Six
PARIS BLUES
Paris, spring 1990
In a dimly
lit underground chamber in the guts of Paris, a group of laboratory-suited
individuals sat around an oval table. Their words were muffled by the freezing
cold air of the surrounding vaults and the antiseptic masks on their faces. The
soft neon light disclosed well-groomed men and women of middle age underneath
the scrubs. The room was sterilized, as required by its function as a
microbiology laboratory. The catacombs of Paris hide many terrible secrets:
this rendezvous was one of them.
A grim center
table had the undivided attention of the symposium. Lying on it was a
human-sized glass pod. A body was wrapped in muslin bandages inside this
unusual incubator. It looked like a mummy with the shape of a woman. The mummy
was alive. Her right hand was moving, signaling ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to questions
being posed. Her vacant eyes and shaven head were the only parts of her body
that had not been covered in gauze. Electroshock pads were still attached to
the skin on her skull. Wires and fiber optic cables connected the pod to a
machine at one end of the table.
“Can you hear
me?”
The mummy
raised her left forefinger slightly.
“She’s come
round, Monsieur Harker, she’s come round! We’ve made it! The electroshock
didn’t kill this one! We’ve made it!”
The man with
glasses spoke with a strong French accent. His eyes were beaming. He stopped
the flow of current that was still directed at the woman. The tall man next to
him, with chin-length wavy hair tucked under the protective clothing, was
Robert Harker. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was known around the
world for many reasons, most particularly for being one of the most handsome
men ever to grace the planet. He raised his hands and pushed them forward.
Silence fell on the room at his gesture.
“Hush, Francois,”
he said, “we’re not there yet. She needs to survive the first 24 hours before
we can sing our victory song. Marion, what is her temperature?”
“42 degrees,
Robert. It’s been decreasing slowly and steadily. Her brain activity is within
normal parameters. No damage has resulted from the procedures. The lobotomy was
successful. Likely, she has retained a comprehension of the basic rudiments of
language, but hopefully she has no notion of her identity anymore.”
“Let’s
see...,” Harker said turning to the mummy. “Who are you?”
Silence was
unbearable and still unbridgeable for the mummy-like girl: it sucked her in
like water down the drain, vacuumed into a void. She lied still. Far too much
space was in her head. A big blank descended when the question was asked. She
didn’t have a clue as to who she was. She understood sound and nothing else.
The voice that was talking to her was soothing. It could take her home. She was
pure matter ready to be forged by the whims of her onlookers, by the sound of
that voice. All she could understand were the sensations she was experiencing.
She enjoyed breathing, shallowly at first, and then more deeply. Yes was yes
and no was no. They had told her so repeatedly when all she could see was that
big bright light. Now she wanted to sleep again. Rest. Forget even more. No
need to hold on to any memory. She was new, she was the Chosen One. Her body
hurt. Her limbs were heavy. Her eyes couldn’t focus on any shape in particular.
She had only definitions but nothing to attach them to yet. She wondered if she
was a larva, a parasite. No: she was a girl, almost a woman, the Chosen One.
Their voices had told her, their words had programmed her. All was dark now and
she needed to rest.
Marion Le
Blanc started fiddling with the machinery. A red button came on. All faces
turned to look at what she was doing. She addressed the man wearing glasses.
“We’re losing
her, Francois. Brain activity is deteriorating. She has a regular pulse though.
No panic, the situation is under control. Pump more morphine and give her more
anesthetic. That’s it. There should be no major brain damage and she’s likely
to have retained all of her organ functions perfectly. Let’s wait and see... my
God... I can’t believe we’ve made it... I’ll believe it when she’ll be walking
and talking... my God, my good God... we’ve made it, it’s a miracle!”
This was the
most secretive and confidential clinical trial that Three-D Pharmaceuticals had
ever run. Indeed, it wasn’t really a clinical trial, although that was how they
had labeled it from the beginning, in case any information leaked. So far so
good; twenty years of ground breaking research and preparation had gone into
perfecting the study. Many ‘guinea pigs’ had succumbed to the perils of this
adventurous experiment. The world needed it now more than ever - Kassandra
Morgante had to be stopped before she could develop her self-healing powers and
grow ever-lasting cells in her body.
No
pharmaceutical company could survive if the element of immortality and viral
invulnerability were introduced into the minds and bodies of the human species.
