When Bethany arrived back in Highland Park, she walked to Adriel’s townhouse from the bus stop at a brisk pace, although her backpack slowed her down a bit. Her visit to the museum had inspired her. It had been more than a coincidence. It had to be, right?
She walked up the steps to the door and almost walked right in, but remembered she was a guest, and knocked at the last second. She noticed the bell on the side of the door frame and hit that as well.
Silence. She had a flash of fear that she was too late, that Adriel had left. That would suck, now that she had some real questions she wanted answered. Typical, she thought… then she saw the curtain in the window move. Someone was in there. It was Adriel. He gestured for her to come inside. When she walked into the living room, Adriel was sitting in his chair as though he had been waiting for her.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, I know something about troodons now,” she said. “Isn’t that what you asked me about before?”
He was nodding.
“Okay, so, troodon means ‘wounding tooth’ in Greek, they were a smaller dinosaur, birdlike, about three feet tall, many of their remains have been found in Montana and Alberta.” She rattled off the details she remembered from the museum exhibit. “Stenonynchosaurus was troodon, and they were tool-users. They had a third claw-like appendage that could be turned to their other digits and be used like an opposable thumb. They existed in the Cretaceous, 145 to 66 million years ago.”
“Yes,” Adriel said. “Anything else?”
“If they had survived, if they had evolved, Christ!” she said. “Sixty-six million years of tool development?”
“They’re the fucking gray aliens, aren’t they?”
Adriel considered this. “In a way, I suppose. That is to say, they created the grey aliens. In their image, as creators tend to do. Have you ever met a Grey?”
Bethany stared at him. “What? I don’t… no.”
“They’re not much for conversation. Basically, they are biological androids. A very needy bunch, really. Always seeking validation.” He made squeezing gestures with his long fingers. “Clingy.”
“Why did you want me to see that exhibit?” Bethany asked.
“Why do you think?” he replied.
“I saw the model of what they would look like if they had continued to evolve. They grew to be almost human-sized.” Bethany pulled a folded brochure from her pocket and showed it to Adriel. On it was a humanoid figure, tailless, but still with very saurian features.
Adriel smiled. “Ah, yes. We call that evolutionary model Mr. Pilkington.”
“The exhibit said they are a trash-bin taxon, probably dubious…”
“Wastebasket taxon, they say,” Adriel corrected her. “That particular species had been buried for a very long time, and for a reason. The museums here, they find all sorts of evidence of advanced civilizations that do not fit into their accepted timeline of life on this world, so they bury it. Toss it into the wastebasket, as it were. Nobody wants to rewrite the history books, redesign the museums, especially when they have no idea how to do so in a way that would make any sense to them. And there are some very powerful interests that wish to keep that information buried, if not erase it altogether. If you think that exhibit was interesting, you should see the stuff they keep hidden away in the basement.”
“But if they’re dubious, they’re fake,” Bethany pointed out.
“They are not fake,” Adriel said. “They have been classified as such by the establishment. Information in your world is very heavily controlled. Just as religion hid science from you during the dark ages, science is now hiding things as well. The scientific community here has become like its own little religion, with its own dogma, and in that dogma, humans are the top of the evolutionary scale.”
“You said humans were created in the Old Testament. That was, what, 5,000 years ago?”
“Over 100,000, to be more precise,” he said.
“So these Troodons, they have over a hundred million years of evolution on us?”
“Well, to be fair, you have no evolution at all, really. You were made in the same image that I was.”
“So, this is creationism?”
Adriel laughed. “Well, genetic modification, yes. Evolution does happen, but it is a very, very slow process. Far too slow to have produced modern humans from early australopithecines. Our genetics were spiked by our progenitors. Think about how we compare to other species that have grown alongside us in this world. We walk upright, we developed language, complex tools, the sun burns our skin, we die of exposure in our ‘natural’ environment, and we had to genetically alter the local cuisine to make it edible for us. Does that sound like we’re one-hundred percent native species?”
Bethany sat down on the couch, closer to Adriel. “So who made us?”
