by Frank Lauria
Orient’s cigarette had gone out. He placed the stub in his case and took another.
“Do you know that I received a message from you while I was at Redson’s house?”
Hap shook his head.
“That’s when the demon entered you. You were completely unprotected when you opened up to send.”
“What kind of demon?” Hap was puzzled.
“The demon’s name is Ose. He takes the physical form of a leopard. According to what Redson and I know he’s the prince of madness and things secret. If you remember, Malta kept repeating ‘Oh say’ over and over in trance. In your dream you heard her call ‘Oh say’ across the field.”
Hap smacked his fist into his palm. “That’s right.” He said.
“Malta’s in constant danger until we find her, Hap,” Orient said.
“Yes, I feel that.”
“I have to help her.”
“So do I… ”
Orient paused expectantly.
“… As far as it takes,” Hap finished softly.
Orient leaned back in his chair, his eyes half closed, a ribbon of smoke easing from his pursed lips. He leaned forward. “Hap, up until now you’ve been resisting your own telepathic power. You always had the choice to develop or not, as you chose, but it’s different now. Something else is involved here besides telepathy.”
“Demons?” Hap suggested sarcastically.
Orient opened his eyes and looked directly at Hap. “We’re up against a master magician. It’s another game now.”
Hap started to speak, but Orient cut him short with a wave of his hand. “I know you find it hard to believe in these things, Hap, you weren’t ready to accept even telepathy. That’s why I’m asking you to make a decision. You’ll have to accept it on faith.”
Hap tried to collect his thoughts. He was still groggy. There was no mistaking the deep sense of purpose in Orient’s tone, however.
“Now whether or not you believe in magic makes no difference,” Orient was saying. “I’m telling you now that it exists and it’s being practiced now, today, in New York City. If you want to stay with the show, Hap, I need more than your cooperation. I’m going to need your complete faith. You’re going to have to open your entire spectrum of thinking.”
Hap took a moment to reflect. He knew that Orient was highly skilled and intensely dedicated. He thought of Malta. He recalled how all this had begun and how Orient and the others had not hesitated to risk themselves in spite of the way he had put down their earlier experiments. “You have my faith,” he said.
Orient stood. “You and I have a lot to do now. Get ready and I’ll meet you in my study.”
Hap dressed quickly. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, but he had seen enough to know that Orient was sincere. He had felt how telepathy worked. Orient had shown him how to direct his power and use it effectively. He knew that the others had received similar training and had benefited immensely from it. He had rejected the knowledge offered him. Out of fear and foolish stubbornness he had resisted the reality. From now on he would walk with it.
When he entered the study he found Doctor Orient waiting for him.
“Get comfortable, Hap.” Orient waved him to a chair.
“Do you remember the Old Testament, Hap?” Orient asked when he was seated.
“Sort of.”
“Do you remember the story of the Tower of Babel?”
“That was when the world started talking in different languages, wasn’t it?” Hap responded.
“Right. Men tried to build a tower that would reach God and were punished for their presumption.” Orient paused. “What really happened was a somewhat different story.” He sank back into his chair, his hands clasped behind his head.
“At one time when the world was young, all men knew the secrets of their existence. But then certain men became greedy. They began to exploit their knowledge for power over their fellow men. They tried to become as powerful as God and in doing so set themselves up against God.” He paused again. “Are you following me?”
“So far.”
“Well, there was a great battle for this power that lasted for hundreds of years. The race of man split apart in this war. Destruction was widespread. Men hid from each other, breaking off into small wandering tribes. They devised languages among themselves to protect themselves from their enemies. In the havoc and confusion, most of the recorded knowledge men possessed was destroyed. What little knowledge remained was jealously guarded. The good men guarded their secrets to prevent the evil men from misusing it, and the evil men guarded their secrets in order to exploit the naive.”
“Things don’t seem to have changed.”
Orient’s smile acknowledged the insight. “As time passed, all the knowledge became more and more diluted. Records continued to be destroyed. Men who practiced the ancient rites were hunted and killed. And so the world lost virtually all of the knowledge it had originally possessed until, today the hundreds of religions that exist have only fragments of that information as part of the doctrines handed down from age to age and carefully maintained in spite of upheaval, pestilence and war. Judaism, Catholicism, Buddhism and the rest all have small pieces of the whole truth. Sometimes it’s been so twisted as to be unusable, perhaps even dangerous to man.
“But in every age, in every place, there have been men and women who have stumbled across certain secrets and have used this information for themselves. The practice of magic seems far removed from the technology of space travel, but nonetheless magic does still exist. There are those who believe, and I am among them, that man can’t travel the tremendous distances of space by ordinary propulsion. That the most efficient and fastest way of traveling through space is not with rockets but by astral projection. But I’m digressing. The point is that the world is still not ready to accept telepathy or astral projection or magic. But these secrets exist and must be nurtured and passed on until the world is able to use them for the benefit of the universe.”
Orient stretched his arms. “Our world seems to be going through some long-drawn-out Karma right now, and it’ll probably take another five thousand years before it’s ready.”