Everything would blend into oneness. The very foundation upon which the
industry was based would be shaken irrevocably. The course of history would be
changed forever. Fear and death would disappear over time, and Time itself
would eventually come to an end. No one, but a fool, would want this.
Duality was
much better than oneness, and Harker knew this. Human evolution was based upon
struggle and making the right self-preserving choices. Some may maintain that
love is nature’s preference. In the third dimension, however, a species’
endurance doesn’t result from love. It depends on fear, which had so far driven
the Survival of the Fittest of the Earth. Kassandra had to be wiped out, or at
least counteracted. That’s why Harker had devised an antidote to her: her own
personal, custom-build nemesis.
He turned
pensive for a second as he remembered the place of his origin. He could never
go back there, to that plane where love rules. Wasn’t love the force that had
begun to erode his angel race after all? Too much love can wipe matter away,
and sweep life into nothingness. It was starting to happen on Venus when he had
taken his bet. He wouldn’t let this happen on Earth, his adoptive planet for
the past number of millennia. The last two thousand years had been a greater
challenge, as more and more Beings of Light had started to incarnate as
Earthlings. This was raising the Planet’s frequency, and humans were starting
to live longer and better lives. But it was Kassandra’s birth that was the real
problem. She was equipped to succeed: she was designed to be the first immortal
human.
Something
needed to be done before that could happen. Harker had sided with the most
money-driven, mercenary pharmaceutical giant in order to counteract the
Arkadian Plan. Humans had to continue to suffer and die. Their collective fear
had kept him in vogue for so long, and it had given him the strength to last
for all these centuries. The Lord of the Ego, the Angel of Pain, the Most
Beautiful in the Legion of Angels, or Monsieur Harker as they called him now.
He had introduced the Goddess Games on Earth after all, and didn’t want any new
rule to be introduced.
His amber
eyes were fixed on Charlotte Mechant’s body: it was half the size it had been a
year before, on the night he had enticed her to the lab. She was an easy prey.
A spotty seventeen year-old girl, a problem teenager who’d run away from her
family in the countryside of Bourgogne to the French capital in search of work,
love and a new body. She was overweight then, verging on obese. Depression and
an extreme need for attention were her constant companions. She thought she had
found the help she badly needed at Monsieur Harker’s Hypnosis Centre on the
Boulevard du Mont Parnasse. The clinic was expensive and lavishly decorated,
with marble floors and antique tapestries on the walls. Charlotte fell in love
with Bob Harker the second she saw him. All women did; and he knew that she
would also follow suit.
Now she was
lying on the table, covered in bandages and shaved head to toe, having
undergone ninety-seven different surgeries and hours of electroshock at various
degree of intensity. She definitely had the body she had always wanted at last.
It would be revealed once she had healed. He knew that she would succeed: he
had created his own personal ‘anti-Kassandra’. From this point onwards, the
efforts of the Luciferian Tribe he led could concentrate on making Charlotte
believe she was like Kassandra, so that they could swap places, and Kassandra
would hopefully forget who she really was. The former would be difficult. The
latter would be borderline impossible.
There was a
lot of cunning in Harker’s plan, but he had to entrap Kassandra before her
powers could grow any stronger. It would take some hard work to defy her mighty
helpers. The Tribe had always enjoyed a challenge anyway. Harker wanted
Kassandra for himself. He could seduce her to, though somehow he felt reluctant
at that possibility. Nevertheless, he needed to de-activate her to fulfil his
own personal prophecy and create the world he wanted.
She was
becoming a real problem. Her energy was rising and reaching towards the Core
Signature, the harmonious frequency of creation. She could raise the
consciousness of those she interacted with by her mere presence. This kind of
shift in perception could bring about a change in the cellular make-up of those
who experienced it. In due course she would end up tuning into her Core
Signature, bringing her chakras into alignment and prompting to the kundalini
to rise and dance. When the 12-strand DNA replaced her normal 2-strand one, she
would become an angel.
This could be
contagious, too. That’s why the Tribe was keeping close watch. So far, her
escapades into her angelic essence had been short-lived and inadvertent. She
didn’t realize they were coming from her and thought of them as external
experiences generated by the environment, or as messages from the natural
world. Harker didn’t want this to happen, and certainly not while she was in
Paris.
