by Frank Lauria
"That’s why I’d like you to ask them over for a private consultation," Orient said carefully. "I think the complications have already set in."
"You think they’re possessed?" Her eye narrowed. "Really?"
Orient nodded. "That’s the way it looked to me. I tried to get them to see me earlier, but they froze up. They’re suspicious. That’s why I need your help."
"For what?"
"I want to try to exorcise them," Orient said slowly.
Sybelle was silent. Orient stared at his cracked, wrinkled palms as he waited for her answer.
"If they’re suspicious," she mused, "they’re not going to let you do anything to them."
"That’s true," Orient replied. He reached down and took a small bottle from the bottom of the shopping bag. He held it up for her to see. It contained a number of tiny white tablets. "One of these in a glass of water is tasteless and works fast. It puts you out for at least fifteen minutes."
"And if they don’t want any water?" Sybelle reminded.
"I was coming to that." He went into the shopping bag again and pulled out a long metal canister.
"This is a container of a gas used by dentists. It’s called laughing gas for some strange reason, although it doesn’t make you laugh." He pointed to the door at the end of the room. "You have a small study in there which, as I recall, has another door."
"That’s right. To the kitchen." Sybelle was holding her forgotten glass at the level of her top chin, smiling expectantly.
"I’ll set the container up out of sight in there," Orient explained. "If they refuse a drink, I’ll turn on the nozzle and duck into the kitchen. Ask them to sit in the study, close the door, and wait for a few minutes."
"And the gas will knock them out. Intriguing," Sybelle purred.
"Not quite," Orient explained. "The gas will make them dizzy. And very thirsty. It’ll use up a good deal of the oxygen available in the small room. When you go back inside, bring them the water. They will definitely need it. And that will put them out."
Sybelle took a sip of her Scotch. "Fascinating."
"Will you help?"
"What if they don’t want to see me?"
Orient smiled. "When they hear who’s calling, they’ll come."
"Perhaps you’re right." Sybelle fluttered her violet-lined lashes. "After all, I am New York’s leading psychic. If they’re planning to expand their activities, they’ll need the moral support I could give them. The advice."
"To say nothing of the customers."
"Now, don’t be fresh," Sybelle warned, "Or I won’t call them."
"Then you will do it?"
Sybelle stood up and wiggled toward the rhinestone-studded telephone on the bar. "Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ve never had the opportunity to assist an exorcism. And I have a new gown that’s just too perfect for the occasion."
"You’ll need the number," Orient said. "Don’t be silly," Sybelle snapped. "I have everybody’s number." She leafed through her thick address book, then dialed.
"Hello," she said grandly, "Sybelle Lean here. I’d like to speak to Gregory, please." She winked at Orient. "Hello, Gregory? This is Sybelle Lean.... Yes, that’s right, the medium. I was wondering if you and your wife would come up to see me this evening. For a private séance.... Well, that’s just lovely." She smiled prettily at the telephone and patted her hair. "I’ve heard beautiful things about you, too." She looked at Orient and grimaced. "Very good then. At six-thirty. I’m at 362 East Sixtieth. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you." She hung up and looked at Orient.
"Perfect," he congratulated. He was relieved. His intuition had been correct. Gregory was avoiding him. The question about the rite of Honorius had hit home.
"Do you have everything you need?" Sybelle came over and peered into the shopping bag. "You seem marvelously equipped."
"I think so. As I told you, Gregory is invoking Astaroth, using a prayer from Honorius. So I’d like to use a prayer of dismissal from the same rite."
"Then you’ll need belladonna, mandrake, some chalk, a measuring string, and—let me see, oh yes, rock incense."
"Very good," Orient grinned. "I knew you were the right person to ask. You left out only one thing." He held up two red jars. "Liturgical candles. Blessed with holy water. I stopped by a church. Just in case."
Sybelle sat down and looked at Orient. "Now tell me," she said calmly, the soft lines of her face hardening with total attention, "tell me exactly what you want me to do. Step by step."
