Doctor Orient

by Frank Lauria

  Nurse Destiny wandered fitfully from room to room, muttering angrily to herself. For seven days she had been in the frenzied grip of jealousy. For seven nights she had gone to sleep and her incubus lover had failed to appear. No Susej came to pleasure her. Her rage mounted with each passing hour.

  She knew what was wrong. The young girl Obizuth had stolen the favors of her priest. Susej had cast Destiny aside in the rites of the priestess and now he had forsaken her entirely.

  The Great Plan had begun, and Susej had no further use for her or for followers lured out of sick beds. Now there were many eager to join the cult, anxious to gain the powers of the Clear One.

  Destiny paused in front of a mirror and ran a bony hand through her tangled hair. An acid-faced woman stared back at her. She was ugly. And old.

  If she had been selfish and asked for youth and beauty, Susej would have revered her and made her a high priestess like the young bitch who sat at his left hand now.

  She turned away from the glass and continued her aimless shuffle through the passageways beneath the temple.

  “I will pray to the Clear One himself,” she mumbled. “The Clear One knows my loyalty, he knows what I have done for his work.” Large tears ran down her face. “I loved him and he’s turned away from me. I did everything for him and never asked for myself and he’s turned his back on me.” She pounded the wall with her fist. “She took him away… bitch… bitch… I hate her… Clear One, hear me… hear ME!” Her voice rose to a trembling shout. The only answer to her anguish was silence. She weaved slowly along the hall, wringing her hands and sniffling curses which fell unheard and unheeded in the dusty corridors.

  She came to the room behind the altar, the sanctuary of the priestess Obizuth.

  For a moment she stood swaying in the dim light of the hall. Then, with a desperate moan, she hurled her body against the door. It slammed open. Destiny fell on the white rug, inside, still moaning.

  Addison had been taking a nap on her canopied bed. She sat up and looked wildly around her, her eyes rolling in a spasm of panic.

  When she realized it was Destiny, another kind of excitement welled up inside her, replacing her fear with the cool tingle which precedes victory.

  She let her face register open disgust at the unkempt woman on the floor. “You are not allowed in here. Get out,” she commanded.

  Destiny got to her feet.

  “Don’t you know that I am Obizuth the priestess? You could be put to death for your offense.”

  Destiny stood unsteadily in front of the bed. The moans turned to sobbing snarls. “You’re going to suffer.” She gestured with a mottled hand. “Not me… not me… he needs me… you’re just a tramp… ”

  Addison’s face hardened. “Get out or you will regret it… old woman,” she whispered.

  Destiny screeched and swept a bottle of perfume up from the vanity, flinging it with the same wild motion.

  Addison leaned easily to one side, letting the bottle smash against the mirror behind her. “Get out, you old hyena.” She laughed.

  Destiny scrambled on to the bed, her arms stretched out for Addison’s throat, her hands opening and closing like claws, feverishly reaching to tear the breath from the harlot’s lungs…

  It was seconds before she realized that she could not get to the girl. There was a barrier between them she could not cross.

  Again and again she strained to scratch the superior smile from the painted face. Again and again she threw herself forward in a frenzied rush for the soft white throat. She screamed in frustration and raging anger while Addison sat calmly laughing at her futile efforts.

  “Cease! I command you to stop this!” Susej’s voice brought Destiny up short.

  She fell at his feet, weeping muffled pleas for forgiveness.

  Susej looked down at her. “Don’t you know that Obizuth is under my protection?” He smiled. “You cannot harm a priestess of the Clear One.” He pulled her gently to her feet. She tried to turn her face away from his but he intensified his grip, his fingers digging deep into her thin arms. “Look at me, Destiny,” he ordered.

  She looked up, her body heaving convulsively with fear and hysteria.

  The short priest’s eyes found hers and held them. Immediately she relaxed in his hands. She stopped shivering.

  Susej released her. “You are a useless woman,” he said quietly. “But because you have served me I will not kill you. You will leave this temple and return only when I call for you. Do you understand?”

  Destiny rubbed her bruised arms. She tried to form the word but couldn’t. Finally she nodded.

  Addison watched her leave, her face reflecting her amusement and contempt. She lay back on her bed and contentedly stretched her body. As she shifted her legs, her robe fell back to her hips. She turned her head.

  Susej inhaled her smile.

  “Leave us,” he said hoarsely to the figures standing in the doorway. “I would be alone with the priestess.”

  Seth and Raymond silently backed out of the room, closing the door as they left.

  XXII

  The pressure was almost gone.

  The probe had diminished its constant demand on his consciousness, leaving him free to think.

  Argyle lifted his head. The room was empty. The key was still on the chair. Next to the doll.

  He reacted immediately.

  He began by quelling the fierce excitement within himself, using the breathing pattern to channel and calm the anxiety drive. As his concentration steadied his mind explored the key, feeling for its substance.

  A few tentative passes and he had its specific structure, the elements that combined to preserve its reality.

  As he immersed his consciousness into its substance, he sensed the dim energy being generated by its inert presence. He synchronized his brain cycles to the slow pulses emitted by the key, working carefully, making sure to establish complete empathy before exercising leverage. Then he tried.