* * * *
When
Kassandra, who at this stage was an undergraduate student at Edinburgh University,
arrived in Paris, the atmosphere changed. She brought Light and good energy,
and the city hated this. As usual, we, the Arkadian Masters, followed her to
shelter her from the snares of the Dark Forces. After all, the place she was
visiting was the hub of all Luciferian activities, the capital of the Dark
Angel, the environment in which the deepest wound of the Earth was kept
permanently bleeding. Evil lurked freely everywhere, in the lushest of
disguises. However, Kassandra hadn’t noticed. Her focus, as usual, was on love,
which she was seeking actively once again. This time she was hoping to find it
in the romantic surroundings of the French capital, sitting in a café or
strolling along the Seine. Letizia was her travelling companion. The girls’ friendship
was still as strong as when they were growing up together in Northern Italy.
The official
excuse for their visit to Paris was that Kassandra wanted to look at some early
Merovingian manuscripts in the Bibliothèque Nationale. She was in the third
year of her Medieval History degree and had managed to get a travel bursary for
this purpose. She and Letizia had already been through a number of adventures
together, and they were adamant that this was going to be another one of them.
They wanted to explore new ground. April was a good month to do just that. So
they boarded a train in Venice one evening, and found themselves in Paris on
the following day. They were both 22 then. They took a twin room in a hostel in
Saint Michel. Breakfast was included. The expanse of the city stretched out
ahead for them to explore. Everything was possible.
The first few
days were spent admiring the artistic treasures of the Louvre and the Jeu de
Paume, and the quirky beauty of the Pompidou Centre. Kassandra wanted to leave
the manuscripts until later in their two-week stay. On the third morning, the
two friends decided to have an early breakfast and hit the town without any
further ado.
“Kassie, wake
up! It’s sunny outside! Let’s get moving now.”
“Letizia...
what time is it?”
“7 on the
dot. I woke up over an hour ago... can’t you hear that?”
“What? I’m
too groggy... ah, yeah... someone’s singing... underneath our window... down in
the alleyway... beautiful voice...”
“Beautiful
my arse! It woke me up when I really needed a rest. We have a full day ahead of
us and I wanted to feel recharged this morning... not serenaded!”
The sun was
shining through the curtains. Kassandra got out of bed, put on a sweater and
went to open the window.
“Bonjour! Hey
there! Good morning to you and thanks for the music!”
A young man
in a cowboy hat and a long suede coat was leaning on the brick wall of the back
street, strumming his guitar and humming a bluesy tune. He sounded American, at
least when he sang. It was hard to make out much of what he was singing though,
as his words were mumbled. The song was about getting a girl, taking her away
from Boulevard du Montparnasse and to the man who loved her. A strange blues
with a Parisian twist, probably his own composition. He stopped for a short
second to greet Kassandra with the flash of a perfect smile. There was
something familiar about him, she thought, though she was sure they had never
met.
“Hello...,”
he said looking up absent-mindedly. His blond hair fell on his shoulders in
sun-kissed waves.
“Definitely
Californian, definitely a surfer,” Kassandra told Letizia as her eyes absorbed
the vision of this suntanned troubadour who looked more like an athlete than a
travelling musician. “I have found what I’d come looking for in Paris!”
His chiseled
face was unique: he had blue eyes and slightly Asian features. He continued to
play his music, keeping his eyes on the girl who was leaning out of the window
in a vest and shorts. She was even more attractive than he’d guessed at first
glance. He had seen her the day before in the breakfast room. Stunning. He had
felt a drive, almost a compulsion, to get to know her. Conor, that was his
name, was always on the lookout for the chance of a romantic liaison. She fit
the part: exotic, innocent and young as she was. How old could she be? Eighteen
perhaps? He was a man of experience at twenty-three, and well-travelled too.
Was she Spanish? A tourist in the city of love. He had tricks up his sleeves
and he wanted to show her. His fingers could touch a young woman in the most
exquisite way. He could feel her trembling under his hands already. She had to
fall for him: she had to be enthralled by his charms.
“Gonna get your girl, gonna take her down...”,
he was singing.
“Are you
staying in this hostel?,” Kassandra asked him. He nodded in reply.
“Well, see
you downstairs at breakfast then!”
He smiled and
continued with his song. Letizia appeared at the window and slammed it closed.
