. Nevertheless, it was apparent that he was making the effort. Occasionally, a teacher's sideways glance questioned whether he was really Chey, or if someone had pulled a switcheroo, and there in his place was someone who looked like him. We both did very well in school, when we wanted to. And, we were almost inseparable.

     Through the years, a lot of Chey's better qualities seemed to rub off on me, and mine onto him. And though we both performed well in sports, he was always a notch  better. He inspired me all the more, to keep up with him. We were both offered scholarships for sports, but also, for academics. Though we were not intending to attend the same school, we both chose to go the academic route. We would, of course, participate in our respective school's athletic programs. Up until now, we always played on the same teams. We were thrilled at the prospect of competing against each other at the college level. After much consideration on both our part, I chose New York University because of my interest in art and journalism. And he, Columbia, because of his interest in law. Knowing him now, 'Law' made sense.

     During the summer, before starting our freshman year, we put together enough money to share an apartment on 72nd Street, between West End Ave., and Riverside Drive. It was that summer that we were reminded that making our way in New York City sometimes demanded more than we were prepared to pay.

One evening, always in the mood to run, we went out jogging shortly after getting home from our summer jobs. Riverside drive was our favorite run, because it was a straight shot for several miles alongside the Hudson River, starting at 72nd street. We had run a little over 2 miles, and decided to turn around at Grant's Tomb, which was on 116th street, across from Riverside Church. At around 103rd Street, I had to stop to tie my shoelace. It was an opportunity to catch my breath. It was just about 6:30pm. I know that because Chey said, "let's get going, so we can make it back in time to see 'Frasier'. We got half an hour." Reruns of 'Frasier' came on at 7:00.
Suddenly, Chey gets the wind knocked out of him, and pitches backward, falling to the ground. He was able to break his fall, and landed unhurt. I stood and twisted around thinking that he might have been hit by a bicyclist, just as a fist connects with my chin, knocking me to the pavement. "Hey, I need that watch, muthafucka," I could hear a voice demand. I was a bit dazed, and couldn't determine where the voice came from, or to whom the polite request was addressed. My head was throbbing, but through unfocused eyes, I could see Chey slowly stand up. From my position on the ground, I watched him rise to face someone. I couldn't see who was there. He stood facing 3 men. They were each bigger than the both of us.
Something began to happen. I can't say what, exactly. But, what happened next is something that took me a long time to reconcile. I was looking at Chey as if through water. I couldn't hear anything above the high pitched tone humming through my head. It was a result of my being punched, I thought. Chey looked down at me. His face became slightly distorted, and darkened with rage.
"I said, I need that watch!" barked our assailant, as he tried to punch Chey a second time.
Sidestepping the punch, Chey wrapped his arms around this man, and they both disappeared. I didn't see the other two assailants turn, and flee in the direction they had come.
An instant later, Chey was behind me, helping me to my feet. There was no one else around. “You tripped,” he told me. "You okay?"
"Yes, I think so," I replied. "I don't know what happened."
We continued our run home. I felt unbalanced for a long time afterward. And, my face hurt. How did I get that bruise on my chin? I must have hit it on the pavement when I tripped, I thought. In my mind, I kept seeing Chey wrap his arms around someone, and disappear. It was just a dream, I told myself. But, it haunted me incessantly.

Part 10   The Eel Things Come A Callin'  - Present day.