  The key moved to the edge of the chair. The doll wobbled and fell over on its side.

  He built the empathy to a peak, increasing the speed of the ponderous cycles.

  The key fell off the chair, and began scraping across the floor towards him. As he reached his hand out, the doll toppled off the chair. For a terrible second he felt the brush of the turbulence freeze the sweat on his body.

  His first instinct was to recoil from the doll but he fought the fear away. He had to act while his mind was clear.

  He closed his eyes and gripped the thread of empathy. When he opened them again the key was close. But now the doll was only a few feet away.

  He looked at his hand trying to pick up the key and saw that his fingers were trembling. When he had the key he glanced over at the doll. It seemed closer.

  He pushed himself to a standing position and backed away as he unlocked the bracelet. When he was free he started unsteadily across the floor. Then he stopped, swaying on his feet.

  The doll was between him and the door. He took a deep breath and lurched forward, kicking the doll out of his path. It landed right side up in the corner of the room.

  When he reached the door he hesitated, then went to the right, remembering that Susej had turned left. Holding cm to the wall for support he managed to make it to the door at the end of the hallway. As he put his hand on the knob he heard the sound of feet coming from the other end of the passage. He opened the door just enough for his body to slip inside and closed it behind him.

  He was at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

  Using the banister as a vaulter’s pole he took the stairs three at a time. When he reached the landing he heard shouts at the bottom of the stairs. He looked around. There were three doors to choose from.

  As he started moving toward the door directly in front of him, someone yelled and he heard feet pounding on the stairs.

  Adrenalin snapped through his body, accelerating his rush.

  He hit the door with his shoulder and almost fell to the sidewalk.
He was outside. The shock of cold air revived him further and he lunged forward into something that started as a half trot and ended as a flat-out sprint.

  He cut diagonally across the street, turned the corner, and pushed his heaving lungs another block to the far corner. Still running now, but slowly, he made it to the end of the next block and turned right.

  An empty cab was rolling slowly down the street, its top light bright and warm in the night. He tried to whistle, gave it up and went out into the middle of the street waving his arm. The cab rolled on past him, the driver staring straight ahead.

  He yelled and started to run after the cab, then came to a disgusted stop as he realized the effort was useless. He turned and began walking quickly to the next corner, listening carefully through his labored breathing for any sound of pursuit.

  When he reached the end of the block he looked up and checked the street signs. Sixty-fifth and Third. The familiarity of the location gave him a slight lift and he headed west at a fast, easy clip.

  The streets were dark and deserted but faded streaks across the sky were already silvering in anticipation of the dawn.

  He was halfway between Third and Lexington when he heard the leathery fluttering behind him. As he turned a gray shape came hurtling down against his shoulder, jolting his arm numb with the impact and sending him sprawling against the sidewalk.

  As he twisted his body around he saw the creature swooping down at him again, folding and unfolding its great wings, extending bony talons for his eyes.

  He crossed his arms in front of his face and turned his head away.

  “Apage Satanus,” he croaked.

  The expected contact didn’t come. Simpson looked up and saw three large eagle-like creatures hovering above him. He got to his feet and staggered to a car parked in front of him. It was locked.

  The creatures were circling faster, coming down lower with each pass. He started running blindly to the corner. He was almost there when a dull, heavy blow caught him at the base of his spine and sent him crashing against a telephone booth. He whirled and pressed his back against the glass, bringing his arms up crossed in front of him and yelling the words.

  This time one of the creatures hit him, glancing off his arm and leaving a hot red smear across his skin.

  He scrambled into the booth and forced the door shut just as another of the creatures dove straight down against the glass panel, rocking the booth with the force of its impact.

  Then they were all around him, crashing their feathered bodies against the sides of the booth and hacking at the glass with their sharp beaks. The air whined with their shrill cries and the continuous scratching of their claws against the booth.

  A jagged fissure appeared on the glass.

  The three creatures concentrated their attack on that spot, swooping up and then hurtling down, dashing their beaks against the ever-widening crack. He looked around wildly, realizing that his strength was finished. And then, through the noisy tangle of thrashing bodies, he saw the sky.

  It was almost dawn.

  He took one long, deep breath and prepared himself to reach out for Orient.

  He let the wave build slowly, slowly, feeling through the turbulence he knew would be there, feeling for his balance. And then Orient was there and his mind relaxed and let the soft implosions at the base of his brain take over his consciousness. His body shivered with a sudden rush of emotion as he felt the pulsing presence of Hap and Levi join the strong steady beat, and he knew he was home.

  The noise had stopped.

  The creatures were gliding away, their huge wings beating ponderously against the gilded tint of dawn. A profound stillness settled over the streets as he watched the black shapes become smaller, then disappear into the dark side of the sky.

  Argyle moved wearily out of the booth and started walking west, his teeth chattering in the damp frost of morning.

  XXIII

  Argyle poured himself a third cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair.

  “I just can’t understand it,” he repeated, “the cat had me, had me.” He looked at Orient. “And then blank. Nothing.”

  “You say you heard someone yelling?” Orient said gently.