It didn’t take her much time to absorb what Orient told her. Her firm grasp of psychic technique and form made it easy for him to coach her in the elements of the Rite of Exorcism. "You’ll recite the actual words, and I’ll use my concentration to direct the energy you generate, remember that you must repeat the words very carefully. If you mispronounce one, or stumble, you must begin again. But if anything happens, you’ll be protected. I’ll be a buffer between you and Astaroth."
"What if you’re possessed or hurt?" Sybelle objected. "Isn’t there another way?"
"If anything happens to me, just get out of the house as fast as possible," Orient said, the doubts dancing in, to mock the calm of his voice. "There is no other way right now."
Sybelle went into the bedroom to change, while Orient went about trying to conceal the container of laughing gas. He tried a few places, then settled on the bookshelf, behind some volumes. It was just in the center of the short wall in front of the couch. No matter where they sat, the vapors of the gas would reach them. He was making some final adjustments on the nozzle mechanism when Sybelle reappeared, wearing a floor-length gown cut low to expose most of her billowy breasts.
"This is it," she announced. "Divine, no?"
Orient looked up. "Great," he said. "That should knock them out if the pills don’t work!"
"And it’s pure cotton."
Orient nodded. He knew that in performing special rites it was advisable to wear clothes of pure cotton or linen. He wondered if his twill trousers and silk shirt would hamper his attempt. He shrugged.
Too late to attend to that detail, he decided. But the doubts came crowding back.
When Gregory and Isis arrived, Orient waited in the study while Sybelle answered the door. "How nice to meet you," he heard her saying. "You’re both so young and lovely."
"Thank you, Sybelle," Gregory’s musical voice answered. "We consider your interest in our work an honor."
"Oh, I’ve heard the most amazing things about you and your wife," Sybelle gushed.
"Who recommended you to us?" Isis asked. Even through the closed door of the study Orient could detect the edge of wariness in her voice.
"Why, a few people," Sybelle answered smoothly. "Peter Herko, for one. You know, the clairvoyant. Such a nice man. Wouldn’t you both like a nice cold drink?"
"Not right now," Gregory said. "We try to fast before our appointments. You understand."
"Indeed I do," Sybelle assured him. "When one has the power, so much sacrifice is involved. Make yourselves comfortable while I fix myself something. I’ll only be a minute."
Orient reached down behind the books, twisted the nozzle on the container hidden there, and hurried into the kitchen. He closed the door gently, hoping that the low hiss of escaping gas and the slight odor would go undetected.
In a few moments Sybelle joined him in the kitchen. "You’re absolutely right," she whispered in his ear. "Their aura is dark brown."
Orient nodded. Some sensitive mediums, like Sybelle, had the faculty of being able to see color auras, corona-like vibrations that every person emits. Usually deep green or brown auras indicated some sort of spiritual disorder.
Orient pointed to the two glasses he had prepared, and held up four fingers. Sybelle looked at her watch and made a circle with her thumb and forefinger. When the four minutes had elapsed, Sybelle picked up the glasses and went into the study.
"All ready," she announced. "I brought you some ice water in case you cha
nged your mind."
"Thank you, Sybelle," Isis said, her voice low and indistinct. "It is stuffy in this room."
As she spoke, Orient began a deep breathing pattern to charge his concentration. He focused his mind on each detail of the task ahead and went over each word of the rite.
"Excuse me a moment," Sybelle was saying. "I want my tarot cards." When she entered the kitchen she nodded grimly. "How long?" she whispered. Orient held up three fingers.
Sybelle waited impatiently, then went back into the study. "All right, Owen," she called out softly, "I think they’re asleep." Owen went inside and saw Gregory and Isis sprawled on the couch. Both glasses were standing empty on the table in front of them.
"Better open both doors to air the place out," Orient grunted as he shut the nozzle. He went into the other room and began making his preparations.
First, using a ruler to ensure perfect measurements, he drew a triangle on the floor with the chalk he’d bought earlier. Underneath the triangle, in letters of equal size, he wrote the words SPIRITUS LOCUS. Then, using a measuring string, he drew a large circle a short distance away from the triangle. In the center of the circle he drew a perfect six-pointed star, the Pentacle of Solomon. Inside the pentacle he wrote the words AGLA and ADONAY, and the letters HIS.
