by Frank Lauria
His body had a refreshed tingle as if he had just been aroused from a long sleep. "Here it is," Raga called as she entered, carrying a large plate. "Is the wine ready?"
"Right here." Orient went over to the table. "What’s all this?"
"Just a big salad with chunks of fresh fish, cheese, and everything else I could find. Sordi’s not the only one around here who can cook."
She sat down. "Let’s eat, darling."
"Great." Orient poured the cold white wine. "I’m ravenous."
"You certainly are." Raga turned and regarded the rumpled bed across the room. She adjusted the blue negligee over her shoulders and looked at him across the table, her pale lips slightly parted. "And I think it’s delicious."
"Delicious," Orient agreed, staring into her eyes. They had made love all that afternoon after coming back from the beach. Long, lush hours playing at the delights of their sun-soaked bodies. "And it made me hungry." He picked up the salad bowl and began heaping Raga’s plate.
They toasted each other silently before they took a sip of the cold dry wine. The candle flames cast tiny reflections in Raga’s eyes. "Have you decided what to do about your New York plans?" she asked hesitantly. "Not yet." Orient looked down at his plate. "I really haven’t wanted to think about it."
"Rome is lovely, Owen," Raga smiled. "And you could do your research there, couldn’t you?"
Orient nodded, looking at the ring on his finger. When he’d left Ahmehmet he’d been defeated and depressed. Also disappointed somehow. His stay with Ahmehmet had been short and his training nothing more than a run-through of occult forms that he already knew. But lately Orient had come to understand what it actually was that Ahmehmet had taught him. The small shopkeeper had shown Orient how even a supreme adept, one of the Nine Unknown Men, could take his place in the affairs of men and the marketplace and still continue his infinite work.
Ahmehmet conducted money matters, taught, lived with two wives, and initiated Orient’s candidacy to the second level without missing a single beat of his normal routine. One cannot be taught to achieve the second level, Ahmehmet had told him. It is choice that determines the success or failure of expansion. And Orient was sure that Ahmehmet’s daily life itself was what he’d been sent to observe and learn. The shopkeeper juggled his powers and his life to create a single, sure rhythm of balanced harmony.
"I suppose I could set up research anywhere. I don’t need much equipment at first," he said.
Raga put more salad on his plate and refilled his glass. "You know, here we are discussing living together and I don’t even know your birth sign, darling."
Orient smiled. "Scorpio. How about you?"
"I, sir, am a Sagittarius," Raga bowed her head. "I’m charmed to make your acquaintance."
"Charming, the Sagittarians," Orient lifted his glass and drawled like W.C. Fields.
Raga giggled.
"They have such splendiferous accents. Ah yesss." Orient sipped some wine.
"That’s because I’m a Martinique Sagittarian," Raga smiled. "I thought I got rid of my island accent years ago in Paris, but you picked it right up."
"Elementary, m’dear—" A quick probe at the base of Orient’s brain cut off the rest of his reply. The picture flashed through his consciousness.
A naked black man rummaging through a pile of rubble in front of a large stone temple.
Then the contact withdrew, ebbing from his senses and leaving him temporarily drained.
Orient took a deep breath. He took the silver cigarette case from his pocket, pulled a hand-wrapped cigarette, and held it out to the candle flame. The message had been from Argyle.
Raga was looking at him, still smiling. "Have some more salad," she said.
Orient inhaled and shook his head. "No thanks." He took another puff on his cigarette. "I think I’ve decided to go to Rome after all."
"That was an impulsive decision."
Orient looked up. When Raga saw his expression, the smile left her face. She waited for him to speak.
"It wasn’t an impulse," he said. "I’ve just gotten a telepathic message from a friend of mine. From Rome."
"You mean just now?" Raga’s eyes widened. "That’s fantastic."
"That’s what my research is all about," Orient said. "The man who contacted me is a telepath. He needs my help."
"When do you want to leave?" Raga asked softly. Her eyes were still wide and confused.
"Tomorrow."
"So fast?" Raga looked stricken with disappointment.