     The sun was high in the sky. No one saw how the vehicle just appeared out of thin air. It looked like an old Cadillac hearse. Through a thin slab of a see-through substance, some of the vehicle' s occupants could see the front of an aged house, and a lake beyond. There was something about the lake that held a fascination for them. There was no verbal exchange, just an odd ‘squishing’ sound as the vehicle idled. The soft pulse of an engine years ahead of anything the auto industries could produce, was barely audible in the fragrant afternoon stillness. The door, which was a panel that slid into the frame of the vehicle, opened. Yellowish gas and a green gelatinous substance spilled from the vehicle, as the things inside silently unfolded themselves, extricating themselves from the comfort of their container.
As more of the strange visitors exited the vehicle, the only witness, a trespassing dog cowering under the house, watched silently. The horrors exposed to the unwelcome sunlight, slowly approached the house on legs that had no knees. They looked like tentacles. They were completely covered in a membranous, gelatin like substance. Underneath that slimy layer was the real nightmare. The dull silver iridescence of a fish, the boneless pliancy of a snake. Their bodies were eel-like, but undulated at times, like long balloons filled with water.
Their attention momentarily diverted by the presence of the dog, the visitors remained focused enough to sense that the house was not empty. Aside from the dog, their approach was not seen. As the group reached the porch, they all paused, as if listening for movement within. One of them lay prone, and then slithered under the door into the house. The others followed in the same fashion.
Once inside the house, the intruders found it to be bright with sunlight, which irritated them. Aside from the mucous like residue that remained where they tread, they did nothing to disturb anything. The one who entered the house first, moved silently to the stairs leading to the upper floor. Two others slithered up the stairs in pursuit of the first, as the others explored the lower level, and basement. The basement was comforting for the ones who entered it. It was dark, damp, and pleasantly malodorous.

On the upper floor, there was faint music on the other side of one of the hall doors. The leader listened for a moment, sniffed the air, and then turned to leave. The other two preceded it down the stairs; they sensed no need to visit whomever was behind the door. Their time was near enough. Before reaching the stairway, the leader turned, and slithered back to the door. Unaware of the intrusion, a sick, elderly man lay in bed propped up on pillows, obediently allowing his wife to place a thermometer under his tongue. It was curiosity, no more than that, which made the leader return. It was dispatched shortly after the water borne organisms had done its work in the cities, and it was their task to hunt down those who had survived. There were a great many not connected to the municipal water supplies. And, they had hunted down a great many. These two though, will never leave here. The old man would expire soon. And the woman, soon after him. Just then, through the corner of an eye, it saw something move. Something, outside. The head part of the creature twisted to see. It saw a foot disappear behind a house on the other side of the lake; a human foot.

Part 11

Dempsey's Flying Bike  -  Present day.

     I threw a small rock into the lake, and we watched the circles ripple outward. After a moment, Chey asked if I was okay. I told him that I was managing. There was sadness in this exchange, as he knew I was still uncertain about the precipice over which the world was suspended.
“Do you remember anything," Chey continued, "about the day that your bike fell off the train bridge?”
I looked at him quizzically, “My bike is in the barn.”
“No, not that one. The red one with the streamers?”
I shook my head “no”, puzzling over what bike he was talking about. I was thinking 'I had a red bike, with streamers?' when my head suddenly snapped back from the force of what ever it was that Chey made happen.
Suddenly, those memories returned.

     We were both 16 years old, and helping dad replace shingles on grandma's roof. Dad asked me to pedal into town to pick up more shingles, as he had underestimated how many he needed. I asked Chey to “time me”, to see how long it takes me to bike to the hardware store and back, as I strapped on my backpack. If I took the Fishing Creek Trestle, I would save 2 miles, as opposed to staying on the main road. The Fishing Creek Trestle was the bridge over a ravine that the trains passed over. We called it the ‘train bridge’. The town was just a mile past the train bridge, which was 7 miles from the house. There was a walkway along the bridge that I could ride over.
“Watch out for cars,” dad called out, as I mounted my two wheeled steed, and began to pedal toward town.