She raised her middle finger to him as she pulled the curtains. Conor remained
as if transfixed in the alleyway, playing his guitar for a few more minutes.
Then he woke up from his trance and couldn’t quite understand what he was doing
in the backstreet so early in the morning. He felt very sleepy and tired all of
a sudden. All he could do was go back to the dorm and hope for a bit of sleep,
despite the fact that everybody else would be waking up.
“What did I
smoke last night? What did I drink? Where did I go,” he wondered.
A sensation of panic and fear started
spreading from his head to his heart, finally reaching his guts. Or was it
hunger? Perhaps he should go and get a
bite. Breakfast would be served in half an hour in the hostel. Food or no food,
the fact remained that he had no recollection of what he’d done the night
before and how he ended up playing underneath a window at dawn. Whose window
was it?
“Mad trip, man! I’m running on empty here...
gotta ground myself again, gonna get some sleep, man!”
The two girls
emerged from the luxury of their twin room into the hostel’s cafeteria where
many of the guests were already busy with breakfast. Kassandra’s hair was in a
ponytail. She wore a miniskirt and a sweatshirt that she had selected carefully
in the hope of getting the attention of the weird but gorgeous serenading dude.
Heads turned as she walked in. She looked around the room: he wasn’t there. Her
heart sank. She put some food and a coffee on her tray and went to sit with her
friend at the end of one of the long tables, wanting to avoid having to chat
with other guests.
“Where is
he?”
She was sure
she would find him there waiting for her. She always got what she wanted after
all, especially with men.
“Kassie, get
a grip, he’s probably fast asleep now. He was completely out of his face,
didn’t you notice? He wasn’t singing, he was mumbling...”
Letizia was
right. Conor hit his bunk bed and fell fast asleep, totally oblivious to any
noise around him. He started to dream. He could hear a soothing voice in his
sleep, hammering the same words in his head: “Get that girl and bring her to me...” Every cell in his body was
acquiescing to that command. He was a man with a mission and failure was not an
option. Back in the cafeteria, meanwhile, he was the topic of conversation between
the two girls. Kassandra had definitely fallen for his charms.
“But he
nodded when I told him I would meet him here... he had the most beautiful face
I had ever seen...”
“They all
have the most beautiful faces you’ve ever seen, Kassie! And how could you
possibly believe him? A total stranger, drunk or something, and that one was
definitely from another planet, I tell you. If he’s not sleeping right now,
he’s probably walking around the streets of Paris with his guitar, busking to
earn some money...”
“Not at 7:30
in the morning! Not when he smiled at me the way he did...”
“You didn’t
come to Paris to fall for an American bum, as pretty as he may be, who is
likely high on drugs and penniless. You know the reasons why we’re here...”
“Sure, my
research... the magical powers of the Merovingians, their divine descent... how
I can develop my own powers by following their teachings... but wasn’t he just
the cutest man who has ever treaded the Parisian pavements? I want to know him,
I have to know him... something is pulling me towards him... Maybe not today,
but I’ll keep my eyes peeled and my ears open until I meet him again. I have a
feeling he has an important message for me...”
Paris looked
enchanted that afternoon. The Seine was calm and majestic, and the Eifel Tower
sparkled in the sunshine. The girls went to the Beaubourg to watch the street
entertainers. Summer was fast approaching and the weather was perfect for
outdoor activities. With an ice cream cone in their hands, Kassandra and
Letizia stood in the crowd, watching jugglers and contortionists earn their
trade outside the Pompidou Centre. Kassandra’s presence brought a sense of
wellbeing to the people standing around her, though they didn’t know she was
the reason for their sudden bout of elation. Sunshine and joy were the essence
of her youthful being. In this set of circumstances, she would normally thrive
and the most incredible adventures could unfold. Provided she didn’t get too
enmeshed in her human side that always tended to play havoc with her plans.
Letizia was
aware of the oscillations between her friend’s two sides, and was always on the
lookout for signs of approaching drama. That was part and parcel of her
relationship with the magical girl. She knew of Kassandra’s powers from their
early years in Italy. The first miracle she saw her perform was when she
witnessed her resuscitate her dead hamster. Kassandra had since tried to teach
Lettie how to copy her skills, but to no avail. She nevertheless insisted that
such powers were available to one and all, if only one really wanted to achieve
the desired result.
