The corpses of the private security company employees were lying scattered across the entire width of the Villa Cherubini`s marble staircase. At first glance, it appeared to inspector Vanace that they had been torn apart by the claws of a giant monster, except for the fact that their heads had been severed from the rest of their bodies with surgical precision at the level of the second cervical vertebra.

“Inspector Vanace,” the sweet feminine voice of his favorite forensic assistant reached him from inside the villa.

“Vinko … and not inspector; how many times do I have to tell you,” Vanace muttered through a stuffy nose, trying to avoid the larger clusters of densely scattered body remains. Entering the shining space of the “sistine”, his gaze caught the half profile of Mirela’s high heel. Following the edge of the black nylon stocking – which continues into a semi-profile of the buttocks, wrapped in a tight black dress – he continued to climb the dizzying curve of the waist and the outline of the back; then upwards, with outstretched hand, all the way to Mirela’s index finger pointed at two motionless naked bodies lying embraced in a kind of upside-down parachute, hung by a hook somewhere high, on the ceiling of the giant auditorium. “Davor and Miriana Cherubini … the owners of the villa”, Mirela declared without looking back.

“Dead?” Vanace asked uneasily.

“Saturated with propofol. After detoxification, they’ll be good as new,” she concluded cheerfully, flashing Vinko a toothy smile.

***

“Lady… a true Earth lady!? Well, that’s a real treat in this stinking hole,” said the snail-like creature from the seat next to me, spraying the droplets of sticky saliva that left painful red welts on the milky surface of my face, neck, and bare breasts. He sat in a tilted version of an autopsy table – or a kind of whirlpool – from which, through a complex system of pipes, a thick purple slime, mixed with a harsh dishwashing liquid, poured profusely into invisible subsurface tanks. I wanted to finish the freak off right away, but attracting the attention of the entire giant waiting room was the last thing I needed.

“Alby Seventy-Seven,” the creature continued, swinging its spindly brick-colored body toward me. I looked at it in confusion. “My name is Alby … get the joke?” the creature continued in a falsetto, and then its seal-like body began to spasm and sizzle, blowing out geysers of stinking, hot steam from every pore. As accustomed as I am to sulfurous fumes, this is too much; even for me. I was about to stand up when he continued: “I come from Aldebaran; I should be called Aldebaranite Aldy, and not Aldebaranite Alby!” than burst into hilarious, “poisonously contagious” laughter again. It stiffened unnaturally and asked in a completely calm voice: “You are Adamite’s wife? What is your name?”

“Lilian,” I reluctantly answered.

“Has Adamite fallen ill?” the creature asked worriedly. “Ah, of course, you are one of the Evitas … the one hundred and eighteenth in a row, if  I am not mistaken. My great-cousin Alby the Third spoke of you to my great-cousin Alby the Fourth; who, again, spoke to Alby the Fifth who …”

“And your father Alby the Seventy-Six spoke of us… to you,” I interrupted it impatiently. The creature snorted indignantly and, not hiding his contempt, concluded: “You have never learned to respect etiquette… you primitive Adamites.”

At the same moment, from the ceiling of the giant auditorium, on an organic floating platform decorated with luminescence, a fish-like creature with luxuriously spread fins descended and addressed me in a histrionic gurgling voice: “Representative of the Earth … prepare to enter the Sanctuary!” Accompanied by the glowing gazes of the diverse crowd – as well as Alby’s mumbled: “Despite everything, I wish you luck, Lilian” – I uneasily stepped onto the platform.

The temple’s porch is made of granite. Following the crackling rustle of Raphael’s wings, I step barefoot on the cold slabs through the opaque incense fumes. Ascending, we have been walking like this for an eternity. Everywhere around us rainbow hues paint the haze of  “neither day nor night”. The Archangel stops. I don’t see… I register. From the over-illuminated whiteness of the medium, an androgynous face of an indeterminate something, more beautiful than beauty, appears from above. The heart-shaped mouth slowly opens, releasing a ray of blinding light. A melodious, warm soprano sings: “Wash your eyes, daughter of Eve… otherwise you will go blind.” The being extends its gigantic clasped palms towards me. It spreads them. The turquoise fills the space. I wash my eyes. The liquid is of an unusual viscosity; it seems to be made by transparent spheres of different densities that interpenetrate each other. I’ve never felt such an aggregate state of metter between my fingers. I’d like to touch it forever. We move on. The fog is clearing.