     It was 10:10am when I started out. By 10:45am I was quickly approaching the bridge, streamers flying, imaginary Indians hot on my tail. I heard someone call my name. I glanced about me, but saw no one. A section of the eastbound walkway had collapsed early that morning. It was a part of the bridge that the town counsel had neglected for years, for lack of funding. So, hand lettered signs were posted on either end of the walkway to 'Proceed With Caution'.
I was peddling east. That voice again; no one. An image of a floor with a hole in it, flashed across the screen of my mind. I couldn’t see that a section was missing until I was already over the gap, and off the bridge. I let go of the handlebars to grab hold of something, but I wasn’t quick enough; I fell through.
I watched my bike plummet about 100 feet into the ravine below, as I dangled three feet below the bridge floor. Chey, one arm outstretched, was holding onto my backpack, and pulling me back onto the walkway. Up until right now, I hadn’t remembered any of this. It was he who made me forget, just as he made dad forget that he and Chey were on the roof just moments before he saved me.

After he pulled me to safety, we walked on into town, Chey chattering about something that made no sense to me. Even my own muttered responses made no sense to me. Something was bouncing around in my head, and the noise it made was deafening, and making me squint. We stopped at the Sheriffs office to report the damaged bridge, before getting what we needed from the hardware store.

"What's wrong with you boy, you feeling okay?" asked the Sheriff, eyeing me suspiciously.
"I'm fine, thank you. ' must be the heat," I replied.
Afterward, we hitched a ride home with Mr. Gordon, who lived about a mile further up the road from grandma's. We arrived back at the house, just as my dad was climbing down off the roof.
“Hello, boys,” sang dad. A hint of confusion flitted across his face, then melted away. Satisfied for the additional shingles, he went around the front of the pickup to chat with Mr. Gordon.
I placed my backpack on the porch floor, and went inside the house. Outwardly, I was fine, but inwardly, I was in torment. And, I didn’t know why. And, for some reason, I kept having mental images of a flying bike.

“So, that was you.” I accused, not angry.
“Yes, that was yours truly.”
“So, there really was a ‘flying bike’. And all this time, I thought it was something I dreamed. How did you do it; I mean, how did you know?”
“It’s complicated,” Chey sighed.
I continued to stare questioningly at Chey; my arms crossed, my head tilted to the side, waiting.

After a few moments, Chey explained: “There are streams of energy all around us. Invisible highways that connect everything. Those streams are not subject to physical laws. It's difficult to explain, but when you are able to tune into them, they become corridors to places. Everything is connected, be it physical or dimensional. You sensed the energy stream flowing from the train bridge floor, but it didn’t mean anything to you. Because you and I share the same blood, I sensed it, too. But, I was able to interpret its warning. It was my voice that you heard, but you couldn’t know what you were hearing. I called out to you through the same corridor flowing from the bridge. And, that was the corridor that I chose to intercept you.

I was quiet for a long moment, then asked “so, those memories about the park. The night that I fell, and bruised my chin. Something really did happen that night, didn’t it. Someone attacked us, and you did something, didn’t you?”
“Yes, we were attacked by three men. I took one of them, and dropped him off somewhere. The other two ran away.”
I could only imagine what “somewhere” meant. I didn’t pursue it.

As I sat dumbfounded, Chey asked, “Do you know what a Seraph is?”
"I’m not sure; an angel?” I ventured, still pondering 'dropped him off somewhere'.
“Well, yes; and no. Biblically speaking, Seraphs were believed to have had direct access to God. They’ve been referred to as ‘Angels’; but also as ‘Fiery Serpents’, or ‘The Burning Ones’. They were believed to be divine creatures sent by God to mete out punishment. Historic texts are filled with their mention in some context or another. But, not all were sent to punish. According to some texts, they were the highest order of angels. Gabriel, Da Vinci, Shakespeare, Cupid, Mozart; they too, were Seraph. There are a great many more. Not all seraphs are without some tarnish, however. Lucifer was once referred to as 'The Morning Star', and is the most maligned, and misunderstood seraph of all. I, too, am a Seraph," admitted Chey.

I sat quietly, staring; waiting.

“We are many forms, and not all with the same abilities. In this world, it is our function to restore the natural balance. The nature of the imbalance, determines the nature of Seraph. That too, is complicated, but our tasks are always connected to a common purpose. We are in keeping with your concept of God; all knowing, and all seeing. God doesn’t have to keep watch; that’s what the Seraphs were created to do."