“According to the ancient records, it was a non-terrestrial race called the Annunaki.”
“So what about the troodons? Where were they when all of this was happening?”
A feeling of sorrow came from Adriel. “All but wiped out, driven back underground.”
“Back underground?” Bethany asked, remembering stories of underground reptilian creatures that dot the fringes of the internet. “Is that where they survived the mass extinction that killed off the dinosaurs?”
“Yes,” he said. “The troodons were always cave dwellers, and they had already developed elaborate catacomb-like systems under the ground before the extinction event. They only came out to hunt at night, so their eyes were larger than most of the other saurids. This is reflected in the large eyes of the greys. They hunted with sticks, and they used stones as tools to make their sticks pointy. You know how this goes. Tools develop the brain, the brain develops more complex tools, and more complex tools develop more complex brains… for over a hundred million years. Compare that to what humans here have accomplished in just the last one hundred years. By the time the Annunaki arrived, the troodons had quite an advanced civilization.”
“Are there still troodons around?”
“Oh yes,” Adriel said. “And they despise us.”
“They despise us? Or the Annunaki?”
“Both,” Adriel said. “They hate us because the Annunaki created us, and they hate the Annunaki because of what the Annunaki did to their civilization.”
Bethany began to piece together the shattered history. “They hate us because the Annunaki tried to replace them with us?”
“And there was war in Heaven,” Adriel said, standing up. “Would you like a drink? I was thinking I might have a glass of wine.”
“No, thanks,” Bethany said. “I don’t do too well with alcohol or… other things. I’ll take some mineral water if you have it.”
“Sure thing,” Adriel said, heading into the kitchen. As she sat, she could hear him opening the cupboard, glasses clinking, and the refrigerator door as he spoke.
“Bethany, the time has come to move you up in your understanding,” he was saying. “No more guessing games.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, but there was no immediate response. She stood up and walked into the kitchen. Adriel was perusing a small wine rack. He finally withdrew a bottle, and said, “Wine, thy first duty is to be red.”
Bethany smiled. “I was always partial to the white wines,” she said. Adriel opened a drawer and produced a corkscrew.
“Yes,” he said. “If you like the chilled and fruity. I prefer the dryer, bolder flavors of the reds. Particularly…” he showed her the label on the bottle he was holding. It was a Bordeaux. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”
Bethany smiled. “Thanks, but I really can’t trust myself where booze is concerned. If I hadn’t…” here mind flashed back on her life over the recent years. If I hadn’t, she thought, I wouldn’t be here now talking to this weirdo from another dimension. She almost changed her order, and went ahead with the offered libation, but she saw her glass of mineral water was already waiting on the counter. She took it as Adriel pulled the cork and poured himself a glass of wine.
“If you hadn’t what?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, but she knew he already knew what she had been about to say.
“Cheers, Bethany,” he said. They clinked glasses and moved back into the living room.
“Wait,” Bethany said. “What was it you were saying about my understanding? To move it up?”
Adriel took a sip of his wine, then set it down on the coffee table as he sat down in his chair. He gestured for her to sit where she had been sitting on the couch. She did.
“The troodons are one of many historical lifelines that have converged on this planet,” he said. “There have been many more. They rise, they fall, and something new grows from their forgotten ruins. It’s cyclical. In fact, there is just too much history to get into right now. You will pick up significant pieces from various collapsed civilizations as we move forward. Your civilization is the current life here, and, I am sad to tell you, it is coming to an end.”
“What?” Bethany said. “What do you mean, it’s coming to an end? The world is ending?”
“Ah, there’s that word!” Adriel said. “World. Do you know the etymology of that word, Bethany?”
Bethany thought about it. She figured the first usage of the world was in the Old Testament. As Adriel explained, she wasn’t far off.