"Very nice." Sybelle congratulated him when he had finished. "Anything you need?"
"Just your crucifix," Orient murmured. When Sybelle left the room, he took the rock incense and placed it in a bowl. As he struck a match he began his invocation. "I offcr thee this incense as the purest which I have been able to obtain," he said softly. "Adonai, Eloim, Ariel, and Jehovam. Deign to receive it as an acceptable sacrifice of purification. And be favorable to me in thy power." As the fumes of the incense began scenting the room, he placed the two glass-enclosed candles on the floor and lit them, repeating a prayer to bind the spirits. He pushed his concentration as he spoke, emptying himself of everything except the words of the rite.
"Ready now?" Sybelle asked when she came back.
"Just about. We’ll have to haul them in here. Feel up to it?"
"I’m up to anything to help those poor children," Sybelle said quietly.
They went into the study, and Orient took Gregory under the arms to lift him. The boy was completely limp and extremely heavy. "Take his feet," Orient said.
As Sybelle bent over his legs, the boy suddenly stiffened. A hoarse cry came from Gregory’s gaping mouth, and Orient felt the boy’s body twist away from his grasp as it went completely rigid, lifted a foot off the couch and then slammed down again.
Orient looked up and realized what was happening. "The crucifix," he yelled. "Get rid of it."
Sybelle’s eyes went wide and she hurried into the kitchen, holding the crucifix away from her body as if it were about to explode. As she drew away, Orient saw Gregory’s body relax and go limp again.
"Sorry, Owen," she murmured, when she came back empty-handed. "I forgot I still had it."
"It’s all right, so did I," Orient said. "Let’s move. The tablets won’t last much longer."
With Sybelle’s help he took Gregory into the living room and placed his unconscious body next to the triangle on the floor. Then he went back into the study and lifted Isis in his arms. The girl was remarkably light, as if her small bones were filled with air. He looked down at her face. It looked serene and composed, like that of a sleeping princess.
"Now bring the cross," he said, as he placed Isis near the triangle.
Orient made sure that the candies and incense were burning well and stepped into the Circle of Protection he had drawn. Sybelle came back, handed Orient the cross, and whispered her own invocation to the powers of light. She stood very close to him, making sure that her wide body was in the protective influence of the circle. When she was ready, she looked at Orient. He nodded.
"By Alpha," she said in a loud, dear voice, "by Ely, Omega, Elothe, Elohim, Sabaoth, Eloin, and Sady." As she spoke, Orient held the large, wooden cross out toward the bodies of Gregory and Isis. He intensified his breathing and opened his being to allow the energy vibrating from Sybelle’s prayer to flow into his body. He felt it pouring down through his arms, his hands, and into the crucifix he held tight in his fingers.
"See here that which prohibits revolt against our orders, the True Cross. And those things which order that you return to your place. Now."
As Sybelle’s voice trailed off, Gregory’s body began to twitch. His mouth opened and closed.
"By Alpha—" Sybelle repeated the first words of the Prayer of Exorcism, and Orient felt the vibration charging higher. His mind squeezed the speeding energy through his concentration.
Isis began to shudder. She lifted her arms and tried to raise her body from the floor. Gregory’s chest began to heave as Sybelle droned on, and small cries of pain bubbled through his lips.
"... order that you return to your place..."
Isis shrieked and clawed at her hair with stiff, spastic fingers.
"Now."
Both Isis and Gregory were screeching as Sybelle finished her second command of dismissal. As she took a breath to begin again, Orient’s attention was momentarily diverted by a bottle lifting off the bar. It fell to the floor and exploded into spinning fragments. One of the barstools fell over on its side. Isis screamed and managed to get her body off the floor.
"By Alpha," Sybelle called out, her voice cracking, "by Ely, Omega,
Elothe—" Orient closed his eyes and dug for his wavering concentration. Sybelle’s voice broke, and she had to begin again, and Orient felt the momentum of the energy she was invoking recede and wash away.