“ … the selection is quite limited, you know … it’s not easy to find them again and again”, disconnected fragments reach my ears. A man’s voice; broken, rushed to the point of stuttering. The man stands in a standard bourgeois interior, in a plaid shirt with the sleeves half rolled up, gesticulating violently with his whole body.

“Excuse me, are you the… Lord?” I spoke to him.

He looked at me for a moment and then finished his tirade to someone, invisible to me: “… and eternity is so damn long.”

After that, he turned to me: “Come closer.”

“Are you…?” I tried again.

“No, I am *His Loyal Opposition; but I am in charge of your Sector.” He then fell silent and began to observe my Walk Like an Egyptian typ of nudity with undisguised interest. “Why are you… undressed?” he snapped, then continued: “It reminds me of your Earth period six thousand years ago. Back then I still thought your project was a failure. You know, I seriously considered destroying you … and starting over. And then you decided to build those nonsensical megalomaniac structures. I didn’t see any sense… I don’t see any sense today; but it saved you… you know?” With disheveled movements, His Loyal Opposition approached the table, he gathered a stack of my application papers and, waving it, continued: “The Adamite couldn’t come?”

“He couldn`t … a cold, you know.”

“So…” he pauses, then cheerfully continued: “I am delighted with your progress over the last two millennia! Quantum physics… string theory; excellent work. I have no complaints. In fact, I use you as a model for the entire Sector.”

He looked at me expectantly, from head to toe… then back again.

“Yeah, right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Can I rest now, Your Loyalty? The journey has been long and tiring.”

“Of course… make sure you get a good rest, and then you should meet some stupid people; you know… you could learn a thing or two,” he said, giggling.

“I’ve already learned something,” I conclude coldly.

“Ah, slimy Aldy!” bursted His Loyal Opposition again. “A completely failed project. Their days on Aldebaran are numbered, you know? Too much is too much!”

“Aldebaranites have their hidden qualities,” I muttered.

“What are those … poisonous slime and unbearable stench?” he blurted out uncontrollably. I didn’t even think of laughing at his mundane jokes. After all, this was an official conversation, with incalculable repercussions on entire worlds and planetary populations. One of us had to keep this discussion on track.

“In addition to a specific sense of humor, the Aldebaranites have an unbreakable systematicity and etiquette,” I continued confidently. “Maybe they will soon start building meaningless megalomaniac structures. I beg you for mercy. Give them another chance … for a favor to me,” I put the most erotic expression of innocence on my face. His Opposition looked at me seriously; this time not only from the outside.

“What is your name, Evita’s daughter?”

“Lilian,” I answered spontaneously blinking.

“Flower of the cemetery and death,” he continued with a bitter smile on his lips. “It perfectly matches … the color of your skin. Okay, Lilith … I can’t refuse you anything.”

“And I know why,” I said venomously.

“For the sake of quantum physics and string theory,” he concluded nonchalantly. “Well, well… you saved Alby for the next two millennia. I hope I don’t regret it. If I do, you’ll personally suffer the consequences,” His Loyal Opposition threatened me, waving a finger and his whole hand.

“Is there any ‘nightlife’ here? Or am I doomed to die slowly of boredom,” I yawned loudly.

“You won’t believe it,” he said, still wagging his finger.

“Surprise me.”

And he surprised me; pleasantly. I stand at the top of The Entertainment Residential Complex, staring into the transparent, sparkling abyss beneath my feet. I listen to the cacophony of sounds, with the organ chords dominating. I also realize why. Beneath me stretches a gigantic barrel-shaped building with a dozen floors, separated by semi-transparent glass ceilings. Hence this erratic coloration that, from my current point of view, in places turns into petroleum blue. The highest floor, immediately under my feet, is illuminated with white; the one below is yellow; the next one turns golden. At the darker places by the wall rim, I recognize a range of reds that follow: from various shades of pink to bloody purple. The bottom is probably painted blue. The same pattern of inter-floor semi-permeation is repeated on the acoustic level. The sounds, therefore, reach from several successive floors. I rise my sight to the blackness that envelops this spark of light and organic warmth. I notice the silvery glow of the multiplied Erelim wheels disappearing into the shadows of… nothing.

