Doctor Orient

by Frank Lauria

  There were problems. Of the three, only Levi had complete faith in occult force, and he had no experience. Hap was adjusting to telepathic control but he was still unprepared for even a skirmish with counter forces. Argyle juggled his skills nicely, using his consciousness to enjoy his art. Of late, however, Orient had detected some ego stress in Argyle that was disturbing his balance. Even so, his grasp of technique would make his occult learning rapid. Redson couldn’t figure in this, because his law imposed some limitation on the tools at his disposal. It also made him an unlikely subject for telepathic experimentation. But of all of them his psychic weapons were the strongest. No power of the Left Hand could crack the links of consecration. The presence of the host in Bishop Redson’s chapel was ultimate protection against entry.

  The element most destructive to the enthusiasm of the circle was that they had absolutely no sense of the immediate need to formulate emergency procedures. None of them; not Claude, not Argyle, and certainly not Hap, had any idea of the persistence of occult attack.

  If they hadn’t been able to communicate in time, the poltergeists would have intensified. And that alone might have been enough to stop them—for longer than death. Taken broadly, their basic telepathic training gave them a good feel for spiritual defence. He decided to run through physical defense first…

  He started their first lesson with the breathing pattern, drawing them together into a state of mind which would make it easy for truth to penetrate the consciousness and find its level.

  He explained the efficiency of certain stones and metals. Using mind pictures he described the symbology of defense, the pentagrams and mystic signs that afforded protection to the user. He gave them each a carnelian with a tiny piece of nitrate embedded in its center to wear around their necks. Then he pulled the communication to a deeper level and discussed the chemistry of protection, the balances and physical algebra of their use. He concluded by impressing upon them the necessity for remaining within the confines of Redson’s home after dusk, carefully measuring for them the weights that made night the province of the Left Hand.

  After they had absorbed their choices and had broken intense contact he gave them the first defense against influence.

  “A basic domination technique is to stare a victim down. Claude, as a hypnotist, you might have found that true.” Orient didn’t pause to allow Levi to jump in with his usual long description of the tools of modern hypnotism. “Just avoid staring back at whoever it is. Keep your eyes on the spot between his eyes and repeat your invocations of protection.”

  “How is this going to help Malta, Doc?” Hap interrupted.

  Argyle stood. “For once I agree with the rookie. This is interesting, but we came running to help the girl. We can’t help anybody if we stay here practicing defense. We need a little offense around here.”

  “Maybe another séance?” Hap offered.

  “No good.”

  “But if you think she’s dead, what difference does it make? We’re safe here,” Hap persisted.

  “Malta’s dead all right—that’s a fact,” Orient stated emphatically. “And it’s also a fact that she’s being controlled by some influence.” “Owen’s correct, boys,” Levi said. “And we’re safe here, but just barely. Another séance might lead to serious consequences.”

  Simpson looked at Hap. “I should have known better than to side with you, Prentice,” he said. He turned to Orient. “But what kind of offense have we got?”

  Orient took a deep breath. That was the key question. “We’re not ready,” he said. “There’s one weapon, but that’s not to be used lightly.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it at all.

  “Then this thing with Malta is light?” Argyle’s logic was shattering.

  “Listen.” Levi scratched his beard. “Anyone who can control spirit elementals and set them on us is a heavy man. A master. The potential levels of energy involved are tremendous, and this D’Te can make the changes. He can do it. He did it to us, remember?”

  Argyle remembered. And suddenly he was curious.

  “But there must be a general plan, Owen,” Levi suggested.

  “There is a plan.” Orient raised his eyes and smiled when he saw Levi’s curious expectancy. “There is a plan, but it’s loose. And it depends on D’Te showing his hand.”

  “He’ll show,” Levi growled. “For a heavy man like that the most important thing in life is wielding power. There’s no such thing as a power hermit.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Orient said. “If we move first, we lose Malta.”

