Part Five - How Hugh Grant is Destroying Me.

I had worked for three years on it and I was drained, bringing up a child alone and working non stop wasn't a great mix - they hadn’t given me any advance and so I was hoping the thing would sell.
I sat at a table in the shop as Author - feeling like a fraud; both my books had no conclusions – yes, I knew about the phone hacking and was an orphan who had meetings with a world famous serial killer – but so what – I didn’t know who I was.
Hollywood via Jane Campion’s sister, Anna, told me that she wanted to direct a movie of my life and later on another Producer came along and that had hit the Sunday Mirror with Sienna Miller set to play me.
The story sat online mocking me along with another one in the Indy saying Ian Brady won a court case against the Sunday Express reporting he had sexually abused me.
The Express won. And The Indy had to print a sorry to me and the paper the next day.
Yet the original report was still online and Lynn their lawyer refused to remove it.
I noted there was a dark haired stranger in front of me in the London book store and she shoved a copy of my book under my nose for me to sign it.
I felt anxious; but I picked up my pen to sign.
‘Your name?’
I was surprised – at first by her accent, New York, American, secondly by her words.
‘Christine, I’m here to tell you that your life story isnt a journalist’s story – that’s a decoy. You don’t work for the newspapers – you’re a Mind Controlled Monarch Slave in Project Honeybee.’
‘What – what - pardon?’
‘You’re a weapon.’
‘I don’t - I wouldnt ever hurt anyone.’
I sat and thought about who I was ......Liam was in prison; the News of The World was closed and politicians had ruined lives and were kicked out of office because of me - I did hurt others. Weapon?
She went on. 'I flew miles across an ocean to tell you this. You don’t know do you?’
I put down my pen and swallowed, here was a nut and I was an open target.
‘You’re a meticulously produced, costly asset of the Roman Catholic Church. The ‘You’ sitting here in front of me is merely a front for Alice. Alice is inside you. She can only be triggered by your owners. Alice is psychically gifted, but it’s dark side. They run you to get close to enemies of theirs. You spied on Ian Brady for The Priory and The Tavistock, human behaviour. Your touch, you bring it back – intimate touch is the conduit. Yep, they make cheesy movies about it like Nikita, but I'm afraid it exists. ’
She pointed at my breasts as I signed my book for her.
‘You don’t believe me?' She went on insistently. ‘You do know The Priory is a Programming Centre? You go for your top ups. Its where they send Hollywood mind-controlled slaves for their top up programming, it’s the sister of the Tavistock where Dr Green works.’
‘Dr Green? It’s Dr Collins who runs The Priory and many others in the USA. You actually flew from America to London to tell me this madness?’
I handed her back my book with my signature squiggled just inside the cover.
‘Human trafficking in Project Honeybee and yes, I flew here. Why? Because it happened to me. I knew that once I told you, you’d shout this evil from the darn rooftops. So, I flew here, even though I’ve varicose veins and I’m 82 years old.’
She was confident, yet she had to be mad, but she was sweet and I could see she knew pain.
‘I know you think I’m crazy, but I’ve read your book, I’ve seen the invisible puppet strings.’ She shook her head. ‘Alice can see who is bad and who is dangerous – she can get out of a place and download information back to other men – skin to skin. You pick it up and you drop it back. Only trouble is you keep swapping in when she’s there – screwing it up for her cos you’re scared shitless of Liam McDonagh, Ian Brady and all the other nasties you spy on.’
I felt dizzy, yet wanted to laugh.
‘A courier of information using my body? No words needed – very James Bond.’
She raised her voice above the din of the shop.
‘…. the best spy the English can make is a spy who doesn’t know she’s a spy. They also harvested your heart; so, you can’t love – they broke your trust in the orphanage with torture and violence, even though you were adopted at age 5- they bought you back twice a year to that Catholic orphanage. Unrestricted lab rats to experiment on – kids noone wants in Catholic orphanages. Free guinea pigs to fill up their programs. The Vatican and the Security Services work hand in glove.’