“World,” he said, “comes from the old Saxon, Dutch, and High Germanic word, were, which meant man. This is why you say werewolf instead of man-wolf. The other half of the word comes from the English eld, which meant age. So, literally, the word ‘world,’ were-eld, referred to the Age of Man. The world is not the planet, the world is the time-period of the species that currently dominates said planet on this level. Interestingly, in your Bible, in Job 1:7, there is an interesting conversation between ‘God’ and ‘Satan’, who at this point you should realize are outside entities from the higher frequencies.”
“Wait,” Bethany said. “Earlier, you said God was the slave-driving government of that, what was it? Annunaki race? And Satan, as the serpent, was the helpful scientists who tried to teach early humans how to read and write.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Adriel said. “But your Bible isn’t just one story. It’s a collection of ancient, shattered accounts of different beings. The identities shift. The Old Testament was an account of our species’ creation, and that was all Annunaki, after the troodons had been all but wiped out here on Earth. In this conversation in Job, however, God asks Satan where he has been, and Satan replies, ‘I have been walking in the World, going back and forth in it.’”
He watched her over his glass as he took another sip of wine.
“So, wait,” said Bethany. “This God and Satan are different than the ones in the Book of Genesis?”
“Yes,” Adriel says. “By creating us, the Annunaki, who were extraterrestrials, had violated a sort of widely observed law, and this got the attention of ultraterrestrials.”
“What are ultra-terrestrials?” Bethany asked.
“Well, technically, I am,” Adriel said.
“So these are entities from the other frequencies?”
“Yes, other dimensions, other universes, what have you.” He took another sip of wine, but this time, he closed his eyes and savored the taste for a moment before continuing. “In Job. These are our early ancestors who have been observing negotiations between the extraterrestrials – being from this universe – and the ultra-terrestrials, beings from other universes. And here, one of them is saying that they have been traveling in the world, which we now know is the Age of Man, yes?”
Bethany took a long drink of her water, nodded, and said, “Sure, I guess.”
“So what do you think that means?” Adriel said. “Knowing that this entity is saying, “I was traveling in the age of man, going back and forth in it”?
Bethany sat up. “Time traveler?”
Adriel nodded. “In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said. “These entities were from a position in the macroverse, the collection of the frequencies, that they could study the entire history of humanity’s existence, as it would most likely unfold from the time of their creation. But that was based solely on a series of probabilities.”
“You lost me,” Bethany said. Then, she remembered a documentary she had seen once that talked about probabilities. “Wait, does this relate to the double-slit experiment?”
“Indeed, it does,” Adriel said, visibly impressed. “Just as the double-slit experiment confirmed, not only do these other worlds exist, but they affect each other on a quantum level. And just as with the experiment, they got hit with what you would call the Heisenberg Principle.”
“So just by observing our world, they altered its outcome?” Bethany said.
“Yes, exactly!” Wow, he thought. She was a natural.
“So, whose fault is it that it’s ending?” she asked.
“Yours!” Adriel said, delighted at how quickly she was picking up on all of this. He had thought they would have to be here all night.
“Ours?” Bethany asked. “Or mine, specifically?”
Adriel shrugged so heavily, expressing such joy at her grasp of this concept, that he spilled a little of his wine. “Well, everybody’s, really!” Bethany felt a little stress leave her shoulders. “But you contribute to it more significantly, because you seem to have more power, and your power at this moment is of a negative nature,” he added. She felt the stress come back.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Adriel said when he saw the pained look on her face. “It’s not your conscious fault, you didn’t do this on purpose,” he said, trying to comfort her. “You’ve had a rough life of late, and it has caused your emotional frequency to vibrate to the lower frequencies, the negative side. You couldn’t have been aware of how human emotion, human thought, can affect reality. It seems so solid from this perspective, so stable. But as you know now, it is really quite fluid. Like Emoto’s water experiments.”
Oddly, Bethany knew exactly what he was talking about. Emoto Masaru was a Japanese scientist who showed the effect human emotions have on the molecular structure of water. He would put water into vials, and some vials he would subject to negativity – he would label them “ugly,” tell them he hated them, and when he froze the water, the molecular patterns he observed in the ice were chaotic. The other vials he would subject to positive emotions – he labeled them “beautiful,” told them he loved them, and the ice molecules that resulted reflected beautiful, perfectly geometric patterns.