  “But she’s dead, Doc.” Hap was confused.

  Orient said it slowly. “Malta’s dead, but she’s still being controlled by an influence. By keeping her in suspension he can use her power for himself.”

  “Can he hurt her?” Hap asked softly.

  “Yes.”

  “Bad?”

  Orient nodded. “He could destroy her spiritually. She would be just like one of those mindlessly evil poltergeists. A wandering elemental with no destiny. Eternal displacement.” Having said it, he tried to put it out of his mind.

  “Then it’s hopeless.”

  “Not at all.” Orient came back to the problem. “Power increases the need for power. When the influence shows itself again we’ll know what to do.”

  “What about Malta?” Hap’s despair was contagious. Orient was beginning to feel it, too, recalling suddenly the smooth feel of her hair.

  “Remember that Malta must have been involved to come to this. It’s partially her Karma for delving into forbidden practices.”

  “But she was trying to escape,” Hap reminded him.

  “That’s what makes me believe there’s a chance,” Orient said quietly.

  “So we just wait,” Argyle said.

  “That’s step one.” Orient said.

  Simpson wondered. There was something he wished he knew, something he hadn’t considered before. Perhaps Orient was wrong. Perhaps D’Te had something to teach them.

  “How about some chess Owen,” Levi interjected. “We could all do with some relaxation.”

  “And some food,” Argyle said, moving toward the door. “The soul food around here doesn’t do much for the flesh.”

  “Right, Simpson,” Levi chimed. “What’s wrong with Sordi lately?”

  “A little fasting might do you some good,” Orient said. “And it’s a wise thing to eat very little when you’re trying to generate occult energy.”

  “Maybe your head works like that, but I generate best behind good grease,” Argyle said.

  Hap followed the banter to the recreation room, hanging behind the others as he brooded over things he half understood.

  Once in the recreation room each man settled into his own pleasures.

  Levi set up the chessboard, took a black and a white pawn, passed his hands behind his back and then offered his closed fists to Orient. The doctor tapped Levi’s right hand. Argyle spread his fingers, revealing a white pawn in his palm. Orient took it and placed it at his king’s three. Levi dropped his pawn opposite.

  Behind them Argyle explained the world of show business to a preoccupied Hap. As each guest appeared on the television show they were watching, Argyle delightedly commented on their off-stage realities.

  “Ordinarily I would never have agreed, but when the producer explained that it was necessary to the film I said I would do the scene in the nude,” an optimistic starlet was saying.

  “Man, that lady would agree to take off her clothes at a supermarket opening,” Argyle retorted.

  “What are you yelling about now?” Bishop Redson said genially as he sat down between Hap and Argyle on the couch facing the tube. “These people are wild. They’re still trying to sell the apple-pie image to a pate audience. That chick’s seen every ceiling in Beverly Hills and she’s trying to come on like the Flying Nun.”

  Redson sat absorbed as Argyle popped each balloon in turn, confiding such information as who was having trouble with bo
okings, who was a noted deviate, and the esoteric hobbies of the host.

  “That guy?” Redson pondered. “Are you sure? He always seems so tough.”

  “Plays for the other team, and in trouble with the tax man,” Argyle said firmly. “I worked with him in Spain and when he couldn’t convince me to sleep with him, he asked me to lend him some bread.”

  “Did you give him the money?” Redson asked.

  “Of course—he happens to be a good actor—and he’s the only cat who ever paid me back.”

  Sordi wheeled in a table of food.

  “About time you got here,” Argyle said, jumping to his feet

  Levi completed a swap of rooks then rose and followed Argyle to the table. Orient pondered the inadequacies of his defense.

  “Aren’t you eating, Bishop?” Argyle called.

  “Not me. I had myself a decent meal earlier. I wouldn’t serve that mess of oats and grass to my horse.”