“Minds
shouldn’t falter in the pursuit of one’s wishes,” she used to say. “You must
embrace your heart’s whims with all of your might.”
Letizia
didn’t know whether her friend was mad or a genius. She was sure that she
wasn’t completely human. However, her non-humanity – whatever that may be –
wasn’t her concern. She was far more worried by her friend’s over-blown
sentimentality and tendency to fall for the wrong guy. Paris was a dangerous
place for both of them. Letizia sensed it and realized that her friend was in
denial about it.
We knew that
Kassandra’s human side had taken over, and her hormones had driven her to the
place wrongly known as the city of love. It was a city of fun, that was a
given, but only that. In that very place, love was vulnerable to attacks from
the darkness, and mixed messages could be received. Letizia wanted to protect
Kassandra without letting her know; thus we could operate through her. Despite
Kassandra’s self-centred take on life, Letizia was generous and loyal to her.
She didn’t mind: it would all pay off one day.
* * * *
The crowd of
spectators was intent on observing the buskers and the street performers. A
group of tiny, one-foot tall, almost invisible people gathered around Kassandra
and Letizia as they were watching a show. These creatures served their Lord’s
orders to a T. They had been sent to steal Kassandra’s wallet, and to test for
still-vulnerable areas in her life. As it stood, her mind didn’t falter. Her
body was becoming stronger and stronger. Her Core Signature could at times tune
into the Sound of Creation in pitch-perfect fashion, so her invulnerability was
on the rise. Her physical belongings and physical environs were all that was
left for the Darkness to attack. Everything else, it seemed, was impenetrable
to an assault from Shadowland and its creatures.
The little
people were dark fairies at the service of a very illustrious master: the Prince
of Darkness himself, who operated in disguise 1990’s Paris under the name of
Robert ‘Bob’ Harker, hypnotherapist supremo. These fairies were only visible to
children who had not yet lost the ability to see into the ethereal dimension.
These creatures were not really evil. Good and bad are only relevant in the
three-dimensional world of duality. As fourth-dimensional beings, they only
understood a drive towards action of a type or another. As they belonged to the
Dark Side, their inclination was towards the dictates of the ego and their
direction was towards a re-enactment of the past.
The Pompidou
Centre towered over the crowd, and the crowd towered over the little people.
The latter were not worried that a couple of kids had spotted them among the
standing spectators. Their only concern was how to approach Kassandra without
her noticing. This would be tricky: her second sight was already well developed
and she had often caught glimpses of the fourth dimension. If she did see them,
her abilities would allow her to break anything created by the Darkness. They
couldn’t risk being caught by her eyes.
They had to
aim at her Achilles’ heel: her attraction for men. If a handsome man appeared
in the Beaubourg, her stellar sensors would diminish, while she tuned into her
human side. This would allow the dark fairies to move around her, freely and
unnoticed. Her constant focus on men was due to the fact that her star DNA and
cells were developing in her body at the same rate as her human hormones. The
more she was turning into a star being, or a human angel, the more her human
aspects were attracting, and attracted to, their own kind. The struggle in her
was still only hinted at during this phase of her life, and not enough for her
to have yet noticed.
The little
people enlisted the help of one of their human colleagues, Pierre, who was the
security guard at the Hypnosis Centre. As an initiate into the Mysteries of
Lucifer, he was the ideal candidate for the purpose; all muscles and equipped
with a handsome, chocolate-box-type of face. As soon as he walked past the
girls, Kassandra’s eyes were glued on him and not on the show. He stopped to
stand next to them, skimming her arm with his. Her hormones jumped around her
endocrine system sending her far from subtle reproductive signals she couldn’t
ignore. She turned to look at him. He smiled. She felt his thoughts travel to
her breasts and down to her genitals. She felt instantly aroused.
He was very attractive. Not too tall and his
face was as cute as a button. He had the same colorings as she: dark brown hair
and green eyes. His muscles were well defined but not too bulky. He wore a
white shirt and a pair of jeans. Letizia was eyeing him, too. The two girls
looked at each other and giggled. With one glance, they understood they were
ready to play their favorite game: man-teasing. They would make him hot under
the collar, simply because they could.
Meanwhile,
the little people stood still and observed the three youngsters, ready to
intervene as soon as opportunity arose. Pierre started to talk to the girls. He
addressed them in English, which surprised Kassandra, given that she and her
friend had been talking in Italian next to him.