  “I think so. I can’t be sure what was going on. All of a sudden I was alone.”

  Orient waited.

  Simpson shook his head. “He wanted the telepathy bad, Doc,” he said.

  “Did he say anything about Malta?” Orient asked, trying hard to hold back the rush of emotion that started with her name.

  Argyle swirled the coffee in his cup. “No,” he said slowly, “but he did say he had you beat.”

  Orient didn’t answer.

  Orient turned. He was smiling. “That’s right,” he said, “you proved that didn’t you?”

  Argyle’s forehead furrowed. “Do you think he let me go on purpose?” he asked suddenly. “Maybe he’s using me as some kind of setup, like Hap.”

  “No.” Orient stopped smiling. “You were too useful to him. He just wasn’t able to keep the squeeze on you and use his power somewhere else at the same time.”

  Argyle nodded. “I guess you’re right.” He looked up and met Orient’s eyes. “I’m still not sorry I went, you know. It might have turned out different, but I had to find out for myself.”

  Orient shrugged. “No explanation necessary. We all have responsibility to explore anything that seems like further knowledge.” He strolled back to his chair and sat down. “Anything else we might use tonight?”

  “You’re really going up against him?” Argyle said happily, “What made you decide?”

  “Only thing to do. Now what about Susej—anything you noticed?”

  Simpson stared at what was left of his coffee. “He’s not alone,” he said carefully. “He’s got a slick bunch of people behind him.”

  “So we’ve gathered from his publicity. Right now he’s public celebrity number one.”

  What he was saying didn’t register with Argyle right away.

  Orient picked up the puzzled expression and explained what had been happening since the priest’s first appearance.

  “Of course, what Susej is doing is big news. The entire media is covering him day by day.”

  “The cover of Time?” Argyle was still having trouble with the implications. “In a week?”

  “The man can cure.”

  “Yeah.” Argyle shook his head. “Yeah, it figures. The whole music angle, too. He must have been setting this one up for a long time.”

  Orient stared out the window. He remembered the people outside the studio.

  “And tonight he’s going to cure Mulnew’s daughter?”

  “That’s right,” Orient said quietly, his palms suddenly cold with the memory of his last meeting with Susej.

  He told Argyle about the confrontation at the television studio. “I just couldn’t get enough leverage,” he concluded. “I thought I could use the element of surprise, but he was waiting for me.”

  “That’s right.” Argyle snapped his fingers. “He said something about a bowl of observance.”

  Orient nodded. He should have expected an adept as advanced as Susej to have mastered the technique.

  Argyle broke the long silence that followed. “You left something out, Doc,” he said softly.

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Sure you do. You forgot to tell me that the reason you couldn’t get enough leverage was because he was holding me.

  For a moment Orient was silent. “The only thing that bothers me about the whole thing,” he said finally, “is that it was recorded on video tape.”

  Argyle grinned. “That’s biz,” he said. “Now you know what it’s like to see yourself in a flop.”

  Orient stood up and stretched. “Perhaps you’d like to take a nap before the festivities begin,” he suggested. “Claude can explain the strategy after you’ve rested.”

  “No good, Doc, I’m so tired I won’t be able to sleep. The best thing would be to just hang
out with the fellows until you’re ready.”

  Orient nodded. He checked his watch. It was past noon. Time to begin.

  “One thing, Doc.” Argyle delayed him as he turned to leave. “I hope you’re going flat out tonight. Susej is contagious.”

  Orient tried to imagine what it would be like at the stadium. “How far I go depends entirely on him,” he said.

  As soon as Argyle came in Hap and Redson surrounded him with questions.

  “Are you sure about those three birds?” the bishop demanded.

  “Let me see that scratch they made on your arm,” Hap added.

  “But the prayer was effective.” Redson closed his own circle.

  Argyle raised his arms high above his head and waved his hands. “You’ll see it all in my next release, gentlemen. Now why don’t you sit down and let Doc talk business?”

  “I won’t take much time,” Orient said, waiting for them all to settle down before going on. “I won’t be here tonight, so we’ll have to go over it now just to make sure.” He leaned against the table and folded his arms. “All of you will go to the chapel at sundown. When you hear from me, Claude will hypnotize Bishop Redson. When the bishop is in trance the rest of you will merge communication. Hap, you see that Sordi just concentrates on the prayer of protection.”

  Hap nodded, his eyes on the floor.

  Orient turned to Argyle. “Do you think you’re strong enough to work?” he said.

  “Stronger.”

  Orient reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He passed the envelope to Argyle. “Take one and pass it,” he instructed.

  He waited until everyone had taken one of the linen squares. “On each square is imprinted a Pentacle of Mars. I want you to keep the Pentacle with you from now on. Hap, you take Sordi’s for him.”

  Redson carefully put his Pentacle on the coffee table. “I’m afraid it smacks somewhat of the graven image, Owen,” he said, “but I’ll keep the concept in mind.”

  Orient smiled. “Sustained,” he said, “but I want to talk to you about that sometime.” He pushed himself to his feet “Well, unless anyone has any questions I’ll be on my way.”