“You had no way of knowing how much power your personal emotions were capable of emitting,” Adriel was telling her. “Remember how I found you the night of your attack?”
“Yes,” Bethany remembered. “You said I was shining.”
“Brighter than any other single source in this region.”
Bethany sat back on the couch. She raised the glass to her lips, but it was already empty.
Adriel sat forward and took the glass from her with one hand and took her hand with his other.
“Bethany, this world – your world – is ending,” he said. “There is just too much collective negativity built up in this system. Your species has gone off the rails, led by greedy, weak humans that are allowing themselves to be influenced and led by darker entities in the lower frequencies.”
“The Hell frequencies,” Bethany remembered him saying.
He nodded. “Yes. And as your people continue on this destructive path, you will see more climate change, more diseases and plagues breaking out as you tear into remote biomes seeking to feed that greed and the need for power and energy. You have become parasites on this world. You have become a cancer on the Earth. As climate change and disease ravage the global economies, mass migrations will start, mass starvation, add to that a severe lack of potable water, the result is inevitable. Global warfare, which will break down into tribal warfare, and then…” His voice trailed off.
“And then that’s it?” Bethany said. “Extinction?”
“Well, even if there are survivors, they will forget everything that was here. It will go the way of myth and legend, as it has in ages past. And then, a new age will dawn. And they will have to start all over again from Day One.”
“And the whole thing starts again,” Bethany said.
“It’s happened time and again on this level,” Adriel said. “If we had time, I would show you some of the forbidden archeology at the local museum, the evidence of advanced civilizations they keep hidden from the masses to protect their scientific dogma. Yours is not the first advanced civilization to grow on this rock.”
“Were the troodons the first?”
“They predate yours, but there were even older civilizations here before. This earth is a vessel, and the civilizations that rise and fall here are just the souls that occupy it from time to time. Some make it, some evolve and move on to higher frequencies, others fall back to dust and must rise again.”
“So that’s it,” Bethany said. “This world is like a school, and we either pass the tests and graduate, or we fail and retake the tests.”
“Yes,” Adriel nodded. “And this time, your people have failed miserably. You have stood on the shoulders of giants, and you have fallen from that high perch.” Still, he was thinking to himself, an apt analogy. She was definitely an older soul. She had subconscious memories of a higher realm.
Bethany looked at him. “So what are your people doing here?”
“We are doing what we were sent here to do,” he said. “We’re watching.”
“Watching,” Bethany said, “But not helping?”
Adriel sat back, and a sad look came to his eyes. So sad, in fact, that his eyes went dark again. Bethany saw this and jumped up. “There!” she said, pointing at him. “Your fucking eyes! They are black!” Adriel blinked, and they went back to a normal coloring, but Bethany had seen it and this time, she was sure. Officer Barrett had been right. “Like an alien’s eyes!” she said, still pointing in an accusatory manner. Adriel looked up at her, unconcerned.
“You mean this?” he said, and blinked again, and again his eyes were all black.
“Yes!” Bethany said, calming down a bit. “How are you doing that?”
“Implants,” Adriel shrugged. “In my world, most of us have nanotech implants throughout our bodies. Some assist the immune system, killing off every invader from cancer to the common cold. Others can teach cells to regenerate, effectively slowing or even stopping the ageing process. And these,” he blinked again, normal, then black, “help us to see at night, and provide inside-lens readouts that allow us to check our surroundings more effectively. I can even take your picture or shoot videos just with my eyes.” He winked at her. “Say ‘cheese!’”
Bethany just stared at him for a second, then sat back down on the couch, laughing. “That,” she said, “Is fucking cool!”
“Yes,” he said. “We’ve come a long way without religious and scientific dogma blocking our progress. Your species has the same potential. Here, there are already groups of elites who are trying to build a future of enhanced people. They call it ‘transhumanism,’ but they are elitists, and they want to cull the population and keep these emerging technologies for themselves. But to your earlier question, why aren’t we helping your world?”
