#TheSecret
“You shouldn’t believe everything that’s going around.”
She walks closer to the rose bushes and smells them.
“Ahhhhh.”
Sighs.
She picks one and takes a seat next to Peter-John on the big round stone.
“That might be the case with some. It might be the case with all of them. All of it might be wrong and we are simply being deceived. Why deceive is what at least gives us the grasp that something is going on.”
She starts picking the rose petals one by one. Each one she smells first then drops it in a round basket.
“Roses, they’re so lovely. I like the champagne ones the best. There’s just something about them. Don’t you think?”
“Yes. Ugh. I mean… I think… I know what you mean.” He smiles awkwardly and looks away.
“Share with me?”
She waits.
He adjusts his spectacles.
Coughs.
Starts.
“It’s the shiny layer they have. Almost like velvet. I think you like that. It is… lovely.”
“You have it spot on, John-Peter.”
She smiles at him.
He manages a grin.
Soon the tense face returns.
“There is of course more, with the control, I mean. Sad, but it is another possibility.”
“Please, I’m all ears.”
He manages a broader smile.
Observes her as she smells the petals.
Her skin was milky white.
He looks down when she looks at him.
“Well maybe it is out of… desperation. Wanting better circumstances… single mothers that can’t manage on their own… people trying to escape abusive relationships... basically people fed up with their situation and they want a change. They also desire the American dream. White picket fence, you know. All that the… TV… magazines… make so alluring.”
She looks at him.
Sighs.
“Do we ever not hear the story of a celebrity, before they were famous, that hasn’t been struggling… working as a waitress… demo tapes… struggling to be heard… mother can’t make ends meet… throwing a tantrum in a bank… till… one day… just the right person noticed them… a producer… casting agent… almost like a fairy-tale and the rest is history?”
She looks at him expectantly.
“Is there ever a celebrity that simply had a good life and chose to be an actor or singer, from among many other possibilities, simply as a career, without the woeful story?”
“Guess not. Only ones are those that have celebrity parents already.”
“Exactly.”
“So, what you’re saying is that they sold their children to the program? So that they, the parent, can have a better or easier life?”
“Am I horrible for thinking that?”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did, I think that often. To think of such cruelty often makes me think that I am possible of that cruelty myself.”
“Tell me more, please.” He smiles.
The grave face returns soon as he sees she smiles back.
“Well that is one possibility. The other is the darker side of course.”
“Darker?”
She smells a petal.
Sighs.
Throws it into the basket.
Sighs again.
She starts.
“People know what’s going on and want to join. This and the other control, is different.”
“But how?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
“If part of the program, it means these children have no control over what they do or what happens to them… like they are vessels. They have no conscience recollection of probably doing it.”
“Okay, and the ones that join?”
“They do all of it of their own free will… at a price.”
She rolls her eyes as she says free will.
He wants to smile at how cute she looks.
But doesn’t.
Only manages a short grin and then the frown, soon as she casts her inviting eyes his way.
“Not sure what to say. More… they willingly give themselves to be used.”
“The price?”
Again he stares as her hands pick the petal.
Slender fingers.
Fragile wrists.
He looks away when she starts.
“First a loved one and ultimately themselves.”
He frowns.
Tries to avoid eye contact.
“I don’t quite get you. What are you saying? Selling a loved one and then selling themselves? To be programmed you mean? Used?”
“That’s the thing with programmed? What do we mean? It’s control yes. But does the programming imply being tortured, abused, hurt… till you snap… break… and they fill you with information… another personality… an alter, or does it simply mean to surrender… give in… give up… to another force?”
He helps her with her basket as she gets up and starts walking.
“Please, let’s go this way. There are some lovely lilies.”
They turn right and walk along the gravel path.
Small white stones.
“So what’s your take on it?”
The gentle breeze plays with her black hair.
She looks his way.
Smiles.
Starts.
“Mine? On the ones that join?”
He tries to smile.
Only manages a frown.