Orient nodded. "You can join me later if you want more time here." He took her hand. "I must answer his call for my help. He wouldn’t have used telepathy to contact me unless it was urgent. It was probably the only way he could find me."
"I want to go with you, darling," she said quietly. Orient smiled. "Thanks. And maybe you’ll convince me to stay in Rome after all."
"I don’t know. It might be hectic with all those messages you don’t have to sign for. What is your work in telepathy all about anyway?"
Orient looked at the burning tip of his cigarette. "Right now all I’m trying to do is find people who have the potential to send and receive mental images. Working together with them I’ve tried to amass as much scientific data as possible to devise a technique to develop psychic facilities. Argyle Simpson, the man who contacted me, is one of those people. Pia is a potential telepath. We did some work together, but we never got beyond the beginning stage of the technique."
Raga’s hand went to her mouth. "Pia? She never told me anything about it, Owen."
"She didn’t know really until we met on the Trabik." Orient drummed his fingers on the table. "Strange that you haven’t heard from her."
Raga hugged herself as if she felt a sudden chill. "I knew Pia for three years," she said softly. "I think that was enough."
"How do you mean?"
Raga looked at him. "She’s wild, Owen. She has an insatiable appetite for raw pleasure. Nothing else matters for her. For a while I enjoyed her escapades, but now"—she smiled and her hand reached out to cover her—"now I think I want to concentrate on my greatest pleasure. You, just you and no one or nothing else."
Orient kissed her fingers. "I feel the same way," he said.
Later, as Raga slept beside him, Orient lay awake repeating Argyle’s image in his mind. The temple in the picture had been the Roman Pantheon. And Argyle had been looking for something. Something he couldn’t find.
The picture spun through his thoughts until he fell asleep, still wondering what his friend had lost.
CHAPTER 21
Rome, 1970
The next morning Sordi drove Orient and Raga to the ferry. He was surprised at their hasty decision to leave Ischia but confident that Orient would soon get in touch with him. He kissed them both goodbye and stood at the dock waving until the ferryboat had cleared the entrance to the port.
When the ferry reached Naples, Orient and Raga took the express train to Rome.
Raga was in good spirits and curious about the details of Orient’s work. He tried patiently to explain the complicated elements of his research as well as he could, but certain factors were difficult for a non potential to grasp. Soon Raga gave up and turned her attention to the prospects of their life in Rome. She began making enthusiastic plans and by the time the train reached the station had decided what hotel they would stay at. Orient murmured agreement, only half-aware of her conversation as he speculated ahead about the reasons for Argyle’s call.
The hotel Raga had chosen was small but well located in the center of Rome near the Spanish Steps. The man behind the desk greeted Raga effusively when they arrived and gave them a large penthouse suite with a terrace.
The first thing they did when they were alone was hold each other close for a while. It seemed to Orient that the formalities of the six-hour trip had kept them isolated from each other and they were just re-meeting after a long absence.
"You must be tired," Orient said softly.
&nb
sp; "Not really. I’ll go with you to look for Argyle."
"You can take a nap if you like and I can call you when I’ve located him."
"No." Raga smiled and kissed him. "I want to stay with you. If I won’t be in the way."
"You won’t be in the way. But I hope it’s something we can clear up right away."
"Then we can start looking for an apartment," Raga said lightly. "And after a few weeks, I promise you won’t want to leave this lovely city."
Orient put his arm around her shoulder and began walking slowly to the door. "We’ll decide after we talk to Argyle," he said.
They took a cab to the Pantheon. Orient had visited Rome before and the domed temple to Jupiter was one of his favorite pieces of architecture, but this time he was more concerned with finding Argyle than renewing his admiration for Hadrian’s masterpiece. He glanced around the columned entrance before going inside. Argyle wasn’t there.
Orient frowned as he looked around the circular temple. Except for a couple of guards and some camera-laden tourists, the huge, dome-ceilinged room was empty.
"It’s two o’clock, Owen," Raga said. "Everyone’s at lunch." Her face brightened. "I have an idea. Argyle is a film actor, so perhaps he’s on the Veneto."
"Why not?" Orient agreed. "Let’s give it a try."