The Seraphs might well have been God’s chosen. And, just as God has many faces, so had the Seraph. Some were physically beautiful, those who chose to be. Some chose to be less physically attractive. They felt it an unnecessary burden in the human world. Then there were others that did not look human at all. They all, though, had a single purpose. To preserve the Earth, and humanity. Sometimes it was difficult for some to dismiss the notion that, regarding humanity, god might have made a mistake, and were not worth preserving.

Part 12   Chey tells a story - present day

     “So, how goes the legal profession, these days?” I baited Chey, attempting to lighten things up a bit.
“Read any good books lately, Mr. Writer” he countered smartly. We both burst into laughter.
Chey glanced curiously at the house across the lake, then said “Hey, ‘you want to hear something? This is something you can write about,” tossing another rock. “Do you remember my telling you about a woman who was charged with the manslaughter of her husband? This was, maybe, eight months ago.”
“Yes, I remember, you got her off. I read about it.”
“Well, no. I didn't get her off, but I did get her acquitted," Chey replied, mimicking a rim shot and cymbal crash, the sexual implication of 'got her off' not lost on me. "She was let off by reasonable doubt. But, it didn’t end with the acquittal. She came to my office a few days after, and confessed that she did it.”

"Really. Why?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure. Conscience is a powerful thing, I suppose. But, let me give a bit of background, first. The woman is a 35 year old Jewish mom. She’s working as a teller in a bank, somewhere on Broadway, up near Columbia University. She’s good looking. Freckles. Built like the girls in an R. Crumb comic.”

I grinned at the comic book image; thick legs, big booty, and n*****s poking through a tight sweater.

Chey continues: “There’s this Puerto Rican maintenance guy who works at the university, who gets into her line to cash his check every week. He’s maybe, 40. Tall; good looking, she told me. She didn't give him much thought at first, but after a couple of visits, it was obvious that he was ‘coming on’ to her. She told me with a smile, that he said he'd like to take her someplace and count her freckles. At some point, she develops an interest in him. However, she's married, and takes her marriage vows very seriously. Adultery or divorce were 'out of the question'.
Her husband is diabetic, and dependent on insulin. One day she intentionally misplaces the husband’s diabetic meds. Completely caught off guard, and deprived of his medication, he goes into shock, and dies. She told me that she couldn’t break her marriage vows. She feared God's disfavor. At the end of the conversation, she admitted that she would never be able to erase from her memory, the look of disbelief and disgust on her husbands face. The fact that he died knowing that she was the one who killed him. I guess she was okay with murder, but not God's wrath.”

“Damn," I commented to myself. Then said, “Maybe, she didn't see the crime in it, since she didn't actually put a gun to his head. So, what happened to her?”

"I don't know. I didn't see her after that. But, it doesn't matter much now, I suppose."

We became quiet for a while. It was eerily quiet, and the air was unusually still.
Chey's attention involuntarily shifted to the old house across the lake. He felt something.
We sat quietly for another minute or two, and it was I who broke the silence.
"Chey, why is all of this happening?"