“Yes,” Bethany said, tucking the word transhumanism into her mind for later. “You have such amazing technology, and a much wider understanding of the universe. Why not use it to help us?”
Adriel sighed. “Simply put,” he said, “We’re not allowed. The same accepted laws that the Annunaki violated, we have to follow. As I told you, your people and mine all started here in this world, on this side of the veil with the Annunaki. When the ultra-terrestrials saw what they had done, there was a conflict. At the end of it, a tentative truce was set in place, and it was agreed that the higher wavelength entities would try to give our people the gift of civilization. After the Annunaki abandoned us, kicked us out of Eden to wander in the wilderness, so to speak, they chose a kingship lineage from our ancient ancestors. As they taught us, they moved more into the shadows, became the hidden powers behind the thrones. They also came to care about some of us, and many of us were adopted as, well, I guess the best term would be pets. The ancient texts refer to this as being ‘taken up to walk with God.’ My ancestors were some of these lucky ones. We’ve been on the other side of the frequency veil ever since.”
“They thought choosing kings was the best system of government?” Bethany asked incredulously.
“For our level of development at that time, yes,” he said. “It was barbaric, but we were still technically barbarians. And it was imperative that nothing be traced back to their influence. How would it look if we had just developed a democratic parliamentary system from nothing? It would corrupt the entire fledgling civilization.”
“Well,” Bethany said. “They failed to hide their influence.”
“Yes, they did,” Adriel grinned “But it was either that, or go with the original Annunaki plan of wiping us all out.”
Bethany sighed. “We’re going to wipe ourselves out anyway.”
“Sadly, true,” Adriel said. “But you see, this exonerates them for any wrongdoing in the past. They can still say, well, they tried to help you.”
“So why won’t they help us now?”
Adriel flicked his eyes back to their normal colorings again. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Honestly, what do you think the people here would do if we suddenly showed up and said, ‘We’re here to help’?”
Bethany knew what he meant. People were panicky. There was a herd mentality, and humans had a flawed system of thinking. If a bunch of higher-realm entities suddenly came down from the sky, or just appeared in the middle of Washington, D.C., or whatever, there would be chaos. The religious nuts would call them demons and think it was the End of Days, and who knew what they would be capable of? There were Evangelicals in very high positions in government. They could start launching nukes. Then Bethany had an idea.
“What if you didn’t show up en masse?” she said. “Instead of War of the Worlds, what if you did it like in The Day the Earth Stood Still? Just send one representative to speak with word leaders.”
Adriel smiled. “We’ve tried that,” he said. “Many times. You nailed one guy to a cross. The others didn’t fare much better. And this is where it has gotten us. The prevailing idea now is that the entities in the Book of Job were right, that this is the inevitable outcome, just as their ‘Satan’ had seen it unfold.”
Bethany thought about this, and something inside her told her that this was the way it had to be. The time was up. “So,” she finally said. “Ages upon ages, this Earth has produced civilizations. Some grow together successfully, and graduate to the higher realms to become like Gods. Others fall to the dust, or back to the lower frequencies. And now, my world, my people…”
“Your people will fall to dust, there’s no stopping that now,” Adriel said. “What we can prevent is this entire realm falling into the darker, Hellish realms. It won’t be easy, as they have a strong pull on this world now. They have influencers here already in positions of power.”
“So how do we prevent that?” Bethany asked.
“It won’t be easy,” Adriel said. “And we’re going to need your help.”
Again, Bethany had to ask about his pronoun usage. “Our help,” she said, “or my help?”
Adriel sat up again and looked directly into her eyes, hoping this would convey the gravity of what he was about to propose.
“Your help, Bethany Kendrick,” he said. “And so I have been directed by my people to invite you across the veil.”
“Across the veil?” she said. “You mean, to your world?”
“Precisely.” He reached for his glass of wine and finished it in one gulp. “So,” he then said. “Shall we go?”
[CONTINUED ELSEWHERE, NOT ON THIS BLOG]