By Douglas J. Hagmann

Part II: The beginning of a previously unexpected trip “down the ‘rabbit’s hole!’”

My investigator friend continued his tale after my return from an overdue bathroom break.

“It was a long plane ride home.  The funeral had been difficult for me; losing a close friend at such a young age was not easy. Because of the nature of his work and mine, our talks had mostly been cryptic and necessarily—too few and too far between. His young wife had only been with him a short while. Much of his early years and most of his real life were completely hidden from her.  ‘Need to know’ type stuff; and she didn’t, so she didn’t.”

“Flash drives weren’t common then.  A removable hard drive sat in the open briefcase on the seat next to me in what originally had been a box for Christmas cards. A lone card sat on top of the unusual assortment of contents.  It pictured a cat which had apparently licked the socket of a strand of Christmas lights that its owner was stringing atop a tree. It was a snowy setting in front of a festively lit home. The cat was amusingly adorned in a tangle of colored lights as it hung midair between the starry heavens and its hell—every limb painfully extended in a different direction, and every hair standing on end under the shock of electrocution. A similarly shocked dad was teetering atop of his now tipping ladder next to a window where small children and the wife, mouths agape, watched helplessly. An old hound dog laid on the porch nearby, barely raising one eyebrow to take in the entertainment. With the crowning Star of David blazing brightly in his hand, only moments from the completion of his task, dad was now headed on a previously unexpected trip, and so was I.”

“Although the sticky note affixed to the top of the box stated simply, ‘Juan O. Saven,’  an operational code name I was once known by, the card when opened stated only my Christian name with the following brief message:   ‘Do what you do; I’ll expect a complete report when you get here.  Since you’re reading this, I’ve already gone ahead!’  He signed the card ‘Slowpoke.’  That was a name I had given him once when we were young and brimming over with life and innocence. Reading the note, my eyes uncontrollably began to tear up. I suddenly felt much, much older and alone. I dwelt on the card, his note, and our very unusual lives, for the rest of my long trip home.  Good friends, old friends, aren’t easy to come by.”

“When I arrived in my city, I was very backed up in my work, and I couldn’t really look at what I had for some time. For one thing, I didn’t immediately know how to access the hard drive, and when I did, the information was password-protected.  He seemingly hadn’t included a password with the box!  It was quite some time later that it occurred to me that he actually had, and that was the true reason for the catchy card at the top of the box.  Yeah, he was right, and I WAS slow!”

“It was all there—his contacts, his drawings, and descriptions. His technical analysis was not easy to read, but I had enough—more than general knowledge—to follow his work. He’d traveled covertly to meet with specialists, including one Nobel Laurieate, to get their opinion of his observations and analysis. He’d even met with some very prominent religious authorities of varied beliefs to get their take on the possible implications of what he believed he had found. He was exceedingly careful and always traveled under some other ‘role and purpose’ and only as a peripheral inquiry brought his real questions to bear, conscious of the dangerous sensitivity of the subject at hand.”

“Near the end of his notes, I came to a page titled ‘Conclusions’ followed by these lines:

“’This is a Murder Investigation’ which was then followed on a separate line written all in capitals ‘OF MURDER, BY A SERIAL MURDERER.’  He then went into several pages of a long diatribe of identifiers and details that only recently have begun to make sense to me.”

He continued: “Under a new heading, ‘Follow the Blood Trail.’”

“At first he noted that the DNA strands he was examining seemed to be wound more tightly than normal.  You see, there are normally ten rungs per complete twist of the double helix strand in normal human DNA. In his analysis of our subject’s DNA taken from his blood samples, he found intermittent sections which appeared to be wound more tightly, with only nine rungs per complete twist, nine being an unusual and noteworthy number, always turning and returning to itself.”

(I thought to myself, that doesn’t seem to be that unusual…everybody I KNOW seems like they’re wound too tightly.)