She grinned. ‘Alice earned you your rich flat and your fancy car. Come on… you’ve not even a college education. How could you possibly work on Fleet Street? 100k a year you earned, it’s not your skills you’re using - it’s Alice. All those reporters hate you – but no wonder; she knocks spots off them – getting close to this one and that – you know how they think, one look, one touch – within one second of hearing their voice and you know how to clamber inside. She’s paranormally endowed courtesy of the daemons attached to her.’
I felt the shop spin and I felt sick. I had known something was wrong, I had not wanted to settle down to making a home like others – not made a marriage. Catherine was psychic. She was calling her Alice; yet it seemed like the same girl.
‘…. I did sense something had gone on in that orphanage.’
Anna burst

out. ‘You’re their slave and you’re branded like livestock.’
‘I’m sorry – but I don’t believe any of this.’ I told her calmly.
She shook her head. ‘Male children are used for wet work and CIA clean ups. Girls, like us, for spies or to carry out mule work; the very beautiful are called Presidential Models and used for …. well, they’re passed around like butter candy.’
She collapsed herself down next to me and seeing her face close up I could see she had once been fine-looking, an American girl fit for Presidents to paw at. She looked shattered.
‘I’m Anna – I’m German by descent; Aryan, best victims for the secret Mind Control Programs because of our genetics. All you have to know right now is that your front alter doesn’t know about Alice. You see life through a dark lens, so, you easily give way to Alice. Your adopted Mother beat you with sticks to make sure you fear the world, stay a child. Black Magick ritualistic violence on you sealed the Program into place. Mother was your witch handler; part of the cult of the Roman Catholic Church. The rituals they use to create a Mind Control Slave's called Moonchild. Moonchild created by Aleister Crowley. When your Masters trigger you to click your red shoes, you morph into her….. Alice feels powerful - she's powerful and gifted …….then you chase the White Rabbit. White Rabbit is your handler, who controls you on missions. Project Honeybee's the name of the experiment of slaves who collect information when men orgasm –whose information destroys their marks.’

‘I’m crap at - no, hang on this is mad. That really sounds very mad.’
Anna went on.
‘White Rabbit comes to you in dreams, suggests what you do, you then act out his commands in real life – destroy a newspaper – spy on an enemy of the State. It was you who told them about the terrorist's hideaway. You know because you found it after he went to sleep. He knew he trusted you – he looked deep into your eyes as you made love and because you didn’t know you were spying on him - he saw only your desire for sex. Clever?’
My desire for sex……I had no desire. I had it strongly for Liam McDonagh. not me - her. And as soon as he was under lock and key. That desire left.
It was exactly how it had started up – like catching a virus – flooding me – a light switch from the outside.
The book on Ireland also never got written – there was no book.
I stared at her. ‘…. It all sounds psychotic.’
She ignored me.
‘It’s very clever; the security services are about 50 years ahead of us mere mortals.’ Anna grinned again. ‘The occult, High Magick as practised by the Vatican.’
I stood up – I had heard enough – she was creeping me out with her Harry Potter, Dan Brown hokum and it made me feel sick.
I wanted to dismiss her as a crank; but – suddenly I recalled a really hot day in the summer.
I remembered lying with Real IRA leader, Liam McDonagh in the wilds of a glen in Ireland. We sunbathed by a river. I suddenly stood up and began to shake and cry.
He lost his temper and shouted – ‘You’re like two different people. I’m growing sick to death of this shit. One’s scared and crazy.' He pointed at me. 'Look at you now, sobbing and shaking. It’s like you don’t even know me. The other one, I love – she’s exciting – she’s devil may care and a she’s a wild cat in my bed and y’ know this – I’m into her.’
I knew he meant Catherine - not me. I had called her Catherine. I had called her that because of her power- she reminded me of the Sharon Stone character in Basic Instinct. She held men in the palm of her hand, via sex. She was hungry like a race horse only let out to run once a year – it would run wildly, sexually insatiable, like she wanted to eat them.
It was like having ‘on and off’ amnesia. Waking up to someone else’s life and yet it was your own life – a terribly dangerous life. This stranger knew all about Catherine, yet she called her Alice. I saw it then clearly - Catherine was Alice.

