by D. M. Pratt
Eve read how scientists believed the Beings endowed the Nephilim with shape shifting abilities so they would be pleasing to human women when they seduced them. The Advanced Beings made one critical mistake: they thought they had engineered their creations to be mortal and therefore controllable, an assumption that quickly proved to be false. The Nephilim were immortal and, in their pure form, almost as powerful as the Beings. This fact coincided with the religious writings Eve had discovered. Unable to control their creations, the Beings sought to destroy the Nephilim. The Great Flood was their first effort, but it almost destroyed all of humanity as well. They then attempted to capture and banish the Nephilim by trapping them between dimensions in a void that human mythologies spoke of as Hades or Hell; Tartarus, the deepest cosmic pit of Hades was reserved for the worst Nephilim who ever lived named Kirakin. Eve ran her fingers over the name. There was something familiar about that name.
“Kirakin,” she said softly to herself.
She thought she knew it, but she knew she’d never read it in any history, religious or mythology book or class she’d ever taken. Eve read on learning that Kirakin and his kind were to be sealed forever inside this inescapable pit for all eternity. She was surprised to see that these were from the lost writing of Homer and other ancient Greeks. Over the millenniums his name had changed and evolved, but the stories remained the same. Part religious tales, part past mythologies depending on who told the tale. Eve pushed away from the computer wondering if these Nephilim tales were inspiration for Dante’s thirty-four verse canto masterpiece, “The Inferno.”
Right as she was about to get up, she made the mistake of clicking one last link. It and Google led her down another series of rabbit holes. After several more clicks she found a particularly fascinating site that told how the Nephilim possessed the ability to change the color of their skin and even make themselves invisible to the human eye. Another section detailed the Nephilim’s unparalleled sexual passion and the raw sensuality they exuded when they made love. It was determined from the ancient writings that once a human woman made love to a Nephilim, a human man could rarely satisfy them again. Human men became jealous and denied the Nephilim access to women by creating laws and convincing women the Nephilim were vile demons and if they had intercourse with a Nephilim, they and their offspring would be put to death. The Nephilim were banished from the world of the humans. Enraged, the Nephilim left earth, but vowed to return because of their insatiable inability to resist the lure and beauty of human women, the obsessive need to play in their hair, an addition that could never be quelled.
Eve absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair as she read about the plight of the Nephilim. She turned away from the computer screen and looked in the mirror. Her hair had just enough wave to catch the light and add dimension to its beauty. Beau loved playing with her hair. As far as the Nephilim were concerned and the stories of their superior, sexual prowess, Eve had to smile to herself, knowing Beau had them beat hands down as a lover.
The final site that caught her tired eyes was called, the SECRET OF THE FEMININE; THE COMING MAGI. EVE, First Womankind: Mother of all, sister, daughter, creator. Eve saw her name and clicked on the site.
“Let me say first,” the writer wrote, “Earth was paradise. Earth was the Garden of Eden and we lived in peace never needing anything to survive but the sun, the water and the plants that grew from the soil that gave us air to breath. There was peace among all creatures. Mother earth was in balance until the Immortals came and created the Nephilim. Let me also say, Eve, this epitomized version of womankind who lived in the Garden of Eden, did not receive carnal knowledge from the devil disguised as a snake, but from a Nephilim. Ancient writings explained that the snake was a metaphor for the Nephilim and the forbidden apple for carnal knowledge and sexual bliss; knowledge not just of the mind, but of the feminine body and how it could be utilized as a portal through a state of bliss into other dimensions.”
Eve’s eyes felt tired, but her mind raced, fascinated by the possibility of other beings co-existing in the universe, entering our world through portals and fissures between dimensions that led in and out of other universes. Giants who could shift their shapes to become man-sized at will. The ancient writings were proven to have come from the Dead Sea Scrolls carried into Mesopotamian, Assyrian, Greek, Egyptian, Nubian and Roman stories twisted and retold until they evolved into religions and mythologies that defined the offspring of “Gods,” which eventually all pointed back to the Advanced Beings who created the Nephilim. Even recent scientific discoveries pointed to the existence of the Nephilim, including giant skeletons found by more than one modern archaeological team in the Fertile Crest.
