“I guess the secret is out,” said Debbie in a normal tone of voice.
Lukor looked at Debbie incredulously then back to where the rest of the slaves still worked. Apparently none had heard Debbie. “We need to move on down the tunnel.”
They didn’t stop until they were at the entrance to the cellblock. Again Lukor turned to Debbie.
“Debbie, you’re the key as to why the drells wish to rid themselves of all of us,” began Lukor. His words were clearer and more enunciated than ever before. Yet it was clear that he was indeed shaken. “I am a warrior. It is my duty to fight and even surrender my life for the good of this community if the situation demands. But if I am to die on account of you I would like to know why. Now tell me, tell us, why the drells want to be rid of you and us along with you.”
And so, Debbie told her story, she told them all, a tale of her return to Earth and the people that made it possible. It seemed so incredible yet no one doubted it. The evidence was before them. It could literally be seen in Debbie’s hand and heard in her voice. She spoke not just of events but of hope. They weren’t alone in this, not anymore. They had allies on Earth, very determined allies, who knew of their plight and even as she spoke were drawing up their plans to rescue them. Who could say, they might even be drawing up plans against the drells. No, their situation was far from hopeless.
“So now the drells get rid of Debbie and all of those closest to her,” deduced Marci. “Who knows, maybe they plan to eliminate the doctors back on Earth too. Killing has always been their answer. Well I’m not walking off into the darkness in chains to be fed to one of those damned cave beasts, a ciudach, or whatever the hell you call it.”
“There is nothing else we can do,” lamented Lukor, “we have to obey.” He hesitated. “Well, mostly.”
“What is that supposed to mean,” asked Marci.
“It means you have to trust me,” replied Lukor.
“Trust?” said Marci.
“Yes, trust,” repeated Lukor turning to Debbie. “Then there is the issue of your voice. I’ll not be administering the drug of silence to ya again, I wouldn’t do that. But I will be asking you not to speak out loud when you’re around da others. Your condition must remain our secret until we figure out what’s going on.”
“Yes, sir,” said Debbie in a somewhat quieter tone.
“Trust,” said Lukor, for the third time.
The group looked at each other in puzzlement. Trust didn’t come easily. Still they seemed to have no choice. In three days they would need to be on their way.
As Debbie and Leslie shared their prayer time that evening, they included a special prayer for guidance. Was it God’s will that they die in this place so far from home? Perhaps it was. Then their souls would be free to return to Him, to go to Heaven. Yet it seemed unfair that these drells should be allowed to win, to go on killing.
Chapter 8
There was nothing remarkable about the home of Sybil Conners. It was a white duplex in the Town of Glenshaw, an eastern suburb of Pittsburgh. Ron’s aunt met him before he’d even reached the door. They embraced.
“From your phone call it sounds like you have yourself a problem,” said Sybil. “Come on in, let’s talk about it.”
It hardly seemed possible that Sybil was his mother’s sister. She was much thinner and a good five inches shorter, standing barely five feet tall. She had brown hair without a trace of gray. She didn’t look at all bad for 45 years old. The inside of Sybil’s home was as unremarkable as the exterior. It was clean and pleasantly furnished, though most of the furniture was decades old. Still, there were no pentagrams on the wall, no crystal balls, no beaded curtains, and no heavy smell of incense. If she were a witch she was a closet witch. Oh, there was a cat in the hallway alright, but it wasn’t black, it was a rather large gray tiger tabby.
Then they entered the living room. Here the unremarkable nature of the home ended. Nearly every wall had shelves of books running from the floor to nearly the ceiling. A quick glance revealed a few titles; The Person of the Holy Spirit, Comparative Religion, A Study of the Book of Deuteronomy, Sermons from Romans, Nuggets from Numbers. These hardly seemed like the sort of books a witch would have in her library.
Sybil directed Ron to a pair of plush easy chairs in her living room. “Would you care for coffee or tea?”
“Coffee please,” replied Ron.