Chey's gaze was fixed on the spot where our island used to be across the lake, as he gathered his thoughts. After a few seconds had passed, he began to speak. "Back in the early part of the century, there was a man named Leo Stanley. He was a doctor. For the better part of his life, he was tenured at San Quentin State Prison, as their Chief Surgeon. He experimented on the inmates there. His activities were sanctioned by those at the highest levels of the government, and the military. He was able to work with no bounds or restraint. Most of his experiments were unethical. Some were no less than murder. What has happened in the last few days is a result of Dr. Stanley's experiments. I can't tell you the details, because I don't know them all. But, I do know that the doctor's experiments were horrible, and cruel. He was a modern day Frankenstein. And, while some of his work should be lauded, he crossed ethical and moral lines that were blasphemous. One series of his experiments resulted in the creation of something new. An amphibious, eel-like creature. And we've come to learn, they're very dangerous. Until now, no one but a select few knew they existed. The doctor, and all who were privy to these experiments are dead. It was thought that none of his creations survived. We've since learned that this is not the case. We've discovered that not only did the creatures survive, but that they were extremely intelligent, and evolved enough to procreate. There are several generations of them now. And, they are no longer content to live in the shadow of humankind. They will become the new dominant species should this purge that they initiated, continues. There is even an uglier twist to all of this. One of Dr. Stanley's creations was a creature that looked like a human female. Through Dr. Stanley's many connections, he arranged for this female to live among us as human. She was offered up for adoption, and provided for in every way. Throughout her life, Dr. Stanley, by a number of methods, studied her, and cultivated her. Other than her parents, and her tutors, few experienced more than a cordial greeting from her. The tutors of course, were provided by Dr. Stanley. Both of the parents died in an auto accident in the late 50's. The cause was suspicious, but never investigated. This female was named Sidney Condis. In 1961, a Dr. Condis, along with nearly 40 naval and construction personnel disappeared without a trace, while investigating a discovery of some sort, in the tunnels and sewers of the Ursuline Convent, in New Orleans. And there was no real investigation. Recently, because of the flooding caused by Katrina, a repair crew inadvertently stumbled across what developed as the coverup of 40 or so missing people. That is what precipitated events of the last several days. These creatures, knowing that their discovery was imminent, no longer felt the need, or the desire to conceal themselves. What is not known is whether Dr. Condis knew what she really was, and her real connection to Dr. Stanley. We don’t know if she played a part in the disappearance of the bodies discovered. Her body was not among those found."

I was numb, and having difficulty making sense of what Chey was telling me. "You're not joking, are you?" My quandary was interrupted by a dog suddenly darting out from underneath the house across the lake. Like a bat out of hell, it disappeared into the woods. “Did you see that?” I asked Chey.
“We have to go," he said, getting up to leave, glancing back at the house across the lake. "Hurry.”

It was too late. The eel creatures slithered out of the house in the same manner they entered. The slime that they left, found its way out through cracks in the floor. It would find something to attach itself to, and grow. Quietly, the creatures proceeded to the lakes edge, waded in a few feet, and eagerly plunged into the water in the direction of the house across the lake. In the direction of Dempsey and Chey. Their transport disappeared into the water, behind them. The creatures were thrilled at the prospect of the chase!

Part 13   Dempsey  -  present day

     I frequently think about the day that it all started, this 'purge', and wonder had I not found my way out of the city, would I still be alive. Most of us didn’t know there was a threat. Sadly, the majority of those who got wind that there was a threat, didn’t know how to respond to it. Things were so surreal at the time. I couldn’t use a car. There were no roads that were not clogged with stalled traffic. Cars, trucks, buses, office buildings, streets, and sidewalks filled with the dead or dying. For days after, it seemed like the sun was gone. It’s possible that I crawled into a hole, and passed out from exhaustion. I’d lost several days, but didn’t understand how. Shock might cause that, I suppose. I remember dreaming about the girl who worked in the coffee shop down the street. Her Name was Ivy. In the dream, we sat together, sipping coffee, and eating toasted bagels. She asked me why I never asked her out. Then out of the blue, she leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I felt the warmth of her kiss, and the heat of her nearness. It all evaporated, as I woke up standing at Grandma’s front door. I learned later from Chey that I traveled through the night while sleeping. It had something to do with my change. I remember wondering if Ivy made it out. Then, felt sure that she had not. I went inside, and showered. Though the water was not heated, it was not cold. The next day, Chey arrived. Secretly, I was sad that I didn't look for Ivy.