“Yes. Tell me what you mean about the loved ones.”
They turn right again and walk past some cherry trees.
“Well, how often have you heard of a celebrity either right before, or during their fame, who’s lost a loved one in some tragedy? I mean, people die, of course and because they are celebrities, it is public. But here we’re talking of those strange deaths, strange circumstances.”
He meets her deep, blue eyes.
Swallows hard.
Looks down.
“Often. One almost feels sad usually. And comforted that they at least have some money to help them get by.”
She looks at him.
Smiles fondly.
“John-Peter, that’s why I like you so much. You have a caring heart. Don’t let people walk all over it with the bs they feed you.”
“What do you mean?”
He tries to avoid eye contact.
He starts scratching his arm and neck.
“You okay? Your cheeks are all red.”
He finds her eyes.
Holds for just a second.
Like two, big, round marbles.
With the blue ocean inside of them.
He looks away.
“I’m… fine.”
She giggles.
“What?”
He puts his hoodie up and puts his hands in his pockets.
Walks awkwardly further.
“Nothing. I’m just being silly.”
She winks at him.
“So, Madison, tell me more.”
She looks at him and smiles.
“I like how you say my name.”
He frowns.
Looks down.
Then up.
Meets her eyes.
“How do you mean?”
She looks away.
“Just the way in which you say it. A deep, low M and a light, high, sunny son. Like you go through all the bars in just that one word.”
He laughs to himself.
“I like John-Peter too.”
“Ahhh, JP. I know you do.”
She laughs.
He clears his throat.
“Tell me… about the loved ones, the ones that join.”
She sighs.
Picks a flower from a cherry tree.
Smells it and drops it in her basket.
“Do we really have to? It’s very depressing.”
Unconsciously he reaches for
her delicate shoulder.
“Please?”
She looks at him.
Realizing what he did, he quickly pulls his hand away.
She notices, but says nothing.
“Why is it so important for you to know all of this? Far as I can tell you spoke to Embeth and others. You’re apparently hounding Jeanne.”
“Hounding? That’s… exaggeration.”
He tenses slightly.
“Relax. I’m just saying.”
He relaxes a bit.
The grave look remains.
“All I want to know is why it is so important to you.”
Her blue eyes observe his face.
The spectacles hide his eyes.
Made them difficult to see.
Especially with the sunlight reflecting in them.
I wish he would take those off. Just once. So that I can see his eyes. His lashes seem long. Very long.
She sighs.
He frowns less and looks at her.
“Because of… my friend… Drew.”
He takes off his spectacles.
Rubs his eyes.
Looks at her.
She meets his eyes.
Observes them.
They were dark, almost black.
A wild, untamed look about them.
But there was more.
She couldn’t be sure.
“You’re worried.”
That was clear.
He shakes his head.
Puts back his spectacles.
Replies.
“Yes.”
She shakes her head.
They continue to walk down the white, gravel path and take another right. They enter the small field. Wild flowers, mostly lupines; white, yellow, pink and purple.
“The lilies are more towards the back. By the small pond.”
She gestures to their left and they walk along; Madison filling her basket with petals as they go along.
“Look!” She shouts excited. Points to the small blue butterflies to their right.
“Karner blues. They’re rare.” Peter-John cleans his spectacles as if to get a better look.
Madison explores his face while he cleans them with his t-shirt. He was wearing a plain, white v-neck with white-grey camo cargo pants.
“You know about butterflies?” She asks when he notices her staring.
“Not really,” he smiles, “but I know about those.” Immediately he frowns.
“I like those more?” She points to the black and yellow ones fluttering above the flowers up the small hill to their right.
“Tigers?” He enquires.
“Not sure. I simply call them the yellow-and-black-stripy butterflies.”
She giggles softly.
Smells a few of the purple lupines and throws the petals into her basket.
“Madison,” she smiles at the sound of her name, “tell me more, please.”
He was sincere.
“John-Peter.” She looks him up and down.
Smiles when she sees him hide under his hoodie.