Eve combed through every page on the site until she found the “About” page which contained a picture of a women who appeared to be in her sixties. She had long, thick, salt and pepper hair and dark, mysterious, deep-set eyes. She was a timeless, classic beauty with high cheek bones and full lips. The woman was born in Persia’s Iran/Iraq region in the Fertile Crest near the place where the first city of the civilized world, Uruk, once stood. It was in what was known as Mesopotamia as told by the reliefs on the Inanna temples of Karaindas. Her bio said she now lived outside of Cairo, Egypt and her name was Dr. Afrine Kasatah PhD. MD. Eve studied her picture wondering if Dr. Afrine Kasatah possessed the answers she was seeking.
Afrine claimed to be directly descended from the true line of humanity’s first mother, Eve. Some believe the first woman “Eve” was the daughter of God, whose offspring became Mages and the ancient alchemists of Susa. Afrine’s website offered irrefutable proof of her claim and declared she and a few select others knew the location of the last hidden Ziggurats, its city of gold and its secret portals to others dimensions. Afrin hinted that this city was built just north of the mound of Chogha Zanbil thousands of years before the more famous Ziggurat, now in ruins, built by King Untash Huban, ever existed. Her website displayed pictures of the ruins of once great pyramids and hinted that their sister structures lay still undiscovered in the Zargos Mountains and the Golan Heights. Some of the daughters of Eve and the Nephilim became what history called the Amazonian Women. They passed their secrets and sexual mysteries of the feminine down through generations before their cities and culture were obliterated and their achievements were stolen and erased from history. These women, five millennia ago, stood eight feet tall, proof they were the female descendants of the Nephilim. Afrine’s site provided historical and biblical references along with example after example of complex ancient carvings and drawings from Sumer, maps of stars, galaxies, nebulas and planets not yet discovered by man. Afrine believed the Nephilim’s presence had profound astronomical significance, especially if their ancestors came from the stars.
Eve bookmarked Afrine’s web page before she reread Afrine’s claim that she was not the last descendant of the daughter of God or Supreme Beings: at least one other, more powerful than she, lived.
Eve felt the weight of the sleepless night close in on her. Her eyes began to blur and sleep called to her demanding she lay down and rest, but in the still of the morning, she heard the first sounds of Philip crying for her. Her body commanded her to find the strength to go to her son.
Eve stood, but looked back one last time at the screen. She focused on Dr. Afrine Kasatah’s contact number in Cairo. She picked up her phone and punched in the numbers. The phone rang its strange foreign tone, echoing again and again across the long distance line. A ping drew Eve’s eyes back to the computer screen as a thumbnail picture popped up. It was of a square, granite image carved with some kind of ancient cuneiform symbol. A small message flashed below in red urgent letters that read, “Eve, hurry! They are here and you alone know what to do. Remember who you are.”
She watched as the image exploded into fine particles, filling the screen with a bright shimmering light that fell like grains of glowing sand down the screen, but not before the pictograph and red words underneath had seared into her brain. Bl
inded by a light so brilliant, so powerful her whole body began to tremble. She closed her eyes fumbling with the phone to set it back into the cradle. Eve slammed the lid of her computer shut. She tried to stand, but her legs felt like they had melted. Philip screamed louder and her eyes adjusted as the room reappeared around her. Eve looked back at her phone. The number for Afrine was there in the display until the foreign tone abruptly disconnected and the display screen went to black.
It had my name, she thought, written on the screen. A message to her? A path to find the answers she so desperately wanted … needed? Philip cried again.
Chapter Fourteen
The morning dragged into the afternoon and Eve found herself exhausted and irritable, desperately needing to talk to someone about what was happening to her, what she was discovering and how disturbed she felt. She’d called Cora, but Cora said the phone was no place to discuss the old New Orleans’s, rumor mill about Beau and his family. She said it was a story she had wanted to share at the bayou right before the alligator attacked.
