Ella`s Story
My Love From The Future
BOOK TWO

Chapter 6 : Saturday School

Episode 17 : September 28th 2019 Saturday 9th grade

Copyright © 2019-2025 Gary Brandt. All rights reserved.

The high school classroom smells of chalk and old books, its windows framing a gray October morning.

Ella, Roxana, Eileen, and Helana sit at desks arranged in a circle, facing Melanie Crenshaw, whose calm demeanor contrasts with Commander Beaker’s fidgety presence.

After ninety minutes of orientation—ground rules, objectives, and the promise of college credit—Ella leans forward, her voice sharp. “Let’s be clear,” she says, channeling her inner leader.

“We’re not spies.

We won’t become spies or help you spy.” Melanie raises a hand, her smile reassuring.

“We’re not asking that.

We want to hone your skills for whatever careers you choose.

Remote viewing for spying hasn’t worked well—counter-spies block it, confuse it, or spy back.” “That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” Helana says, her tone matter-of-fact, her English now seamless. Melanie leans in, intrigued.

“We’ve refined techniques for decades to get accurate data, not imagination.

How are we wrong? Teach me.” Helana hesitates, searching for words.

“Where I come from, we don’t learn techniques like you learn a language.

Babies don’t take classes—they absorb it from their environment.

I’ll try to explain.” She takes a breath.

“First, everything you perceive—senses, spirit downloads, ESP—is imaginary.

Imagination turns raw data into the reality you experience.

Second, the data isn’t physical; it’s from the dimension of mind, where distance doesn’t exist.

There’s no ‘remote’—it’s all here, around you.

Third, you’re trying to view while awake.

Your body can’t do it.

It happens in the spiritual realm, downloaded to your brain, which rewrites it based on beliefs.

That’s why it’s confusing.

Keep it in spirit, let spirit visualize, then let your brain catch up during sleep or deep meditation.

Otherwise, your conscious mind distorts it.” She gestures at Melanie.

“At our night school party, you came awake, fading in and out, unable to touch.

If you’d come in spirit, while sleeping, we could’ve hugged, danced.

Earth people have so much to learn.” “Don’t fight imagination,” Helana continues.

“Embrace it.

Walk in it.

Test it.

Put a clock in another room, like your kitchen.

At night, when you wake, imagine reading it without checking any clocks.

Then compare it to your bedroom clock.

Soon, they’ll match.

You’re not traveling—your spirit accesses the collective soul, the Akashic records, where all data resides.

Imagining travel just helps you focus.” “Or play cards,” she adds, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Imagine seeing your friends’ hands.

They’ll stop inviting you.” “We’ve tried similar techniques,” Melanie says, “but the data’s often inaccurate or uninterpretable.” “You’re viewing secret places blindly,” Helana says.

“It’s like waking in a strange city on an alien planet—disorienting.

You can’t interpret unfamiliar data.

But your biggest mistake is using soul data adversarially.

That’s why we won’t spy.

It’s immoral and doesn’t work.

Soul is love, cooperation, friendship.

Adversarial intent breaks resonance with soul, garbling what you see.

Never use spiritual tools in anger, or you risk losing your soul connection—the worst fate for a spirit.” “Spirits can die?” Melanie asks, her voice hushed. “Everything—spirit, physical—is information,” Helana says.

“To live, it needs energy.

A body energizes spirit while alive.

After death, soul does.

Disconnect from soul, and your spirit fades like a dying battery, your information dissipating.

Soul forgets you.” “How do you know this?” Melanie asks. “I believe it,” Helana says.

“It’s our belief system, consistent with my observations and my people’s.

We see deeper into existence’s dimensions than Earth does.” Melanie exhales, awed.

“That’s profound, Helana.

It’ll take years to integrate.

It echoes ancient Egyptian hermetic principles.

Are your beliefs rooted there?” Helana shrugs.

“Our beliefs evolved over millions of years, their origins lost.

They’ve been learned, forgotten, relearned through our civilization’s rises and falls, like yours.” Melanie glances at the girls, some dozing.

“That’s enough for morning.

Time for pizza.” “Pizza?” Eileen says, snapping awake. --- The afternoon session moves to the town’s small shopping mall, its central courtyard alive with the splash of a fountain and the chatter of shoppers.

The girls sit at a wrought-iron table, gelato cups and Italian sodas before them, the air sweet with sugar and citrus.

Melanie sips her soda, her tone casual but deliberate. “We’re studying situational awareness,” she says.

“Most people focus so much on friends they forget their surroundings—a sign of love, but dangerous in emergencies.

It can get you killed.” “What do we do?” Roxana asks, twirling her spoon. “Observe discreetly,” Melanie says.

“Don’t stare—that’s rude.

Watch your field of view, describe it to each other.

Soon, you’ll know everything around you.

Then, something amazing happens: you’ll sense what’s behind you as your friend describes it.

We all detect others’ energy fields.

With practice, no one can sneak up on you.” Eileen smirks.

“I see something.

Pete Sanchez is with Kim Dillon by the fountain.

Problem is, they’re dating other people.” Melanie laughs.

“Valuable gossip, if you were into blackmail—which we’re not.

Observation yields useful info.” “The gelato shop’s hiring,” Ella says, pointing.

“I’m too young, but good to know.” “Excellent,” Melanie says.

“Notice the familiar—people you know—then look deeper for what doesn’t belong.” “Everything seems normal,” Ella says. “Not to me,” Roxana says, her voice low.

“A man’s by that shop door, not moving.