“Of course. Anything you want. Where were we?”
They walk further along the field. The pond was not too far away.
“The celebrities and their loved ones.”
He takes her basket from her.
“You really don’t have to.”
She wants to take the basket from him.
“I… don’t mind.”
He smiles.
“Thanks.”
She smiles at him. Her eyes never leave his face.
He notices.
Frowns.
Looks awkwardly down.
“Well, here we have no absolute proof, but generally, they are the ones that have them killed or do it themselves. Some even say that they offer their unborn children. We only get to hear that they had miscarriages, etc. Why even talk about something so private and personal publicly makes it truer. If no one knew you were pregnant, why go and announce the rest.”
“Why do they do any of it? Inspire us. Motivate us. If they can get through it, so can we.”
He notices her admiring stare and frowns more.
He pulls his hoodie tighter over his head.
“Guess that’s what it is being showcased as. And it might all be true; but it could all be a huge lie. And making it public is part of the gig. You must expose… your act… to the rest and whoever else.”
He nods in understanding.
“And while their fans sympathize and mourns with them,” she does inverted commas as she says with, “they laugh all the way to the bank. They must think we are such fools. I really don’t understand how these people live with themselves to be quite honest.”
He swallows.
“No conscience. Selfish, I suppose; if it’s true.”
She giggles.
“Always the sceptic?”
“I try and keep an open mind.”
“That’s not the end of it of course.”
He looks.
Frown less visible.
“Do tell.”
She gestures for them to sit as they reach the pond.
“They’re beautiful aren’t they? The lilies. Pity. Those are not for the collection. They’re for tonight’s supper.” She inhales and a mmmmm plays across her lips.
“I haven’t had that stew in ages.”
His smile big and broad at the look on her face.
“I never had that.”
“Serious? It’s the best. You haven’t lived until you’ve had at least three plates of that with a side of fresh chickpea salad and a rosemary garnish. It’s awesomely scrumptious. You can braze a few brinjals to get a more meaty texture, but I prefer it just as is.”
“No meat, hey?”
Look of surprise on his face.
“Not since fifth grade. When I found out where meat comes from and the horrible conditions these animals are kept in… bred for slaughtering… it broke my heart. I couldn’t eat any meat after that. The poor chickens; fried Kentucky and all. I just couldn’t.”
“Bet the China study only encouraged you to stick with it.”
He laughs.
“Tomatoes only? Purely for longevity? That’s not why I am a vegetarian. I have no desire to live a long life. A fulfilled day is more my style. And besides, old age sucks and I don’t think I can live off that only. Deny myself all the wonderful fruits and veggies that are abundant.” She simmers the thought.
“So, not even chicken?”
“None. No fish either.”
“What do you do to get some meat on that petite body of yours?”
“Petite?” She laughs encouragingly.
“I have my ways. I don’t mind the way I look. Get worried when I can’t carry anything anymore.”
They both laugh.
He frowns and looks away.
“It’s sad, if it’s true. What you’re telling me. That people would do that, only to be famous, known, rich.”
“Yes. But I think there is more to it.”
“Share?”
He admires her eyes.
The lashes.
They move so gently.
He swallows and looks away.
“Well, it could be power. It can be the rush from connecting to something other than this world. Having knowledge that the common man doesn’t.”
“You mean like necromancy and divination? Witchcraft?”
“Something like that.”
She takes off her shoes; white sandals. Lifts her dress; white with blue floral prints; and steps into the water.
“Care… careful… you don’t slip,” says Peter-John worried.
He gets up and starts pacing about.
“Relax, JP. It’s not like it’s the first time I’m doing this.”
She giggles to herself.
“I’m…”
He shakes his head.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
She starts picking the lilies.
Mostly those tha
t are still closed.
She smells the ones that were open.
He watches her intently.
Everything about her is so small and tiny.
Fragile. Like she could break at any minute.
He swallows.
Can’t figure her out. Such a fragile thing with such a strong character and resonating voice.