Hap tried to absorb what Orient was telling him. As the Doctor spoke, Hap had gone into a state of receptivity so that he would have less trouble understanding. Orient had explained to him months ago, at the very beginning of his training, how the conscious, rote mind automatically discarded information it couldn’t handle emotionally or which conflicted with already formed concepts. This was the first time Hap had acted upon what Orient had taught him, and it worked. He was able to make connections he would have missed otherwise.
“You were asked to work with us not only because you were a telepath,” Orient continued. “All human beings are telepaths, to some degree. You have strong powers, certainly, but more important, you were the kind of man who could be trusted not to misuse your strength.”
Orient rose from his chair and walked to the window, where he stood looking out into the darkness. “I was disappointed when you ran away, and I was even more distressed to learn that you were using telepathy for commercial gain with your mind-reading act,” he said quietly. He turned to face Hap. “But that doesn’t matter. The important thing is that Malta is in the hands of a magician of evil. He was able to take possession of you once, and he’ll try to influence you again.”
“What about the… demon?”
A light knock at the door interrupted Orient’s reply.
Sordi came in. “Bishop Redson,” he announced. He avoided looking at Hap.
Redson came bustling into the study, carrying his black doctor’s bag.
Orient crossed the room to greet him. “Hello, Bishop.” He extended his hand. “I’m glad you could come.”
“How’s our patient?” Redson nodded toward Hap.
“He’s fully recovered, thanks to you.” Orient looked at Hap. “I want you to meet Bishop Redson, Hap.”
Hap unconsciously rubbed his jaw
. “Howdy,” he said, measuring the bishop.
Redson beamed innocently. “Howdy, son.” He turned to Orient. “What can I do for you, Owen?”
“I’m going to try to contact Malta. I plan on using Hap as my escape hatch. I’d like you to give him maximum protection against entry while he’s in an open, receptive state.” He looked at Hap. “If Malta is possessed—and we must assume she is—then you’ll be my only protection against attack.”
Hap nodded slowly. “Like the last time,” he said softly.
Orient felt for the leaden vibration of a tilt somewhere between them. There was none. All flow was balanced.
“Don’t you have your own method of defense?” Redson asked.
Orient looked up. “Yes, of course. But its nature is physical. We need a powerful spiritual defense.” He waited. Red- son knew what he was driving at. Orient watched Redson tug at his ear as he considered his decision.
“I see.” Redson frowned. “Do you have a religion, friend?” he asked Hap.
“I was born a Catholic, but I don’t practice any.”
“Are you willing to let me hear your confession, Hap?”
Hap hesitated. “How will that help?”
“I can give you Communion. The consecrated wafer is the strongest protection on earth against entry.” He looked at Orient. “I may have to answer for this later, but I believe the situation warrants stretching a point.”
“I’m ready to do anything I have to,” Hap said.
“Then let’s get to it,” Redson said, reaching for his black bag.
Orient left them alone. He went to the meditation room and sat beside the pool. He relaxed his mind, letting the pattern of his breath loosen the cat’s cradle of tension threading through him. He separated gently from emotion and entered the reality of his heartbeat. For a while, he listened and considered the reality of Malta against the rhythms of his existence. Malta. He had never felt a presence as unique or as troubled or as familiar. He tasted his own chemistry and began to examine the long chain that was the source of his life. He went back along it, sensing the junctions where the past of his cells linked to the present…
He peered into mirrored corridors and saw the fragments of a thousand events and faces… faces… he heard the chimes of struck glass rising and falling… and he saw a thousand faces of Malta shifting and melting in the mirrors oozing shapes, changing form and expression but they were all Malta and he knew all of them… He knew…
Suddenly the mirrors splintered, shattering the light… and then there was the Om of his heartbeat signaling direction. He reached blindly for his instincts, and he was pulsing breath, each swell of his body bringing him closer to the shore of consciousness…
He opened his eyes. He saw fresh colors. He moved his shoulders and stretched. His body felt supple and new.
He reached for his silver case and snapped it open. As he took a cigarette he whispered, “Om Aing, Ghring, Cling, Charmuda, Yei Vijay… ” the ancient Brahman mantra for the consecration of Bhang.
Later, when Orient returned to the study, Redson was standing at the window, still wearing the vestments of his office.
The bishop turned. “We’re ready now, Doctor,” he said.
Orient looked at Hap.
He shrugged. “Let’s go, Doc.”
“All right, Hap,” Orient said. “If I make contact, I won’t stay long, just enough to find out where she is and how she is. If you feel hostility or danger, turn off.”
Hap closed his eyes. He began breathing in a deep, regular pattern.
He drifted for a moment, then began descending far into himself, stopping only when he sensed the energy emanating from Orient. He let his own energy be drawn to Orient’s vibration… closer… until both pulses were joined. He locked and held, remaining firm against the strong current of Orient’s flow. He sensed Orient’s energy straining toward completion and pulled back to slow the now surging rush
The stab of cold cut the momentum of his breath and almost stopped his heart. He closed his body to pain and reached his energy forward to maintain contact with Orient. The chill dashed against his lungs and he began to shudder violently. With his last controlled cycle of breath he pulled back toward thought, dragging Orient’s spastic presence behind him.