“Simultaneously he observed and documented what he at first believed to be the foretold third strand of the subject’s DNA. Upon closer analysis he came to an entirely different and unexpected conclusion:  Our subject had been lied to! IT WASN’T A THIRD STRAND AT ALL!  It was a silvery threadlike, semitransparent, serpentine-like parasite of infinitesimally small proportions. He observed that it was entangled, intermittently hopping back and forth between the normal double helix strands;  it appeared to him that as the parasite grew, it continued to wrap itself like a bean or ivy-type vine plant will attach itself to any available protrusion. Unlike a normal snake or worm, this parasite had little hook-like protrusions that did seem to lend themselves to a gripping type attachment all along the strand.  His notes described them as alligator or dragon feet—but only for his amusement, not because they were that actual form. Occasionally he noted that it appeared that some of the threaded parasites seemed to connect to adjacent parasites, creating what appeared to be tiny nets, cross circuiting between the different sections and strands of DNA.”

“In his notes, my friend penned some personal thoughts after having considered his observations and the source of his DNA materials. He thought of the Vatican’s pronouncements that ‘aliens are our cousins,’ and the Vishnu teachings of a time when ‘gods’ flew in spaceships and destroyed whole cities in a single blast. He even had notes about Elijah being caught up in a Chariot of Fire! Maybe he had misread or misunderstood the entire history of his Bible! Maybe—from Genesis to ‘Revolution’—it was about some far more tangible and real fallen angel alien cousins than the ghost-like destroying angels he’d always pictured in his imaginations.

He gazed at ‘it’ and studied ‘it’ in shocked disbelief and asked to himself, ‘Is this pathetic little blood-sucking worm, the tiny origin of the tyrannical destroyer of so many lives and worlds?’  But he could not escape the fact that small as it was, the DNA strands that it/they were attached to WERE JUST AS SMALL! And both had the informational encoding to make ‘good’ or ‘evil!’ Yes, the DNA, and the serpentine creature entangled in it potentially bore the information/knowledge/blueprint to create good or evil!”

My investigator friend continued, “I remembered the time I had sat with a hard cold desk under my arms as I stared back into the false Cheshire grin surrounding that mouthful of fake pearly whites.  ‘He’ was staring me down from his ‘Star Chamber Seat,’  waiting for my answer from in front of the concealing screen which provided me only partial anonymity from the rest of the gallery. You see he thought he’d caught me in a lie, with what I had told his ‘in-house investigator,’ but his investigator’s authorizations and clearances were not the same as the Senator’s!  I replied, ‘As you know, Senator, the lie is different at every level!’  And so it was, and so shall it always be—in this life anyway, from the highest thrones in this world and now, here again, right down to the tiniest strands of DNA:  It’s lies, lies, lies all the way down!  The truth is, the so-called third strand of DNA that somehow could make ‘THEM’ superior was just another lie from the ‘father of lies.’ In the end it was just another lecherous parasitic alien hitchhiker on the road of life, trying to deceive the vulnerable into forfeiting their birthright for a bag of magic beans!”

“My friend tried—and was trying at the time of his death—to determine if there was a way to separate the writhing and gripping entanglements of the demon seed’s form from the host DNA without destroying the host. He also speculated on possible ways to identify the reptilian’s hosts who walk among us while living in the grip of ‘The Reptilian Seed’s Alien Possession.’”

“It was here that I began my work, picking up where my friend had too abruptly left off.”

“Deep in my thoughts,” my friend continued, “Once again, I’d reached into life’s box of chocolates. Interesting thing,” he noted, “There’s usually some chocolate-covered jellies with red colored sprinkles on top, in life’s little box o’ chocolates, and I like those; but this time, it seemed like I’d reached instead for the three pastel-colored, hard-shell, candy-coated nuts at the center of the box. I did remember clearly, that it seemed like just as I closed my eyes and started to munch, I began to feel dizzy and for only a moment…before I felt myself begin to spin and teeter over.  And down.  Into the Rabbit’s hole!”

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