“Oh, VIP surveillance,” I smile bitterly.

Luminous signs lead me to four cylindrical elevators, located in the center of the circle. Wrapped in a white toga with a gilded hood, I get off at the first stop. Two masked figures slip into the elevator next to me. “That golden lock of hair!?” I recoil for a moment. “No, it’s not possible. And the other one, it was a cherub… I could swear. Maybe Jophiel himself!” I enter the hall on the right at random. I listen with delight to the powerful sounds of a male choir from an oratory of some distant galaxy. Through the glass I watch as on the floor below a humanoid hermit unsuccessfully chases a locust-like insect through the desert sand. Not far from him a procession of flagellants marches, their whips… bloodied backs. “Everyone has their own pleasure.”

I skip a few floors and plunge into the violet zone. While going down in the elevator I take off my cloak and turn it inside out; it is now blue, with a purple hood. Appropriately disguised, I pass by half-open booths thematically dedicated to everything that has to do with physical passion. I stop my gaze on a pair of female Florans engaged in a love game. The interior of their bodies, under the glare of the spotlights from the lower floor, is completely transparent. The outer membranes of individual muscle groups are clearly visible, as are the shadows of the skelerenchymal “skeletons”. The creatures look like clusters of purple balloons that miraculously penetrate each other, forming a totality of captivating humanoid torsos. The brothel space is permeated with a powerful techno rhythm that takes your breath away, with muffled background screams. What delights me most in this amazing scene is the fact that the Floran body serves no other purpose than to achieve erotic and sexual pleasure; and not that sensuality is only less important, and often an undesirable collateral to digestion or for the continuation of the species; the body, therefore, with the sole purpose of being an instrument of “carnal“ pleasure. The whole game eventually “explodes” in a cloud of nectar aerosol that showers me with its fragrant healing droplets. The dominatrix tempts me to join them. I readily accept; when in the back of the room, through the flashes of lasers, I notice recognizable profiles. Instinctively, I throw off my cloak and reach for my belt – where I usually keep my saber and other weapons – but my hands find nothing. They have thoroughly disarmed me already at the entrance to the waiting room crypt. As if in a silhouette theater, I see the executioner of my own kind, who, with a humble attitude, listens to the sermon of His Loyal Opposition. Half the size, a human shaped being – this time dressed in an oversized classic suit – wipes his glasses with a handkerchief and, gesticulating fiercely, threatens the twice-sized Michael. Armored but swordless, the archangel turns and, dragging his giant wings like a grounded albatross, disappears into the darkness. As I frantically rush toward the shadows, I hear a familiar falsetto from close range:

“Hello, Lily.” Alby sits in a slightly more luxurious version of a three-person hot tub, surrounded by two Aldebaran females. The “girls” are nothing more than half-size copies of Alby; in lighter cyclamen colors, though. Everything around them erupts with geysers of toxic fumes. Alby shines with pride and pleasure. Confused by the addressing, I wave him cheerfully and rush towards the black profile of His Loyal Opposition.

“I have a surprise for you, Lilith,” he greets me loudly. “Come with me.”

We enter one of the side elevators that I have not even noticed before. I doubt that anyone but officials can use them. In silence, we are going up. I try to make out from the expression on his face what awaits me up there, but he is a “sphinx”. Finally we emerge into a space of darkness. It`s not an empty nothingness like I assumed but a long, green corridor ending in a bulky wooden door. He opens the door with a touch and lets me in. Blinded by the glare of the crystal chandeliers, I do not immediately recognize the man and woman sitting, slumped in spacious armchairs. And then I freeze.

“Why is this person naked!?” Miriana Cherubini spontaneously blurted out, jumping out of her seat.

“I’m suitably dressed in Irkala’s costume, Evita. And the fact that you even noticed I was naked is thanks to my naughty partner. I told that snake of mine not to play with the apples. My lovely Eva was so perfectly calm before this incident happened.”

In a fit of anger, Miriana lunged at me, then stopped. As her nostrils fluttered uncontrollably, she stood halfway – blue eyes bulging and tendons taut – like a frightened but proud filly. I approached her and carefully moved a golden strand of hair away from her face with my fingers. She flinched.