“Maybe it’s time you knew the dark side of the Gregoire history. What the old folks called the Gregoire curse,” Cora said.
Cora told her that she and Delia would come by for dinner and before Beau returned, she would share everything she knew.
“But,” Cora added, “If we’re gonna open that Pandora’s Box, we are gonna have to be very careful, Eve. Please, promise me.”
Eve wasn’t sure what the words meant, but she could hear fear in Cora’s tone.
Eve had made the appointment to see her therapist, Dr. Honoré. She tried several times to talk herself out of going, but she needed a session to unleash whatever was building inside her before she had a meltdown. Besides, what could it hurt? She got in the car and drove to Dr. Honoré’s inner city office in Algiers. She had so many things to share. Like the fact that it took her all day to find the courage to reopen her computer to look again at what had literally tried to blow her mind. But no matter how hard she looked, Dr. Afrine Kasatah’s site could not be found. That and two more nights without sleep were taking its toll.
She’d driven across the Greater New Orleans Bridge, taken the Mardi Gras Boulevard exit and picked up De Armas Street to head back toward the Mississippi River front that faced New Orleans. De Armas Street took her right down the middle of two of Algiers’ oldest cemeteries, St Bartholomew’s and St Mary’s. The raised white crypts and mausoleums caught the glare of the sun. They had been designed to keep the dead above the water table, but it always creeped her out to see the sprawling cities of the dead. At the same time the names, dates and final messages from the living about the dead always fascinated her. As she drove, she stole glances and wondered about their stories, some dating back as far as the seventeen hundreds. New Orleans was rich in a unique history created by a melting pot of people and mysteries gathered from around the world.
Eve reached for her cell phone only to realize she’d left it at the house; a bad habit that made both Beau and Cora crazy. She wanted to ask Cora to bring a bottle of her favorite Bordeaux when she came over for dinner. Eve arranged everything else. She had bought and arranged the flowers and candles, started the crawdad etoufée, instructed the old cook and the housekeeper how to prepare the table and what side dishes to cook. Cora promised to bring Delia, dessert and Zamara. Beau would pick the wine. He liked to do that and Eve liked his taste, but she loved the dark, very expensive Bordeaux from Cora’s extensive wine cellar. She’d already let both of them know she’d meet them at the guest house after her appointment with Dr. Honoré.
Eve loved Cora and the three of them always had a great time hanging out. She and Beau were Cora’s best friends and now that Delia had “taken her off the market” as she professed, dating was still awkward. Eve secretly thought Cora still had feelings for Beau, but she’d given them the chance to admit it to themselves and to her and they’d declined. That irksome little ghost of a suspicion and the fact that she was simply exhausted made her secretly hope Dr. Honoré would prescribe some kind of pill to help her sleep and order her home to bed. Eve’s other big fear was that Dr. Honoré would declare her crazy, medicate her or worse, lock her up.
The breathtaking view of New Orleans rose between the buildings like a new world. It sat directly across the mighty Mississippi, breathtaking, old and new, tried and victorious. She really did love the exotic nature of New Orleans, its history, architecture, people and the most amazing food on the planet. Algiers had its own history, a little darker, a little stranger. Must have been all those pirates and Voodoo priests, Eve thought.
She found the doctor’s address and parked her car. As soon as the car door opened, the heat surrounded her like a giant, musty old coat, humid and dank, clinging to her skin. Only the hint of a breeze teased her skin and carried with it the promise of coolness the night would bring. Eve walked up the street peering in the shop windows, appreciating the long, wooden overhang with its intricate wrought iron balcony that gave her shelter from the late afternoon sun. She stopped at the address where the doctor’s front gate guarded a small courtyard filled with trees, vines and flowers. The gate had a key pad and security camera to keep unwanted strangers and riff raff out and because Dr. Honoré said she had no secretary. Eve punched in the code the good doctor had given her and, after a moment of silence and a wink of light from the security camera, the gate buzzed open.