  “You know, Doctor,” Sordi said as he set a plate of salad at Orient’s elbow, “it’s not healthy to serve this food. It’s not even food. Why don’t you let me make some fettuccini, some scaloppini. This stuff you order is fantastic. You’ll all get sick.” He stood over Orient accusingly, hands on his hips.

  “This is what we’ll eat right now Sordi,” Orient said, still studying the board.

  “You got my vote, Sordi baby.” Argyle grunted, sat down in front of the TV and regarded the contents of his dish ruefully. Sordi stalked out of the room.

  Orient’s position was untenable. He dropped his king.

  Levi had joined the circle around the tube. He knew the game was over.

  “How about some food, Hap?” Levi nudged Hap.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Hap said, rising slowly.

  “The man’s got something on his mind,” Argyle observed as he ate.

  “There’s plenty of stuff to choose from to worry about,” Levi said.

  “And what have you decided to do, Owen?” Redson asked casually.

  Orient frowned. “We’re just going to sit tight”

  “… Stay in at night and try not to fight,” Argyle added derisively.

  Redson turned to him. “Yes and for once you’re being smart. You’re all dealing with a power greater than you can conceive and if you try going against it you’ll be in serious trouble. I agree with Owen.”

  “I think he’s being smart.” Levi put in.

  “Hold it.” Argyle threw up his hands. “I was just jiving a bit, Doc. As far as I’m concerned, we’ll play it your way.”

  Orient looked up. “It’s difficult, but remember we’re vulnerable. When the time comes we’ll make our move, but it’s got to be good”—he looked around at his circle of pilgrims— “because we’ll only get one chance.”

  “Another game, Owen?” Levi asked innocently.

  Orient declined the queen’s gambit and concentrated on defense. It took Levi twenty-three moves to penetrate and checkmate.

  Orient stretched his legs under the table. “That’s number fourteen to my seven,” he said.

  “That Indian defense is not foolproof by any means,” Levi cautioned. He scratched his beard and stood. “Well good night, Owen. See you tomorrow.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the others.

  Orient watched him go out. Redson was faithfully watching an old movie—all fan. Hap sat next to him, his dinner plate in his lap, looking dumbly at the screen. The food was untouched.

  “Okay, Hap, why don’t you go up to bed.” Orient got up and went over to the couch. “It’s worse to worry about things you can’t help. Just relax and trust me.” He took the plate from Hap and guided him to the stairs.

  At the stairs Hap stopped and turned to him. “I’m just a little down about Malta, Doc, but I’ll get with it,” he said.

  “I know you will,” Orient confirmed. “And remember to wear your carnelian from now on.”

  Hap took the chain and stone out of his pocket and placed it around his neck as he went up the stairs.

  Orient returned to the recreation room. Redson was at the Suez with Tyrone Power.

  “Bishop, I wonder if you would mind staying up till dawn tonight?” Orient said.

  Redson looked up. “What for?”

  “I want to find out where Malta’s body is being kept.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to do some traveling on the Astral.”

  “Astral?” Redson pondered the word. “That’s new to me Owen.”

  Orient enthusiastically launched into an explanation. He enjoyed nudging Redson into considering other realities. “By going to sleep in a certain way one can move on the Astral Plane,” he said leisurely. “Everyone at one time or another does travel the Astral, but very few have the control to accept the notion and recall their experiences.”

  Redson said nothing, his pink face flushing with concentration.

  “The Astral Plane is quite different from hyper-space. Hyper-space is physical, for each reaction there is an opposite and equal reaction. Hyper-space is to earth space what a negative is to a photograph.

  “The Astral Plane has nothing to do with the dimensions of the material universe but is the doorway to a higher form of existence, of which the entire universe is but a single facet. When humans die their spiritual energy proceeds to the Astral, there to be physically recombined and reincarnated, or if karma in the physical universe has been resolved, to go on to the next phase of essential evolution.

  “You can, with training, develop sufficient control to enable you to move freely on this plane. You develop a new sense of direction.” Orient paused to take a cigarette from his case. “Dreams are a manifestation of Astral travel.”