"By Alpha, by Ely, Omega—" she raised her voice, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
Orient opened his eyes and saw Isis on all fours. Her body was rigid and she was shaking her head back and forth, twisting her neck violently each time. He caught a blur of motion in the corner of his eye, and turned his head.
The blur was a barstool hurtling toward the circle.
Orient held up the cross in front of them, and at the last instant the heavy stool seemed to hit a pocket of thick air that slowed its motion until floated against Orient’s upraised forearm, bounced off harmlessly, and landed outside the circle with a muffled thud.
Sybelle was cringing next to Orient but she managed to keep the rhythm of the chant... "and those things which prohibit revolt—" she continued, her voice stronger—"Those things which order that..."
Isis stood up. Her eyes were closed and her arms stretched out blindly in front of her. She took a step forward.
Gregory’s body jackknifed shut and flew open, twisting closer to the circle. Some glasses on the bar collided against each other, shattering on impact and sending a spray of glass splinters across the room. A trickle of mustard-colored vomit trickled down the side of Gregory’s chin. Isis took another step and opened her eyes. They were crossed almost completely back into their sockets; only the blank white eyeballs showed, swollen and streaked with blood.
She lifted her foot over the bowl of burning incense as if to smash it. Orient’s fingers seemed to be crushing the soft wood fibers of the cross as he pushed his concentration against something that was trying to batter away his thoughts.
"Return to your place! Now! ASTAROTH!" Sybelle shouted out the last words of the Prayer of Exorcism. Isis swayed, her foot still upraised, then fell to the floor, sobbing desperately. Suddenly all resistance to Orient’s thought collapsed, and his body experienced an abrupt sense of gliding weightlessness.
Gregory and Isis lay still in the silence that filled the room.
Orient saw Isis’s jaw flap open. Her tongue dropped out of her slack mouth like a body falling through a gallow’s trap. It hung straight down, almost touching the floor. A long brown centipede crawled across the girl’s tongue, its matted wet fur gleaming in the candlelight. As it scuttled wildly across the floor and entered the triangle, a shaft of blue flame flared up above the design, engulfing the ins
ect.
When Orient’s vision cleared of flash spots, he saw that the centipede was gone.
He felt Sybelle slump heavily against him, and he helped her over to the couch. "Never mind that," she whispered hoarsely. "Just get me a drink."
Orient found a still unbroken glass among the jagged remains of Sybelle’s crystal collection and looked for a whole bottle. Almost everything around the bar had been broken, shattered or overturned. He saw a bottle of Scotch lying on its side and picked it up. It was still a quarter full. He filled the glass and brought it over to Sybelle. By the time she’d gotten half of it down, Gregory and Isis began to recover consciousness.
Orient checked them out for physical injuries and, finding none, waited until they were able to sit up and talk before explaining what he and Sybelle had done.
"We decided to take it upon ourselves to exorcise you," Orient concluded, "but if you want to continue your exploration there’s very little I can do." He said it casually, but he watched their faces intently. He had to know if they’d been accidental victims of Astaroth, or had consciously willed his negative influence.
Gregory blinked and slowly shook his head. "Not me," he muttered, sounding oddly boyish. The feline magnetism Orient had noticed the day before had been replaced by a bewildered air of wonder. "It was too insane. My head was really messed up."
Isis nodded in agreement. "I couldn’t sleep at all. Sometimes I thought I was asleep and in a dream, but then I would know it was real. I just want to go to sleep for a long time."
"It seemed fine when we started. I got hold of an old Grimoire of Honorius and got into it. For a while money was coming in, and we were having a good time helping people. But then it got freaky. And we didn’t know how to turn it off."
"It just wasn’t real. It was crazy," Isis said.
"It was certainly real," Orient murmured, lifting the hem of her white dress. "Astaroth even left behind a souvenir."
Gregory, Isis, and Sybelle peered intently at the dark, scorched smudge on the cloth. Sybelle reached down and rubbed it gingerly with her thumb.