Part 14   The Corridor - Present day

     At hearing Chey's urgent 'we have to go; hurry!', we ran into the house, jumped into our boots, and grabbed our gear, which was already packed. I was at the door, waiting for Chey, when he said “not that way," pointing toward the open basement, "this way.” 
As I caught up to Chey at the basement door, he gripped my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said “stay close to me.” The tone of his voice was all I needed. I asked no questions.
We ran down the basement stairs, but never reached the basement. If he said anything else, I didn’t hear him. We were inside a place that was not a place. We ran into chaos, and it was too late to turn back. We were not alone here. I could feel them. Odd things that made strange and ugly sounds, that floated and danced on the edges of the darkness. I stayed as close to Chey as I could. We were almost sprinting now. I felt the heavy presence of something extremely large bearing down on us. I felt an irresistible urge to look.
“No,” Chey said in my head. I didn't know it, but as long as I didn't see the things in the dark, they wouldn't see me. I also didn't know that someone who did not understand the corridors, could get lost in them forever. And then, I fell. And Chey was gone.

I picked myself up, but couldn't determine which direction to go. There were things flitting past me, and buzzing around me. Something touched my face, and something else passed between my legs. I was afraid to call out. And then I heard him. It was Chey. I couldn't see him, nor could he see me. "I'm over here," he said. "I'm right here." I started moving toward where I thought he was calling from.
"I can't see you," I whispered.
"You're doing fine. Just follow the sound of my voice," he continued. "Just follow the voice of the peacock."
I continued moving forward, put at ease by images of Chey and I in our youth.
"Remember when we laughed at your mom for fussing at us across the lake that day?" "And she, finally laughing with us," his voice continued, as images of mom and dad blocked out everything else. I was running in the dark now. I felt inexplicably …,  happy.

After what seemed like a long time, but was only a few seconds, I exited into what appeared to be a cavern, enormous stalactites reaching menacingly toward me from the ceiling. Chey was speaking to me. I could see him looking at me and speaking, but I was not hearing him. What my eyes were seeing, my mind refused to process. There was a lake of something, bubbling and steaming a few yards below us. It was the color of silver. Below us, on a large outcropping, I could see what looked like a Venus flytrap. It must have been eight feet tall. A grotesque trunk and limbs, mobilized on a half dozen or more 'tentacle like' roots. Several of the 'roots' were wrapped around, and dragging a large hairless, squealing boar-like creature into another passageway along one wall. Just before the scream escaped my mouth, my eyes rolling up into my head, Chey placed his hands on either side of my face, and spoke softly, “We’re home free. You’re okay.”
My legs gave way then, and Chey, as before, arm outstretched, clutching my backpack, lowered me to the cavern floor. 

I became conscious of foreign sounds, before I opened my eyes. Chey was sitting opposite me, his back against a nearby wall. Lying on my back, elevated slightly by my backpack, I wriggled free, and came to rest on my knees, scanning my surroundings. It was Chey’s calm that helped me to keep mine.
“Read any good books, lately?” he asked tentatively, grinning.

“And, you call yourself a lawyer,” grinning back, my face smudged.

"This will be home for a short while," Chey said, offering me an unfamiliar piece of vegetation to eat. "Don't look at it. Just eat it," he said. "Until your ‘change’ is complete, this place will be home. What you saw, the ‘Venus flytrap thing’, was another form of Seraph. You will not be harmed here.”

“My change?”

“Yes. The day we became blood brothers started it all. I didn’t know it, then. And when I did know, it was too late to undo it.”

I sat quietly, reflecting on what I was hearing. And, realizing that I’d felt myself changing for a very long time.

“Those who were in pursuit of us,” he added, “will not survive. They will unknowingly be lead into corridors that they will not be able to navigate. They will be trapped in other dimensions, or devoured. For the ones that remain, there are those among us who will pursue them. But, some will be allowed to survive. Just not along side humanity. Not yet, anyway. We can return home soon, but until then just a little ways from here, we will find a more suitable … ; 'hideout'."

"A 'hideout'," I returned, smiling.