I had a problem.
Perhaps listening to Anna was my fatal mistake.
I searched online like a hypochondriac.
I GOOGLED Monarch Mind Control.
The writers, mostly American believed that the Deep State created puppets; Frankenstein monsters who shot up schools and committed serial murder for experiments and to repeal gun laws. Prettiest girls like Cathy O’Brien were used as spies or agent provocateurs and had ‘genie in a bottle’ style, alter, sexualised personalities. They believed that the Projects used girls to pick up information and download it back to the Deep State.
This was ‘Human Trafficking’ - shattered traumatized girls and boys from care homes, vulnerable minds honeycombed and then hypnotized with themes of occult books containing triggers.They used kids who were long term in hospitals or children’s homes – unwanted bastards to experiment on.
The created alter was called an Alice (if it was a girl) and it was controlled by a ‘white rabbit’ handler who would enter dreams to issue triggers.
A white rabbit had often come inside my dreams. I was horrified by this Alice in Wonderland macabre; especially as it was my favourite book.
If I was under control by something outside of myself – then they could jerk me at any moment. I was relieved to hear a man called James Casbolt who made You Tube videos about life in a Catholic orphanage in Canada and calling us ‘Super Soldiers.’ He said the Program broke down at age 40 and then the victims would usually end up poor. A life

being directed – and then not directed meant the ex-slaves would flounder and fail. It was terrifying how much I fit the profile.
I googled everything.
Catholic priests callously splitting the personalities of children in their care using Black Magick. Selling their PTSD slaves to MI6 for profit.
Researching it……inside I began to feel something or ‘someone’ awakening.
Feeling scared and insomniac, I talked to my Doctor, Mark Collins at The Priory.
I told him all about Anna and how I was researching this secret Mind Control. How my mixed-up life of ‘psychic urges’ – finally made sense to me.
Dr Collins was confident it was nonsense.
‘Do you feel that Mind Control will absolve you of all your failures? Failures of no marriage or no friends? You've nothing wrong except low self-esteem – now you’ve found this – and you hope it means that there is something wrong. Your son was left out by the rich wives in your village because you weren’t married – end of. You should find a man – join in – enjoy your body.’
I swallowed hard. I was waiting. I was saving myself for J.
I left The Priory feeling a little sick and sad. So! I was just a dumb failure and a struggling single Mother screw up.
I was so grateful for my beautiful child, yet I had not provided a stable home, just rentals. I vowed to forget the woo woo nonsense and work on earning money to get my son a permanent home and holidays like other kids.
We hadn't afforded one in years.
I joined match.com to find a man; a father for my son. Yet my heart wasn’t in it. I yearned for J. I felt J – even though I couldn’t see him.

It was 2012 and a balmy August evening. I was living in the same house and I just put my son to sleep. I poured a gin and tonic. I sat on my settee surfing TV.
I came across a documentary about a very infamous American serial killer called the Hillside Strangler. I went to flick past; I had had enough of serial killers - but something about his voice made me stop – I heard something familiar in it as he boasted about his vile murders and they said an alter called Steve did it.

I turned it up.
Ken Bianchi confessed to having the ‘killing alter’ Steve who murdered 13 girls.
My ears pricked up; here was this ‘alter’ thing again.
Strangler, Kenneth Bianchi grew up in a Catholic adoption home and then went on to join the Vatican in a priest’s seminary.
I turned up the TV.
Bianchi stood belligerently boasting, but not as blue-eyed Ken, as inky eyed Steve his wicked alter.
‘I killed this one – er yeah - this one, Ange killed this one, I did this broad – this broad I don’t know – this one he killed, this one I don’t know, this one he did – this one I did.’
I heard something familiar in the obscene boasting about torturing and murdering. I heard the same energy pattern in his voice as the Nazi personality I had heard Ian Brady talk in. I felt I was listening to the ‘Doktor.’
I was becoming more sharply astrally conscious – which was the layer above this – so my sleep wasn’t sleep, I was having continued consciousness.
Soon as Bianchi received my letter he appeared beside me – ‘what d’you want slut?,’ he had shouted at me through the veils of the astral. At least I knew one thing – he had also been fiddled with and had psi abilities to Remote View others.
After exchanging letters with the difficult monster Kenneth Bianchi from his prison in

America, I managed to get a commission from Merope Mills at The Guardian to go jump on a plane to interview the rapist beast.
I flew thousands of miles into the mountainside prison of Walla Walla in USA to look into the eyes of the Hillside Strangler, Kenneth Alessio Bianchi in the Indian town, Walla Walla, in the mountains near Seattle.
I sat with serial killer number two, a man who had murdered 13 girls.
I tried not to feel afraid as I watched his pale blue eyes morph into black ink drops pooling into them as he switched alters.