"We can sit at one of the cafes and have a cup of coffee," Raga suggested as they walked to the thirty-foot metal doors.
"And if he’s not there I can contact him telepathically," Orient said, reaching for Raga’s hand. "And he can meet us there."
They took another cab to the beginning of the wide car studded street and then walked slowly along the sidewalk looking at the people who were sitting in the sun, sipping drinks, and watching the elegant strollers. "Everyone’s so well dressed," Raga mourned. "I feel absolutely shabby."
Orient looked down at the green-flecked black velvet dress that clung to the sharp curves of her body as she moved, held close to her soft sign by a wide silver thread belt hanging loosely over her hips. "If you were any lovelier," he said, "you’d have to pay a luxury tax just to walk on the street."
Raga laughed. "You’re prejudiced, Doctor." She turned her head. "Look, someone’s waving at us." Orient raised his head. He saw Argyle standing up at a cafe table. Sun Girl was standing with him. "How’d you know to find us here?" Argyle asked as he shook Orient’s hand. "I was just going back to the Pantheon."
"Just came from there," Orient said as he held a chair for Raga.
Sun Girl kissed him on the cheek, and smiled shyly at Raga. "I hope you don’t mind that we called you so suddenly. We didn’t know any other way of getting in touch with you."
"You must have been close by," Argyle commented. "I really didn’t expect you for a few days yet."
"We were just off Naples," Orient said as he sat down. "What do you need?"
Argyle scowled. "Your help, Doc."
Orient looked from him to Sun Girl. They seemed tired and worried. Simpson was wearing a rumpled silk shirt, and the high riding boots over his slacks were scuffed and dull. Sun Girl wasn’t in costume, dressed instead in a plain black minidress and sandals. She wore no makeup and her small face sagged with strain. "Julian is gone," she whimpered.
"What happened?" A small spark of anxiety jumped in Orient’s brain.
"We took him to the Coliseum two days ago," Argyle said wearily. "While we were there, he disappeared."
"Julian doesn’t do things like that." Sun Girl shook her head helplessly.
Argyle took her hand. "We looked everywhere for him. Asked all the cabdrivers and people hanging around. Nobody saw him."
Orient looked up at Argyle. There was a simple way to find Julian.
Simpson ran a hand through his thick Afro. "Yeah, Doc, then I tried that too." He looked questioningly at Raga.
"Raga knows the kind of work we’re doing," Orient said. "What happened when you tried to reach him telepathically?"
Argyle stared out at the street. "Nothing. Just nothing. I’ve tried calling him three times a day for two days. That’s why I finally called you."
Orient didn’t say anything.
"I thought that the two of us could combine energy and reach him. There seems to be some kind of block. And it keeps building. Will you help?"
Orient nodded. "I’m here," he said quietly.
Argyle’s brow furrowed. "Maybe I forgot something in the technique, but I keep getting bumped away every time I try to send."
"Bumped?"
"Pushed out. Lately I’ve been having trouble just getting myself into a negative receptive."
Orient’s question was interrupted by Sun Girl’s distracted exclamation. "We’ve been everywhere. The embassy. The police. Argyle even hired some private detectives and put ads in the personals."
Raga’s husky voice was soothing and concerned. "I’m sure that Owen and Argyle can find your friend."
Sun Girl smiled slightly. "Julian is my son."
"He’s only five. Argyle’s been working on teaching Julian the telepathic technique," Orient said. "Normally it would be the most effective way of reaching him."
A waiter approached the table. "I can wait for coffee," Raga said. "Perhaps we should have something back at the hotel. Unless you want to try to contact Julian here?"
"No." Orient stood up. "Probably best that we have maximum concentration."
The four of them left the cafe and walked quickly to a cab stand at the end of the street.
"Does everyone want coffee and sandwiches?" Raga asked when they reached the suite.
"We’ll pass on food until after we call Julian," Orient said. "You and Sun Girl wait here."
Sun Girl leaned back on the couch and dosed her eyes.