"We can eat, and bathe, but we must stay within sight of each other. There are things here that are less than pleasant. As for you, you will soon become accustomed to the changes in your body. You will no longer be the human that you were. You will be essentially the same, but a little more. Your new eyes, though, will no longer filter light the same as your human eyes. Though you will see things the same, your spectrum will be altered. In human terms, you will be color blind; like me. So, be mindful the clothes you choose to wear,” he advised with a knowing smile.

I stood up, slowly nodding in acknowledgment and acceptance of what I had just learned. At the same time, I was trying to determine if I was seeing through my new eyes, or the old ones. As I looked around, it dawned on me how much this place reminded me of “The Garden of Earthly Delights” by Hieronymus Bosch. I should have gone mad then, but I could only stand, and marvel at the indescribable scenes before me. I turned back to face Chey after a few minutes, a smile just under the surface of my face. The puzzled frown on his face softening to receive the question my expression announced. “Will I get to meet god?”

Chey was taken a little off guard by that one. If anyone says that you can't see the brain at work, tell them, to look at the persons face. I could tell by the way his lips were pressed, and the knit of his brow, that he was cooking up a doozy.

Presently, he said "No, you won't get to meet god. Not in the way that I know you to mean. You've seen god every day of your life, but you've not given him any real thought. And, I use 'him' for point of reference, only. God is not an entity. He is a process. He does not occupy a place, or keep tabs on you and me. Keeping tabs is Santa's job," he said, his face reflecting this bit of humor. "Think of god as the fabric that is 'everything'. Think of this 'everything' as amorphous; formless and ever changing. Now, imagine somewhere in this massive amorphousness, things take form. Things 'become'. Think of this 'becoming' as creation. There's no reason for it. There's no plan or purpose for it. It might have been a thought, manifest. It just can, and does, and is. The formation of the planets, stars, and all the things that we've come to recognize, happened. They just 'became'. And, for no reason. God, this amorphousness; this fabric that is 'everything', did not create anything. 'The Creation', as many in human cultures believe, was not the divine construction project that has been suggested. And, while we try to relate to what we understand as 'reality', there are other realities. Where we are, and this planet, relative to all there is, is less than a whisper. And, all of this is part of the amorphousness that is the concept we recognize as 'God'. There are all manner of elements. Those things that make up you and me, and animals, and trees, and planets, and stars; everything, are manifestations within this amorphousness. All parts of 'him' who we call 'God'. So, to answer your question, you can never meet god. You can only know god. To know god, is to recognize the miracle that is this existence."

     I sat stunned a moment longer. I looked at my hands, as if seeing them for the first time. I'd rarely thought about how fantastic it is to touch something, and to feel. Or, to marvel at the dynamic of sight and hearing. What would it be like to not hear a voice, or a bird, or music? And, while I knew it would take a while for me to process all of this, I knew that I would never experience the world again, without it meaning more. Maybe, there are those who have seen it this way, all along. Those who recognize the dynamic, and power of which we are all a part. I must always be mindful that I live in a realm where nothing is impossible. I must be mindful that I too, am amorphous, and forever changing. And that thoughts, and wishes are seeds that take root in God, and become. And, if all of what Chey tells me is true, and real, then this change that I am experiencing now, is just one of so many forms that I will experience throughout eternity. Sensing that my head was about to explode, Chey says, "come on, let's take a walk. There's something I want you to see."
We scooped up our back packs, and I followed Chey up a trail that lead into a tunnel. From what I'd experienced so far, I dared not anticipate what was in store. But, what lay in store was a 'zinger'.

Chey lead me down a path that lead away from the silver lava, stalagmites, and Bosch. After about a miles distance we came upon what looked like a lagoon. There was what looked like grass, ferns, and palm trees. But, there was nothing green. Everything was translucent, like amber tinted cellophane. It was amazing to look at. And, there was a large pool of what looked liked bubbling water. It was beautiful. But, I couldn't identify the color. I think that my eyes were no longer the eyes that I knew. But, it was not alarming or unpleasant.