“Coffee it is,” said Sybil. “I’ll be right back.”
Sybil headed off for the kitchen, giving Ron a chance to peruse the library still further. He scanned a shelf that was at about eye level. He was astonished. They were all books on the topic of Bible study and religion. A Treatise on the Book of Romans by Martin Luther, caught his eye. The title was in old German. He carefully picked up the apparently very old clothbound book. He opened it to behold the publishing date of 1578.
“Careful, it’s an original,” cautioned Sybil.
Ron turned with a start, placing the book carefully back on its shelf. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” replied Sybil. “Look till your heart is content. I have volumes even older than that up there. I also have a book that is autographed by John Wesley.”
“The founder of the Methodist Church,” deduced Ron.
“Oh, you do know your church history,” replied Sybil.
“Some,” said Ron.
“How is it that you knew to come to me with your questions?” continued Sybil. “I never really spoke much of my background around you. I didn’t want to get things stirred up between you and your mother.”
Ron hesitated. There was no easy way to ask the next question. “Mom said that you were a witch.”
Sybil laughed openly. “Oh, is that what Loretta is calling me these days; a witch?”
Ron didn’t reply yet his eyes never left his aunt.
“Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies,” laughed Sybil.
Ron’s expression remained unchanged. Sybil’s mirth evaporated.
“No, dear, I’m not a witch,” she said, “Never have been, never will be. At least not the kind of witch you are thinking of. True, there was a time that someone of my interests might well have been burned at the stake. What I actually am is something far more interesting and far more powerful than a witch. Oh yes, far more. I am a member of a secret society, I’ll tell you that much, so long as you keep it a secret.”
Ron couldn’t help but laugh at that oddball comment. His aunt always did have the knack to make him laugh. He was glad to see that she hadn’t lost it.
“As for my religion, I won’t go into great detail right now. Let’s just say I’m sort of, well, Pentecostal,” she continued.
“A holy roller?” asked Ron.
Again Sybil laughed. “Now you sound like your mother. I guess that term works as well as any other, at least from a traditional Catholic viewpoint. Let me tell you this; people like to endow witches with real supernatural power. Filmmakers sure do. They make them look bigger than life. Your average witch doesn’t even know the meaning of the word power. I do. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve been privileged to see during the past twenty plus years. But I suspect, no, I know that you will.”
That comment sent a chill up Ron’s spine. His aunt didn’t frighten him. He loved her too much. But this was a side of her he’d never seen.
“I knew we would have this conversation eventually,” said Sybil. “The Holy Spirit told me that much. I just wasn’t sure when or how. I’m glad that it was sooner rather than later.”
“Tell me your story, Aunt Sybil,” said Ron.
“Never thought you’d ask,” replied Sybil heading back out into the kitchen.
Less than a minute later she returned with two cups of coffee. They sat in chairs on opposite sides of the coffee table.
“I never discussed my faith or what it was that drove your mother and me apart,” began Sybil. “I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to discuss that under your mother’s roof. Your mom told you the tr
uth about my leaving home. I was a wild child. I’ll admit that much. Still, she didn’t know the whole story. After all there is a 13-year age difference between us. She was long gone from our parent’s house by the time I reached junior high. There had been tension between me and your grandparents for some time. As I said, I could be a very difficult child, I admit it. I headed off to San Francisco, looking for a new life right out of high school back in 1966, and I found one. I lived in a commune with no limitations and virtually no rules. I lived a life of free love and drugs of every color and shape. I was living the dream. It was great for about three months. Then I discovered acid, LSD if you will. That was my downfall. I freaked out. I used it only once but it was the gift that just kept on giving. It was a nightmare every time. I had one relapse after another, and every trip was a bad one.”
“LSD has a tendency to do that to some people,” noted Ron. “Every street became a corridor in Hell with a demon around every corner, in every alleyway. It didn’t take long before my new friends abandoned me. I was too much of an inconvenience to them. I wasn’t any fun anymore. They set me out on the street.