“Get lost, Satan,” she said in a barely audible voice through clenched, pearly teeth, then screamed uncontrollably: “Go to the depths of the sea!” and pounced on me, scratching my face with her nails. Davor jumped up and grabbed her by the fragile waist. While she struggled to free herself from his grip, I licked my own blood and enjoyed the sight of Miriana’s ravishing body, which was twisting and twitching passionately.

“Into the shades… not into the depths of the sea, my cloned chick,” I laughed bitterly. Then I turned to Davor: “Why don’t you work on her mind a bitt, and not just on that tempting, juicy body, Adam? You should tell her how things really are, and not keep her in delusions.“

“You see, my gilden chick,” I turned back to Miriana, “there is no one in the depths of the sea… except fish, algae, and cephalopods. And you must never forget that our Torchbearer was the legal and legitimate commander of all heavenly military units at that time. What stupid `fallen angels`?! You were but coup plotters and outlaws!”

“But the Lord is…”, Miriana began.

“The Lord has nothing to do with it,” I interrupted her harshly. “The battle for control of Earth took place at the lower and middle levels of the high celestial hierarchy, with a lot of protectionism and intrigue. No one is pure there. Terms like `angel` or `devil` – with which the wooden saints filled that pretty little head of yours – are just a matter of perspective on history written by the victors.”

“Phiii… Lilith,” Davor sighed with boredom, “you’re insinuating and talking about things you don’t know for sure.”

“Shut up, mortal!” I snapped harshly. “If you were a real man, I would never have left you!”

Miriana sarcastically chimed in: “So where are you now if you’re not in the depths of the sea?”

“Among you… and in you, Miriam. We do petty mischief. We rule your World from the shadows, constantly pursued by Jophiel’s investigations and Michael’s rigid hordes. Our eye watches you from your own green-gray banknotes. We trick you with horned Moseses and the paganism of Christian basilicas. We paint your temples with huge-assed lilims, instead of little angels…”

Davor interrupted me angrily: “Get serious, Lilith… these unfounded conspiracy theories of yours make absolutely no sense!” Then he continued more calmly: “There must be order on Earth so that the Human Race can progress.”

I asked him coldly: “Weren’t you the ones who hindered the development of human thought, in order to maintain control over the ignorant masses and prevent them from choosing better… from choosing us!? Tell me that’s a conspiracy theory too.”

“You have never been a real alternative,” he shouted in annoyance, “steeped in hedonism and obscenity, you have not provided conditions for any true development. Some of your premature and uncontrolled flashes of reason could only confuse the masses; enrage them and throw them into a chaos of passion, without the possibility of realization. The success of our project requires patience and timely intervention. The individual must know his place and his tasks in the community. Availability, self-sacrifice and submission are the conditions for any progress!” He suddenly stopped.

I remained silent and let him digest the echoes of his own words, then I calmly spoke: “People are no longer children, Adam. They have their own personalities, their own spiritual and physical needs. You must take that into account. You have oppressed them too much. Loosen the reins a little. Allow us to work on their pleasures. Do not view them as merely an impersonal phase in the development of a megamillennial global being. That spark of soul in a flash of time is their entire Universe; their beginning and their end.”

Suddenly I turned to His Loyal Opposition: “Why did you build that spark into them, anyway?”

Uncomfortably, he ran his hand through his disheveled gray hair and concluded: “*God is silent… if only Man would be silent too.” After a long pause, he continued: “We will gather here after the announcement of the Great Bells. Then I will inform you of my final decision.”

I leave Adam’s bedroom; sleepy, but irritated. I decide to visit a restaurant and, before going to bed, drink a “deadly“ short espresso ; if they still serve it at this time of day or night. The bar is half empty. Miriana sits on a dizzyingly high stool by the bar. Alone. She stares blankly at the triangular crystal of the cocktail, swirling a slice of lemon with little umbrella across the milky surface of the liquid. A crackling shiver runs down my spine. I ignore the alarm and sit on the next chair.

“What are you doing here?” she doesn’t even look at me. “He sent you?”