"What is that?" I asked Chey, pointing at the bubbling pool.

"That's our bathtub." Chey replied, with a grin. "But, don't worry, it's safe. I've come here a few times, when I needed to get away."

I could only stare at him in disbelief and wonder.

"So Chey, tell me about the corridors. How do you do it?" I asked

"It's not all that simple to explain, but I'll give you the gist of it. But, never try to enter one without me, until you learn."

Chey was quiet for a moment thinking, then began: "Think about a dream that you had, where you were in a room. You're aware of your surroundings, but the surroundings were more felt than seen. You're speaking with various people, but you're not sure who they are. You hear voices. You're perfectly aware of where you are, but there's nothing significant that you can perceive. Without any conscious action on your part, you become aware that you're now somewhere else, totally unrelated to where you were. Well, navigating the corridors is kind of like shifting from place to place in your dream. You're here one second, and somewhere else the next. However, navigating the corridors is not something that happens at random. You have to perceive something or someone at the place that you want to be, and choose to be there. I can't explain it any other way. Every place and thing in existence, be it physical or otherwise, is made of energy. Everything vibrates at a frequency all it's own. There are no two things that have the same frequency. The frequencies are the corridors. It is the ability to tune in to them, that allows us access. Humans were sensitive to these vibrations at one time. But, through centuries of conditioning by those who profited from reducing humanity to solely a physical existence, most have lost it. And now, with your change, you'll get it back. Mind you, if you're not careful, you can wind up somewhere you don't want to be. And, not be able to get back."

I stared at nothing in particular, but nodded in acknowledgment of what Chey was telling me.

“Remember, the corridors are not here, nor are they subject to the concept of time or reality as we know it. The process is very quick. It might seem like minutes, or even hours, but the distance in "concept time" is like the time it takes for you to blink. Concept has no physical realm."

"So then, the distance from grandma's house to here is what?" I asked.

"I really don't know, exactly," Chey replied. "What I can tell you, though, because I can sense what you're thinking, is that we are nowhere near the center of the earth. Just in case you didn't know, the distance to the center of the earth is almost 4000 miles from Earth's surface. But, we're nowhere near as far down, or as far away as you might think. But, relative to grandma's? I don't know. If we were able to walk there, it would take us about a month just to reach the surface."

I contemplated all that, and dismissed it all, for now. Chey and I reached the area by the pool, and found a suitable and comfortable spot to sit, and eventually sleep. It never got dark here, so there was no night. And, the colors were indescribable. As I sat marveling at my new surroundings, and my newly acquired senses, it occurred to me that I was experiencing a miracle.

Part 15      Ivy 

Ivy came awake, just as the sun's rays began to illuminate where she slept. It was uncharacteristically quiet for a big city. She lay awake listening for anything familiar. Something that would help to restore some sense of normalcy, after the upheaval of the last few days. For some reason, Dempsey came to mind. She felt herself smiling at the thought of having kissed him. Out of the blue; just leaned over, and smack; right on the lips. What was she thinking. It made her giggle to remember it.

Part 16

Dempsey touched his lips with the tips of his fingers, remembering the coffee shop; remembering Ivy's kiss. He would look for her. He hoped he would find her.

Part 17

Ivy decided to go back to the coffee shop. She was sure it wouldn't be open for business, but she felt she needed to go there. She felt it to be the best place to wait for Dempsey. She felt certain that he would return. Looking in the mirror, she contemplated not using the lens, but decided against it for now. She placed the lens over the iris of her left eye; the blue one. Now the color matched the right one; the brown one.  She smiled then. In her heart, she felt Dr. Stanley would be proud. Standing before the mirror, she wiped the remnants of what she'd just eaten, from her cheeks, and around her mouth. It occurred to her, though she'd never had the desire, to one day eat flesh that wasn't raw.

♫ end.