“I wandered for I don’t know how long. Then someone took me by the hand, led me through Hell and to a place of refuge. I don’t remember much about that night. The next thing I knew I was in a mission in downtown San Francisco. That was a pretty rough neighborhood back in the day. There were people taking care of me in that place. They were young people my age mostly. They fed me and cleaned me up. The mission was funded by this rather enigmatic figure by the name of Matthew Martin.”
“Matthew Martin!” exclaimed Ron. “The Matthew Martin? The billionaire adventurer philanthropist, the head of Martin International Foundation?”
“The very same,” confirmed Sybil.
“His foundation was the one that funded Dr. Wilson’s experiment, the FENS project.”
“How about that,” replied Sybil. “But let’s not digress at this point. Back in those days Dr. Martin was particularly interested in the free love movement, the hippy movement, if you will. He wished to study it first hand, and that is exactly what he did at his mission in San Francisco. His primary objective quickly became to rescue those who had become a victim of this new lifestyle, people like me. More amazingly he took a special interest in me. You see it wasn’t just one of his people but it was him who found me in that alley and brought me back to the mission. Whether it was chance or divine intervention, I can’t say. He urged me to stay, to clean myself up, abandon the sex, alcohol, and the drugs. He spoke of my destiny, a great mission that I was to be a part of. He asked me to let him be my guide. He made it clear that I wasn’t a prisoner, the door was always open, but where else could I go? So I stayed.
“I’d been there for about a week being counseled, becoming a part of what he called the family, when a bad trip came back with a vengeance. I was terrified, but this time I wasn’t facing it alone. Dr. Martin himself came to me in my darkest hour. He spoke of being free of this affliction if I wanted to be. He spoke again of a mission that awaited me if I wished to accept it. I was so afraid. I told him I’d do anything if he could send the demons away. Yes, that is what I called them. He laid his hand upon me and they left, just like that. He told me that God had called me to a higher purpose. That was the last time that I had a flashback. I never took drugs again.
“For several years I worked at the mission helping others, even as he sent me to school to study accounting, business, and, well, other things.”
“Other things?” questioned Ron.
“Yes,” confirmed Sybil. “Yes, those other things did include the occult, comparative religion, and the Bible. I’d say I have about as complete an education in the study of the mystic arts as anyone around. I have my doctorate in theology. Certainly more than most witches can claim. I know how to handle myself during a supernatural incident. As Kenny Rogers might say I know when to hold up, know when to fold up, know when to walk away, and know when to run.”
“And you don’t count your money when you’re sitting at the table,” responded Ron.
“That too,” said Sybil. “Most witches aren’t smart enough to come inside during a thunderstorm. The average witch doesn’t stay with the craft very long? Those that stay don’t live terribly long? They play with fire and they do get burned. What is worse is that they get burned so slowly that they don’t even realize it until it is too late. They are playing with powers they can’t even begin to understand. They are in way over their head. As I said they are standing out in the middle of a field during a lightning storm. And they don’t expect to get struck? Come on out! See the lightning from the top of the hill! What happens is only too predictable.”
Ron nodded but said nothing.
“When I finished my studies in San Francisco I moved to Pittsburgh along with Dr. Martin as his personal assistant. Here I served in the accounting department of his charitable foundation. But there was more, he also became my mentor and I his student. Ron, you can’t imagine the places I’ve been to and the things I’ve seen at his side. I’ve seen zombies, real zombies in Haiti brought back to their right mind. I’ve seen a woman transform herself into a leopard and back again. I’ve seen a little girl brought back from the dead, and real demons cast out of madmen just to name a few things.”
Ron wasn’t quite sure what to say after hearing all of that. “Wow, I never realized that you’d experienced all of that. Did my mom know anything about who you were working with and what you did and experienced?”
“Some of it,” replied Sybil.
“But still you and my mom never made up with each other?”