Another, in a dark suit, sits by the fountain with a newspaper he’s not reading.” “I see one too,” Ella says, “in the gelato shop, staring out.” “Who are they?” Melanie asks.

“Businessmen? Salesmen? Or something else?” “This is creepy,” Roxana says.

“That guy’s a creeper.

I’m getting a soda refill and staring him down.

I’ll tell him to stop eyeing schoolgirls or I’m calling the cops.” “Daring,” Melanie says.

“We’ve got your back.” Suddenly, Ella and Helana whip around, staring at the entrance.

A young man charges in, armed with multiple weapons, heading straight for them.

Ella reacts first, her mind lashing out, knocking him to his knees as she did to Jimmy Sterling.

Helana follows, slamming his face to the concrete, scattering his weapons.

He’s too strong, rising, pulling an assault rifle, aiming at Roxana. Three sharp pops echo.

The man clutches his chest, stumbles, and collapses face-down.

The girls scream—except Eileen, frozen, staring at her hands gripping a Glock 40-caliber pistol. Men in dark suits swarm, ushering the girls to an exit where a van waits.

One grabs the gun from Eileen, posing as the shooter.

Others slip into shops, their movements precise. --- In a sterile safe house, the girls huddle on a couch, the air heavy with antiseptic and tension.

Eileen stares at the wall, catatonic, unresponsive.

A physician checks their vitals, her face grim.

Melanie paces, her voice sharp. “Beaker, fess up!” she demands.

“What happened? No bullshit—was that real or staged for training?” “How could it be staged?” Beaker says, his voice strained.

“Ella knocking him down, the gun sliding to Eileen, her shooting like a seasoned cop? Impossible.” Melanie’s eyes narrow.

“If it wasn’t staged, was it a hit? He was aiming at Roxana before Eileen stopped him.” “We don’t know,” Beaker says.

“He’s a nutcase, from what we’ve gathered.

Probably a coincidence.” “Coincidence?” Melanie snaps.

“Nutcases are easy to manipulate.

I think it was a hit, thwarted by the girls’ training.

Who trained Eileen on weapons? Not summer camp.” “We shot targets, no advanced training,” Beaker says.

“I think she channeled her mom.

Faced with death, her psychic skills tapped her mom’s police training.

It’s the only explanation.” Eileen stirs, whimpering, her eyes darting.

Roxana cradles her as she sobs.

Helana speaks, her voice hollow.

“His mind was black—a bottomless void.

I couldn’t hold him.

Something evil was there.” “Possessed?” Beaker asks. “Not possessed,” Melanie says.

“Mind-controlled.

A puppet for someone—or something.” Ella, on the phone with her mom, lowers it, her face pale.

“Mom says the news reported an off-duty FBI agent shot the guy.

That’s a lie—Eileen did.

Why?” “Sanitizing,” Beaker says.

“A 14-year-old killing with military precision raises questions.

We said an FBI agent did it, grabbed the surveillance footage, and cleaned it.

It happened too fast for phone videos.” “Those cleanup guys were just there?” Ella asks, skeptical. “They’ve been shadowing you for months,” Beaker says.

“You didn’t notice.

We’re keeping you safe.

The agents are embarrassed they didn’t stop him sooner.

They apologize.” “The FBI’s watching us?” Ella asks. “Not exactly,” Beaker says.

“They’re a multi-agency task force—FBI, CIA, NSA, AFOSI, Secret Service.

Elite, secret, unknown to Congress.

Keep their secret; they’re keeping yours.” “Like the president’s kids?” Ella asks. “Better,” Beaker says. “And we still had to save ourselves,” Ella says, smirking.

“Some security.” “Retraining’s started,” Beaker says.

“You might not always protect yourselves, so keep them around.” “I didn’t finish my gelato,” Eileen says, her voice small.

“Can I get another?” “I’ll order one, Miss Danvers,” Beaker says.

“Right away.” “I’m Miss Danvers too,” Helana says, forcing a smile. --- In the safe house’s dim bedroom, Ella sits on a cot, the night heavy with silence.

Roxana prays softly, her rosary beads clicking, while Helana tries to sleep, hoping for night school.

Ella opens her diary, her hand trembling.

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NEXT >> Chapter 18
Randomness, Chaos, and Uncertainty

In a supernatural war between forces of Light and Darkness, teenage Helana learns from her mother in `night school` that she and her sisters are warriors protecting Earth's timeline, which is being destabilized by powerful level 10 entities who can alter reality itself. After Eileen shoots a gunman to save her friends, the girls face increased danger as the Darkness targets them for their forbidden knowledge, while government agents struggle to protect them and keep their true mission secret from suspicious parents.

<< PREVIOUS Chapter 16
16

Ella and her three sisters celebrate their 14th birthday at a party where Helana receives a romantic letter from 19-year-old Bobby Miller, causing her to flee in emotional turmoil as she grapples with intense first love feelings. Later, Navy intelligence officers recruit the exceptional girls for a Saturday program teaching specialized skills, which they agree to join despite some reservations about the mysterious curriculum.

FIRST Chapter 0 Sleep Over

Thirteen-year-old Ella and her best friends Eileen and Roxana encounter an interdimensional being named Helana during a sleepover, who appears as different benevolent figures to each girl and reveals glimpses of their legendary futures. When Helana tries to leave after accidentally revealing herself and disrupting their timelines, Ella cleverly traps the entity by claiming authority over her domain, forcing Helana to stay as their `genie in a bottle` despite her pleas to return home.