I remain silent looking at her graceful, curved neck. She suddenly bursts into tears and squeezes her eyes tightly with her tiny fingers. I stand up and hold her close to me. I feel the spasms of her sobbing on my chest. “Take me … somewhere,” she whispers. I wipe her eyes with my palms; I kiss her damp cheeks; I lead her into the darkness.

 “This way … no, there,” we wander – hugging each other – through the dark corridors. We open doors at random, rush into a completely unfurnished room, lit by the flickering flames of candles. We roll on the hard wooden floor. I caress her everywhere, and she returns me with wet, intoxicating kisses. Tired, I surrender to her guidance. She lays me on my back; she kisses my ear and neck. Her tongue licks hotly between my breasts and then descends down my ribs, towards my navel. My body is turning into a receptor from whose impulse-notes my brain composes divine, never-heard-of etudes. It is too late for rationality; too late for caution or fear. The point of no return has long passed. And I know… this intoxication is not just fatigue and passion. And I know… my outstretched limbs are chained to the floor, and Miriana is touching the points that darken my tear-poisoned mind. I watch her straighten up and burst into arrogant laughter: “So, my lustful chicken… who will rule the World now?! Ha, ha, ha!” She turns and walks away triumphantly. I twist my body, trying to free myself from the chains. My consciousness is unstoppably fading. I am sinking into a swamp of nightmares. Around me, in the bloody mud, my countless crippled children are rolling, innocent victims of Michael’s heartless hordes. The crackles of angelic wings, accompanied by lilim screams, echo eerily through the purple night.

“Lily,” it reaches the threshold of my consciousness through the thunderous rumble of the bells. And then again … a falsetto voice: “Lily, wake up; you must get up.”

“Alby,” I mutter and slowly raise my head, which immediately droops helplessly and hits the wooden floor. The ringing is tearing at my over-stressed nerves. My hands are tied so I can’t cover my ears. I writhe in agony. I press my cheek against the jagged, roughly hewn wood. Multiplying purple shadows roll around my crucified body.

“Lilian … we have melted your chains! You must stand up.”

Albi’s eye – grotesquely distorted – watches me from close range. The sulfurous vapor of Aldebaranite’s breath wakes my brain in shock, like a weightlifter ammonia sniff. I sit up unsteadily and look in disbelief at Floran female, who has taken the place of the evilly smiling Miriana. At the same moment, a healing cloud of nectar aerosol covers me. The bells ring less and less frequently, more and more quietly.

“Good Lord… about the Great Bells,” I recol the His Loyal Opposition`s words, leaning on my trembling legs. I bounce off the walls in the dark corridors, searching for my way. I rush into the bar and – knocking down a drunken, fat humanoid in my run – heading towards the side elevators. They are in complete darkness. Only a single, reddish laser beam flickers faintly on the control panel. I cover it with my palm. In an instant, the elevator turns into a blinding glare; a glare that shoots upwards. Accompanied by the last echo of the Great Bells, I rush down the green corridor of darkness. The doors open. I go inside.

I found myself in front of them, standing completely naked with my legs apart, to maintain the balance.

“Now that we have gathered in the required number … we can begin,” concluded His Loyal Opposition; as if he wasn`t standing before a naked, bloody and drugged woman, but rather presiding over a meeting of the supervisory board of a funeral home company. Miriana rolled her eyes angrily and propped her chin on her fist, demonstratively fixing Davor; as if he should do something about it.

“Your balanced cooperation – in terms of supervising the development of the Human Species on planet Earth – has so far yielded excellent results,” the disheveled little man continued in an unquestionable, authoritative voice. “That is why we have decided to extend your Triumvirate’s supervisory license for a period of two thousand years. Now go. Rule harmoniously and justly, in a spirit of respect for reason and feelings, for the benefit of People and the Universal Community.” After these words, His Loyal Opposition fell silent. And there he was, absent-minded, lost in thoughts of some completely different planet, in some completely different galaxy. Miriana stood up, her head proudly raised, and danced away out of the room with a resolute catwalk – without looking back. Davor rushed after her, shrugging his shoulders dejectedly.

I painfully leaned against the doorframe and very slowly stepped out into the shelter of the shadowy corridor.

“You know, Lilith…” I heard; and then the door slammed behind me.

 

*Goodreads; Quotes; Woody Allen: “To you, I`m an atheist. To God, I`m the loyal opposition.“