“This is a
great act. The guy can flex and bend his body as if it was made of rubber. It’s
like watching something against the laws of physics...”
“It’s
remarkable, and a bit freaky,” Letizia said.
Kassandra
smiled mysteriously and kept her eyes on the show. She knew that by ignoring a
man, his attention would be guaranteed. She was right. An hour later, the three
were sitting in a café on Boulevard St. Michel, sipping champagne and talking
about things to do in the city. Pierre had offered to be their guide over the
next couple of days. If everything went smoothly, Kassandra might bag herself
the lovely Californian, while Letizia could find herself in the arms of the
cute French man. Love was in the air. Or, more accurately, passion was on the
cards. Unbeknown to the girls, however, something more sinister was lurking in
the background.
Kassandra’s
bag was on the floor under her chair. Perhaps it wasn’t very clever to leave it
there as a tantalizing bait for any petty thief in the vicinity. Normally both
girls would be a bit more street-wise. The fairies took it easily. When
Kassandra’s hand reached under her seat to fetch it, she realized that it was
no longer there. They hadn’t noticed anyone approaching them, given they were
sitting in a corner and her chair was next to the adjoining walls. But the bag
had disappeared. And with it, her passport, money and student card. Her heart
sank. Now what?
They went
first to the Police to report the loss of her identification documents and
belongings, and from there to the Italian Embassy. By the time they reached the
Police Station, the fairies had already taken her bag to the Catacombs. They
wanted to disturb her plans during her stay, and bring her energy down to a
lower frequency. The high Core Signature she carried was a real disturbance for
the Luciferian Tribe, whose members needed a much lower and denser vibe to
thrive. In addition, the bag was covered in her DNA: which would be very useful
for Monsieur Harker’s experiments. They also wanted to put their hands on her
ID. It may be handy in the future. Luck was on their side; they also found her diary.
Their boss would be delighted.
* * * *
Kassandra,
Letizia and Pierre made their way back to the girls’ hostel. Kassandra felt
upset and very vulnerable. She was in a hostile environment, surrounded by
unfriendly forces. Normally she could dismiss this nonsense with a blink of her
long-lashed eyes, but it didn’t seem to work this time. Her feelings were all
over the place and she couldn’t think straight. She wanted to be held and
protected. She phoned her adoptive father. Lord Hughes arranged for money to be
sent to a bank in the city where she could collect it. It would take a couple
of days so she would have to survive with some cash borrowed from Letizia. Yet
it wasn’t money she was worried about. Something else was draining her soul and
her Life Force. She needed a fix of love. As soon as she got out of the phone
booth in the cafeteria, the troubadour-surfer crossed her path.
“Hello there!
Where were you this morning? I came to the cafeteria but you weren’t here!”
He had an
Irish accent, to her surprise.
“I was here!
I left around ten to go sightseeing,” she said. “Where were you? By the way, my
name is Kassandra. Nice singing this morning. What’s your name?”
“Conor. Thank
you. Nice to meet you. Are you English?”
“I’m Italian
by birth but my parents are from Sussex.”
“Ah! What
brings you to Paris?”
“You!”
She was her
cheeky, assertive self again. They were flirting, as expected. Talking to
Conor, her confused state of mind started to ease off. This man’s presence was
mellow and calming. Destiny must have sent him.
She took him
by the hand and brought him to the table where Letizia and Pierre were sitting.
“Come join me and my friends for a bite.”
Two couples
were formed as the evening stretched into the night. After dinner, they went
for a walk around the neighborhood. Kassandra and Conor talked about Ireland.
She’d never been to the country but was keen to find out about the spirituality
of its people. The place had a strong connection with the soul of the land,
unlike the majority of Western countries. She was intrigued.
Conor had a
great affinity for ancient spiritual sites. He described himself as a follower
of the ancient druidic religion. One of the reasons for his visit to Paris,
apart from busking, was to explore its Catacombs. He felt a strong call towards
this area and sensed that it emanated a heavy dark force. Kassandra herself had
not been aware of it until that very day. She proceeded to relate the events of
that afternoon. Conor told her that he felt that that she was at risk in Paris.
“The Dark
Forces are after you. I’m speaking through my second sight. You have to trust
me on that. There is something in this city which wants to hurt you, which
wants to take you away from the man you were born to love and from the very
purpose of your life.”