  “Did you learn this trick in Tibet?” Redson demanded.

  Orient struck a match. “Actually I learned how to maneuver on the Astral during my previous life in the latter part of the Victorian period. But I first discovered the plane during an Egyptian incarnation.”

  “Well I don’t follow any of that business.” Redson shook his head.

  Orient shook his head sadly. “I know. Your dogma doesn’t include reincarnation.”

  “And it don’t exclude it either,” Redson corrected. “Well how am I going to be any use to you, Owen? I don’t know anything about this Tibetan dogma of yours.”

  “I need the protection of your chapel.”

  “You’ve got it,” Redson assured. “Try getting a little protection from Tibet and see what happens,” he added.

  Orient went on. “I think it’s perfectly safe if I go in just before dawn when the influence will be weakest. Entering from the chapel should give me all I need to find out where Malta is.”

  “I don’t like it, Owen.” Redson sounded adamant. “I think Argyle’s prodded you into something foolish.” He watched Orient’s reaction carefully.

  “The truth,” Orient said slowly, “… is that I didn’t want to involve the others in this. I decided to do this yesterday.” He stared at the tip of his cigarette.

  “Just because you decided it on your own doesn’t mean that it’s safe,” Redson reproved. “Why don’t you just stick to your waiting plan?”

  “Because wherever Malta is, is where the influence is operating from. We need that information.” Redson looked doubtful, and Orient regretted that he had not explained the whole matter differently.

  Redson checked his watch. “I won’t change your mind by dawn. You’re as stubborn as your father was. But I’m strongly advising you to forget this business until later, when you know who you’re dealing with.”

  “That’s just what I intend to find out,” Orient said, depositing the stub of his cigarette in the ashtray. “And you make a great pentagram.”

  For the next few hours they tried to talk of general matters, but the conversation always seemed to come back to Malta.

  “I’m sorry I never had a chance to see the girl,” Redson mused. “And hearing D’Te’s name after all these years still has me wondering.”

&nbs
p; “You said he was involved in special studies with you in Rome.”

  “And he learned his lessons far better than I did. The man was living in a palazzo while I was taking a cot where I could find one.”

  “Wealthy?”

  “Well endowed. He had reaped all sorts of honors before he came and many people were interested.”

  Orient got up and went to the window. “I think it’s time,” he said, peering out. He wondered if he should chuck the whole idea.

  Redson led the way to the chapel. It was located in the cellar of the house beneath the main stairway.

  The chapel was small. They had to move the pews out to make room for Redson’s pentagram. Using chalk he drew the figure on the stone floor with mathematical precision. He made sure of the proportions before allowing Orient to lie down in its center. Orient made himself comfortable and immediately began a deep breathing pattern. As he relaxed his body, he drifted his mind to Malta. The last thing he saw was the bishop setting down a folding chair nearby.

  As he fell asleep Orient willed his energy to flow in the orbit of the Watcher Plane, that level where his projection could view the affairs of Earth.

  He found himself high above the East Side of Manhattan.

  His projection was in the form of a teen-aged African boy, dressed in a garment made from some sort of metallic fabric. Orient knew this form from past experiences on the Astral. He realized that the youth of his projection indicated his relatively new stage of spiritual development; there would be other reincarnations before he passed on to the Buddhistic level of existence. He also knew that if he found it convenient he could change form at will, becoming anything desired; man, woman or animal—his facility having developed with each cycle of existence.

  He glided swiftly toward his destination, coming to a hovering halt over a block somewhere uptown. He recognized vibrations from the entire section, and let the flow of his orbit bring him closer to the ground.

  He was standing in front of a red canopy carrying the logo of the Seventh Door discotheque. Thin rhythms tinkled through his consciousness. He sensed powerful emanations and held, pausing to absorb the signals, checking for any vibrational turbulence which would signal the presence of dangerous elementals.