“I tried, but you see, she didn’t understand. My parents, your grandparents, never understood either. They still thought of what I was involved in as a cult. They didn’t see that I had changed and for the better. They were dyed in the wool Roman Catholics. I was an apostate child. They couldn’t forgive me any more than your mother could. They went as far as to disown me. I’d lost my old family but found a new one. They went to their grave claiming that I had died to them long ago and that they had but one daughter.”
Ron hesitated. He had to return to a previous subject. There was something that he had to know. “Aunt Sybil, did you have anything to do with Dr. Wilson getting the grant for FENS?”
After a brief pause Sybil responded. “You could say that. After all, I am a member of the board of trustees, one of seven. I remember reviewing the proposal. I also remembered your mother talking about Wilson and his dedication. Mine was one of the yes votes. I remember that the vote went four to three, so I suppose you could call mine the deciding vote. But I’d like to hear this tape you told me about over the phone. I’d like to hear the whole story in Debbie’s own words.”
And so she did. There were times during the playing of the tape that Ron could see tears in his aunt’s eyes. When the interview had come to an end Sybil was noticeably shaken.
“I’ve never heard of this Sisterhood of Twilight or this Victoria Barda,” said Sybil. “But Lilith, oh I’ve heard of her alright. The Bible we have today has only one reference to her, and then only in certain translations.”
Sybil picked up her Bible from the coffee table, a particularly large and thick one. She paged through it quickly. Ron noticed that the pages were broken up into four columns that contained four separate translations. She found the Book of Isaiah and then the 34th chapter. She hesitated for a few seconds. Her finger rested upon the third of the four translations.
“Yes, this is what I was looking for, in Isaiah 34:14,” announced Sybil. “Wildcats will meet hyenas, the goat demon will call to his friends, and there Lilith will lurk and find her resting place.”
“Oh my God,” gasped Ron. “Debbie said a drell looked like that, like a goat with demon eyes. The leaching blood sacrifices, are dedicated to Lilith. It’s all in the Bible!”
“It is indeed,” confirmed Sybil. “At least in the New Revised Standard Version. Apparently Isaiah saw this comi
ng. It’s all there.”
“But who is this Lilith that the drells worship?” asked Ron. “Is she some kind of demon?”
“A demon?” repeated Sybil. “Perhaps she is. There are two avenues of thought about her. In one ancient Jewish tradition she was Adam’s first wife.”
“Wait a minute,” objected Ron, “I sat through a lot of Father Tom’s sermons when I was growing up but I never heard him say that Adam had two wives. What happened, did he divorce this Lilith to marry Eve?”
Sybil smiled slightly. “No dear. The story goes that in the beginning God created two humans from the dust of the ground, a male and a female. The male was named Adam and the female was named Lilith. They were joint heirs of Eden but it didn’t quite work out. You see, Lilith wasn’t all that fond of Adam. She tried to dominate him, run the whole show. In the end she left him and the garden. So God made Adam a second woman, but this time He put Adam into a deep sleep and made this one from the flesh of his side. She was the earth doubly refined and a part of Adam. She was literally flesh of his flesh. She was a far more suitable mate. As for Lilith, she became very jealous. She really hated Eve. She really didn’t want Adam but she didn’t want anyone else to have him either. She became an enemy of Adam but even more so of Eve. She was intent on killing her children. There was a time when sudden infant death was attributed to Lillith.”
“It all fits,” noted Ron.
Sybil hesitated. “It does but it might not be the right interpretation. There is another less well known tradition. In this one Lilith wasn’t Adam’s wife at all but some sort of female demon in a sort of alternate reality version of Earth.”
“Alternate reality Earth?” replied Ron. “That sounds more like science fiction. Are you being serious?”
“Oh yes,” assured Sybil. “The second myth of Lilith grew to include legends about another world and by some accounts this other world existed side by side with this one. Yenne Velt is Yiddish for this other world. In this other world Asmodeus and Lilith were believed to procreate demonic offspring endlessly and spread chaos at every turn. They were the great mother and father of a race of demons in another reality.”
The Realm of the Drells Page 11