She believed
him. She knew that it was we, the Masters, who were talking through Conor’s
second sight. But she didn’t know that Harker was also using him as a puppet in
his scheming. Kassandra was in great
danger. Fortunately, Lord Ralph’s money arrived two days later. Kassandra took
the first plane to Scotland. She didn’t keep in touch with Conor. Their paths
were destined to cross again, however, when she moved to Ireland three years
later.
Paris, winter 1991
The lab
technician couldn’t hide his enthusiasm. “These cells are remarkably resilient.
Marion, come and look at them through this microscope. They have multiplied
again and recreated the tissue. The radioactive bombardment hasn’t destroyed or
transmuted them. They have managed to maintain the shape they had before
irradiation.”
Men and women
in white coats worked diligently at their assays, checking results and entering
them in their log books. Due to the highly confidential nature of the study that was being conducted, the Director and the
Research Committee had decided that the experiment should not take place in
their laboratories in Switzerland, but at the secret location deep in the
Parisian catacombs, in an area so long closed-off that it had become forgotten.
No government was informed. The very best scientists from all around the world
were recruited to offer their skills to the project. They each signed a
one-year contract with a special clause. To ensure the confidentiality of the
study, they all had to agree to undergo neurological laser therapy at the end
of their tenure. The procedure ensured that any memory associated with this
experiment would be wiped away.
Marion was
the only person among them who would be working throughout the project up to
its completion. Her credentials were impeccable: she was married to the
Director of Three-D Pharmaceuticals. Her colleagues didn’t know and she would
never let it transpire either. Marion and Bob Harker had been married for over
thirty years. She was in her late sixties but looked half her age. She didn’t
know her husband’s actual age. He said he had stopped counting when he got
bored. The truth was a secret he had shared with her, and which she would keep
until she died. Robert Harker was immortal. She had married the devil. He was
the real thing. Her first reaction had been one of deep terror. In the end,
however, she had come to consider meeting him as the best event in her life.
Robert was
involved in many activities, from medical research to financial investment. He
was also the founder of the Hypnosis Centre on the Boulevard du Montparnasse. It
had opened at the height of the student revolution, in the early part of 1968.
A regular figure on the student barricades, Harker had attracted a significant
number of followers. He was looking for candidates who wanted to learn how to
expand their minds and reach higher levels of awareness. Many artists,
musicians and poets of the time started to attend his workshops in
Montparnasse. Rumors of his immortality had started to circulate then.
Once a
promising research fellow at the prestigious Santé Research Institute, Marion’s
path had crossed with Robert’s on campus in 1968. She’d never seen such an
attractive man before. Everything about him oozed charisma: his voice, his
mannerisms, the way he swept his chin-length fringe from his face. He looked
like a Victorian character: like Hanno from the Buddenbrooks, or Dorian Gray of
the famous picture fame. As with all women wooed by him, she too fell in love
the minute her eyes met his. He loved her too, in his own liberal way. She had
that quality he most admired in people: intelligence. Beauty wasn’t as
important. It could be recreated through surgical procedures. That had been the
case with Marion and many of Robert’s closest female friends. Intelligence,
however, and at the level with which she was endowed, could not be solely
reproduced at will.
Robert wanted
to create an immortal human by chemical processes. Marion’s pioneering
knowledge of cloning techniques in plants and animals were her ticket to his
heart. Thirty odd years on, the two were still the best of partners. Like all
couples, they were trying for a baby. But not in an ordinary way. They wanted
an immortal baby. This would take some serious work. Marion applied herself in
the lab with religious discipline. After many years of research, they were
finally making some headway.
The
experiment concerned tissue cloning. Initially, the research team’s efforts
concentrated simply on deriving a population of cells from a single cell.
Success rates had exceeded their wildest expectations, so attempts were made at
reproductive cloning through somatic cell nuclear transfer. The purpose of
their research was very specific: cloning that one particular individual who
had obsessed Harker for the past twenty odd years.
Marion
approached the microscope and looked at the Life Force working its magic on the
assay. The cells were unscathed and healthy.
“Let me see,
Francois. Yes, these cells are perfect. They are alive and reproducing.
Monsieur Harker was right: immortality is contained in this DNA. Onto the next
step now: reproductive human cloning.”