Peter-John, Peter-John.
He shakes his head.
Check yourself brother. You can’t be falling for a vegetarian. Next thing you know, you’ll be living off of grass and roots too.
He shakes his head.
Pulls his hoodie tighter over his head.
Frowns and frowns more.
“So, they sacrifice them?”
He looks enquiringly.
“Yes. Blood sacrifice. And they offer themselves too.”
She comes out of the water.
Splashes a few drops his way.
“Water’s nice and cool.”
She gracefully goes onto her knees and then sits flat; her dress like a big flower petal all around her. Slowly she breaks the stems off the bulbs and throws them into her lap.
“I don’t understand what you mean by offer themselves.”
He looks puzzled.
“Ceremoniously so.”
He looks more confused.
“What you mean?”
“Basically they give themselves up as a vessel for the… whatever… to take control of them… possess… them. That’s what’s different about this.”
“Okay. I get you. They willingly do this.”
“Yes. The blood and whatever voodoo they do, allows for the, whatever it is, to cross over from the other dimension into ours.”
He takes off his spectacles.
His lashes are long.
They’re beautiful.
He puts his spectacles back on.
“When you say whatever, do you mean aliens?”
She sighs and shakes her head.
“I’m not sure, JP.” She pulls her lips straight and tight.
“I’m inclined to say demons.”
He looks her in her eyes.
“The devil again?”
She giggles.
“Who else?”
She smirks and looks at the water.
“When is it ever not him?”
She glances at him quick and gestures for her basket.
He hands it to her.
“Thank you. You’re too kind.”
“My pleasure.”
He frowns.
“You see it all the time; this being depicted in front of us. The black and white checkered floors, representing the voodoo magic, covered in blood, referencing the sacrifice; usually a red carpet or as in Chucky, actual blood. They even give you the names; Barbie and Alice. Two pillars supposedly representing our reality and their reality or dimension. Again in our faces, but more to show to the rest what has taken place. Sick to be quite honest.”
Deep creases forms in his brow.
“How do you manage that?”
She gestures to his face.
“What?”
He frowns more.
“That. Pulling those lines into your brow like that?”
He puts his right hand to his face.
“I don’t put lines in my brow.”
She giggles.
“You’re so funny, JP. You always manage to get me smiling. Especially with this oh so dreary chat we’re having.”
The lines return.
She giggles more.
He starts.
“But there is no evidence for this, is there? It’s all only a conspiracy. Gossip to be quite frank?”
“Yes. I suppose that is what it is. No one has any proof. We can only decide for ourselves.”
He faces the water.
Relaxes more.
“You’ve been a great help, Madison.”
She smiles.
“I have certainly enjoyed your company, John-Peter. We should do it again. Soon.”
He looks up.
Meets her warm eyes.
Smiles too.
“Definitely.”
“It’s a date then. Next time though, less dreary chats. Tell me more about your model plane collection or those rare books you collect. Anything else… other than…”
“The devil?”
They both laugh.
He frowns.
It can’t be.
No.
There has to be another explanation.
He sighs.
Drew.
ح
“The Nazis.”
She shrugs annoyed.
“Again with the people. When are you going to listen?”
He frowns.
Straight pull to his lips.
“I’m listening.”
“It’s something other than that. A force in control of the Nazis. The swastika represents something; a force unseen to us. That same force, I believe, is associated with a few of the Hindu gods, Kali, the Destroyer, if not all of them… Buddhism… it goes as far back as the ancient Egyptians. That swastika symbol always pops up. The rulers, or whatever of these things, were under the control of these forces. That is my belief.”
He shakes his head.
“What force?”
She sighs.
“I’m certain it is a force of oppression… That’s what all this points to… Pharaoh enslaved and oppressed the Children of Israel, those same people were oppressed by the Nazis… the other… is more religious oppression… but oppression, none the less.”
“And what force is this?” He looks more confused.
“I think, I am not sure, but it might be Gog and