Eve entered the fragrant garden. A stone walk serpentined through the meticulously groomed garden like a lazy old snake leading her forward. The door to the office was unlocked and Eve entered the air conditioned waiting room with its peach-colored roman shades kept lowered to dim the brilliant sunlight and keep the heat at bay. The outer waiting room was small, modern and well appointed. A soft beige couch and five chairs along with a coffee table neatly stacked with magazines anchored the space. A variety of plants framed the window and clung to the last of the sunlight as it reached inside through the open spaces that ran along the sides and bottom of the shade. It made the place feel comfortable and very relaxing. She took a seat and looked through the stacks of magazines carefully chosen to appeal to both men and women. Eve heard the sound of a small water fountain in the corner. It had at its center a smooth stone ball of polished rose quartz spinning methodically as the water gurgled and sputtered peacefully, adding to the tranquility the room commanded.
Eve picked up a Southern Style Magazine, her ex-magazine job. She flipped to the contributors’ page and saw Charles Delacroix, her Editor-in-Chief’s, name and face. Cora always said he looked like a basset hound, all droopy eyed and ears dangling, which made Eve smile. Before she could turn the page the door to Dr. Honoré’s office opened.
“Eve. Good. I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” Dr. Honoré said.
Eve stood and crossed to her, laying the magazine back on the table.
“You used to work there, didn’t you?” she asked gesturing to the magazine.
Eve smiled and nodded in agreement as Dr. Honoré led her into the office. The therapist looked more relaxed than when she’d seen her at the hospital. Still professional, but definitely more relaxed. She motioned to a large ox blood leather couch that looked simultaneously modern and antique. Eve was sure Freud would have had it in his office had he still been practicing in the twenty-first century. Eve scanned the room looking at the decor. The framed Bachelor of Science degree from Tulane University, MD from Harvard Medical, and her PhD in psychology from Oxford filled the wall. Wow, she thought. The latter surprised her the most. Dr. Honoré was so un-Harvard and Eve had trouble imagining her at Oxford or living in London for that matter. Judging people again, she thought. Stop!
The rest of the office was very feminine: French country, cushy chairs and a mid-twentieth century desk with her therapist chair catty corner to the couch. All in all, the place was rather eclectic and nothing like her office at Thibodaux Hospital. Eve let her fingers run over the vast collection of books that filled the ceiling-to-floor oak shelves: p
sychology books by Jung, Bettelheim, and Freud; the great books of Plato and Socrates and several books from ancient Persia and Mesopotamia by astronomers, mathematicians and scientists; texts on the planets and a numerological chart.
“You like to read, Eve?” Dr. Honoré asked.
“I do. I’m afraid most of these are a little heady for my taste. I do like history,” Eve said.
Her fingers stopped on a large, leather bound book. Tattered and frayed, the once pale tan of the natural animal skin had turned a mottled rusty orange and black from age. There was an energy the book exuded that compelled her to open it.
“May I?” Eve asked.
Dr. Honoré nodded yes and Eve picked up the worn book. It was heavy. The title’s gold lettering had long ago been erased by the many hands that had handled it. It looked like it read Gregoires. Impossible, Eve though. She balanced the book in her hand and opened it to the first page. The title was there as bold and as legible as if it had been drawn yesterday: “The Nephilim.”
Eve stared at the word. She wanted to drop the book and walk out the door.
“Where did you get this?” Eve asked, the tension closing her throat.
Dr. Honoré sat for a moment with a perplexed look on her face.
“I … can’t remember. A patient I think. No, she wasn’t a patient. It was years ago, an older woman just showed up at my door. Her name was … huh … I don’t recall, but her face is as present in my mind as if it were an hour ago. She was amazing, old with skin like a piece of dark chocolate and this wild shock of white hair and her eyes …” Dr. Dr. Honoré said.
“One blue and one brown,” Eve said, then stopped, wondering why she’d spoken.
“Yes. Heterochromia iridium. I had to look that up. Wait, how did you know that?”
Eve stopped, surprised that she knew and uncertain as to how.