When he opened his eyes he saw the drawn face of Orient hovering over him. “What happened?” He tried to sit up, then fell back when he felt the dull ache in the center of his brain.
“We were hit hard,” Orient said softly.
He struggled to a sitting position. “Malta?” he murmured.
“She’s dead.” Orient’s voice was flat and far away.
Hap squeezed his eyes shut. The ache in his brain subsided, leaving him empty.
“How do you know she’s dead?” he said.
“Yes, exactly, how?” he heard Redson growl.
“It’s true,” Orient said. He seemed tired.
“Malta was trying to escape some powerful influence when she found you, Hap. She wasn’t strong enough.”
“Where is she?” Hap said.
“I don’t know.” Orient turned away. “But we have to find her. And right away.”
“What do you mean, Owen?” Redson said.
“I mean that Malta’s dead and that whoever killed her is still using her body for his purposes.” Orient moved toward the door.
Hap jumped to his feet and grabbed his arm. “What are you saying?” he yelled.
Orient turned and looked at Hap. The shortstop’s hand lifted from Orient’s bicep and fluttered uncertainly in midair. “I must be nuts,” he apologized. “But you know what happened in there.”
Orient smiled. “I know,” he said. “If the bishop hadn’t given you Communion we would have been finished.”
Redson cut in. “You said that whoever killed her was still using her body?”
“Yes,” Orient sat down and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Her spirit is in the control of whoever killed her. She can be used as a messenger, or as an informant, or her powers can be joined with someone else’s, giving her master tremendous leverage.”
Master. Hap bristled at the word. “Are you a hundred percent sure?”
“I will be soon,” Orient said quietly. “How will you be so sure, Owen?” Redson asked. Orient studied his curiously wizened fingers. “I’m going to hold a séance,” he said.
VIII
In Muriel Destiny’s world there was a place for everything, and the better part of her forty years had been spent in putting everything in its proper category. She had decided to make nursing her profession, because she had been attracted by the order and inviolability of the hospital routine.
It was this same aura of inviolability which had first drawn her to Pere DTe.
He was a French priest who had volunteered his services to the private Beverly Hills hospital that employed her. He took no payment in any form for his work, and the directors of the hospital were pleased to have the Church so represented at the institution.
For months she had watched him minister to the sick, never missing his daily rounds, comforting them with the words of his God and, more important, maintaining a systematic ritual that reached even within the confines of their illness.
Being a practical woman, Nurse Destiny had little use for religions, but she recognized the great strength of the stocky priest
One evening she stayed in the hospital after her shift to watch him perform Mass in the chapel. Something alerted her senses as she watched him smoothly make the signs of his ritual. She watched his hands, hands which she knew had been consecrated, hands which had been endowed with the power to change a piece of wafer into the actual body of Christ. She watched those hands as she had watched the hands of hundreds of surgeons and for the first time she wasn’t disappointed. The hands of Pere D’Te were perfect. They had both power and the grace of power, and Muriel Destiny knew that they were the hands of a saint.
That chance off-duty visit changed her life.
At first, it was merely a slight alteration of routine. Instead
of going directly home after her tour was completed, she would linger for evening services. She did this every night for three weeks, telling herself that she admired the dedication of the man to his work.
It was on the first night of the fourth week that he first spoke to her. She was walking out of the chapel after service, when the high, musical voice called to her. She recognized the voice as his immediately.
“Nurse Destiny?” Pere D’Te was beside her. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you; do you have a moment?”
She was momentarily flustered by his proximity. She found herself unable to speak. She nodded.
D’Te took up the slack. “I know you’re not of our faith. Yet I’ve noticed you at services. Are you interested in Catholicism?”
“No, not at all,” she stammered.
“Then why do you attend Mass every evening?” His eyes burned with a secret smile of their own.
Her confidence returned. “It’s you. I come to see you.”
“Why, what about me do you find so interesting?” He took her elbow and they began to walk together.
“There’s… there’s something about you that’s strong, something I admire. You seem so dedicated to your calling.”
“Is that what you’re looking for in your own life, strength?”
“Not exactly.”
“Perhaps you are looking for a higher discipline?”
“Perhaps.”
“Are you interested in being of service?”
“To you or to your religion?”
“Tome.”
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
“Tonight I will call and discuss it with you.”
They had reached the front gate of the hospital. “Tomorrow come and tell me what you have decided,” he said. Then he left her.
Muriel waited until midnight for word from Pere D’Te, but he neither called nor visited. Somewhat disappointed, she went to bed.
That night she had a dream. In her dream she was asleep in her bed. She awoke to find Pere D’Te standing at her bedside, wearing a white robe. He leaned over and kissed her. She felt the warm intrusion of his searching tongue in her mouth and the sure touch of his fingers as he stroked the inside of her restless thighs. For hours they made furious, frenetic love, sending her into shivering raptures of intense delight, delight she had never known existed.