"Will you have something while we’re waiting, Sun Girl?" Raga asked, picking up the house phone. "Thanks," Sun Girl murmured as Orient and Argyle left the room. Orient and Argyle went into the bedroom and sat down cross-legged on the carpet, facing each other, silently assuming a full lotus position. They worked slowly, concentrating on their breathing to charge their minds. Then they began sending flashes of images back and forth to each other, establishing a rhythm of alternating pulses, until the pulses began to merge as the rhythm quickened.
Orient went negative, received an image, went positive and sent an impulse, then suspended and went negative to receive Argyle’s next picture. As the pulses increased speed, they synchronized and merged, interlocking into a single orbiting vibration. At the same instant both men released all friction on the orbit and sent it hurtling into the void.
The squared reality of their merged consciousness sped out, immediately hampered by the scraping pull of interference, some thick, sticky substance that slowed the orbit progressively until the elements of its motion fell apart, shattering its being.
They tried again, combining pulses and synchronizing, building up the speed between them, then smoothly slinging the orbit tight into a dense orbit and its mass spun through its presence. Argyle and Orient simultaneously suspended, creating an immense vacuum of yawning negativity that pulled their condensed consciousness back, instantly doubling the speed of their interlocked orbit as it returned to a widening field of negative gravitation, creating an environment of maximum receptivity.
Before the orbit could reach the field, the environment was filled with an oppressive density that dogged their senses. Orient’s consciousness shrank away from Argyle’s energy, scattering their orbit as his brain tasted the acidic stench of the density. Their concentration broke and Orient opened his eyes. His face was damp and cold with sweat and his hand shook slightly as he reached for his cigarette case.
Argyle stared at Orient, studying him. "That’s the kind of thing I meant," he said softly. "Every time I try it gets stronger, and more difficult."
Orient fumbled with a match. "It’s getting strong all right."
"What do you think it is?"
Orient looked up. "I don’t know. But I think it’s serious." His mind
recoiled as he remembered the foul presence that had shaken their communication. It was the same decadent fume that was present on the boat when Janice died, in Marrakesh when Presto died, and on Ischia around Francesca. Alien and predatory.
Lammia. The word loomed up in his mind.
"Want to try again?" Argyle asked quietly.
"Not now." Orient’s thoughts collapsed and a wave of blood rushed into his stomach. The mist was still active. A spurt of nausea seared his throat. He fought down the memory of the thick, sticky density.
"Are you okay?"
Orient nodded. "It could be dangerous going in there too often. We have to try to keep a high level of concentration."
"Any ideas?"
"I can’t think right now, Argyle." Orient looked down at the burning tip of his cigarette. It was shaking. "I want to try to sort everything out for a while." Argyle didn’t answer, but he continued to study Orient. "Think it will do any good to keep searching for Julian?"
"That’s the only thing we can do." Another rush of fear and confusion crumbled Orient’s thoughts and sent them flowing far away from him.
"Okay then." Argyle got to his feet. "We’ll keep looking. But let’s not wait too long getting it together, Doc. Sun Girl’s half nuts with worry and my head’s pretty frazzled too."
Orient stood up and slowly followed Argyle into the living room. As they entered, Sun Girl stood up, her hands against her face. "Did you get him?" she asked, her voice wavering. Argyle put his arm around her shoulders. "No, baby," he sighed. "We couldn’t cut it." Sun Girl put her face down and began to sob, her thin shoulders jerking as Argyle rocked her in his arms, whispering softly to her. Orient sat down heavily next to Raga. She touched his hand with her cool fingers, her fragile face clouded with concern.
Orient didn’t say anything. Wave after pounding wave of depression surged through his brain, drenching every attempt at thought with defeat. He had failed to destroy the mist. It still preyed. A roaring torrent of realization began whirlpooling through his consciousness, blurring his balance.
"I know Rome very well," Raga was saying. "We can start combing the city for Julian. Put his picture in the newspapers." Orient gripped the arms of his chair as the shuddering vertigo sent his senses plummeting toward despair. If the mist still preyed, then he had mistaken the object of his judgment. He still didn’t know the nature of the presence. And he had killed a man for no reason.
