BORN AGAIN

Chapter 4 : My destination

The flight was tremendously unbearable especially when we had to go through clear customs. It was obviously not a week's break in Tahiti or in the Maldives. The Los Angeles International airport was swarmed with strange shadows and ominous air hostesses but no one could have a hint of our presence because we had access to a VIP corridor which led to the exit. The weather was warmly lovable but the poker face of Ann Wintour tore to pieces my every felicity. A Mercedes-Maybach S-Class was parked at the entry. A stout and forceful driver climbed down of the light weight and fast-running car, emanating of a negative energy and spreading his obnoxious odor of Black Opium. He was dressed up with a black and white dinner jacket and a strikingly raven mask. A symbol had been mended on his handkerchief, a golden eastern star. I suppose he was also one of them. Ann barely obliged him to bear our luggages into the boot. We finally seated at the back of the mercedes, discussing about the meeting with the group I will soon join. The driver started up and drove to our destination. We went through tucked-away streets that were yet discovered, avenues that remained of American history and witnessed diverse graffitis that became the footprint of a street artist. The road panel indicated that we were heading to the Jefferson Boulevard where I luckily had a glimpse of an elementary school named Playa del Rey. The pupils had finished and were expectant to be safely driven home by their parents. Their face reflected innocence, opulence and magnificence. I was jealous of that. The ride was still bleak, grim, grayish, even if we arrived at Santa Monica Boulevard. The traffic light turned red. I asked myself, thoughtful : ''Should I go back home too ? Should I leave ?'' It was red, it was red, it was green. I accepted the invitation to this event but when the hour of appointment drew near, I doubted. I gave one glance round the car as if I was looking for an emergency exit.

'Too late' muttered Ann.
'What did you say ?' I fearfully asked, wandering if she could hear my thoughts.
'I was talking with X.' she merely answered, reacting spontaneously.
X was the codename of the driver, a man whose identity remained a secret. A man whose past and future had been dissolved. A ghost man.
Ten minutes later, we stopped near a rectangular park, filled with tropical plants and where barbecue pits, children's areas and picnic tables were visible through the window car. This Holmby Hills CA Park was a free minute walk from our destination, the stunning or outrageous Spelling Manor, a French Chateau style mansion imagined by Aaron Spelling, the producer of the series ''Charmed''.
We were almost there and the manor looked veraciously huge, a monster house ready to devour my latest breath of life. X ceased to drive. We were there.

'Your life is about to change, Adam. The master is waiting for you.' scarcely said Ann Wintour.

''The master...'' I secretly thought. I went out of the mercedes, anxiously walked one step after another towards the doorstep. X opened up the main door while I was apprehending my coming in this ceremony, consecrated especially for me and organized by a cult which was mostly made up of people who were directly descended from Druids of ancient England as Ann explained to me. The grandiose foyer was ostentatious, and led to a twin butterfly staircase. This outstanding area because of its marble flooring enthralled me. Its wonderful crystal floating castle chandelier, suspended from the ceiling was also prohibitively unaffordable. Executives, politicians, military officers, physicians, scholars, judges, renowned people from the entertainment industry were all greeting me. Many of them were wearing outfits, rich in texture, embellishment and pattern. A private Met Gala was taking place at the Manor where I had the opportunity to be winked by Beyunce and Jay-Zee or to shake hands with Travis Cat and Jloy. I started to recognize a particular group introduced to me by Ann, the High priests and priestesses of the cult, clairvoyants, hypnotists, tarot card readers and voodoo experts. All of them were dressed in long black satin robes and were drawing a eastern star on the floor, purposely placed at the centre of the foyer. I observed all this with attention but the light turned off and an incense which odor smelt of cannabis filled the room.

'Brothers and sisters of Satan, Adam Emmanuel is about to become a member of the Illuminati. He is about to be one of us unto our master and almighty god, Satan.' declared the High priest.

A creature appeared as a handsome man, dressed completely in a white robe and sitting on a shining white throne. I was abiding to the orders of miss Wintour, saying that I had to bow down and sacrifice to him.

'I will give you back all the splendor, the beauty and the glory you have lost, and I can give it to anyone I want to. If you worship me, it will all be yours.' instinctively said the man who turned out to be Satan in person.

I did not hesitated and cut my palm for the blood to be poured out on the eastern star. Then, huge and monstrous demons appeared in a physical manifestation and entered into me. I immediately passed out and felt agonizing like never before. I pleaded allegiance to him for beauty, glory and money as in the myth of the 27 club. Thus, he withdrawn from the foyer.