Free The Orchid Eater by Marc Laidlaw Page A

Mike half expected savage faces to appear at the
glass at any moment, and then there would be no hiding.
    “I thought
for a minute there that it was working,” Mike said as Edgar peered through the
glass. “Your visualization thing, I mean.”
    “It would
have, but Kurtis is way too negative,” Edgar said. “I’ve been trying to get the
whole gang to use it, so we can work in total silence.”
    “Edgar . . .  ” Scott said
reproachfully.
    “Yeah, so
anyway, I’m going to stick to the underbrush as long as I can, but I’ve got to
cross the street eventually. I hope they’re not over there. When I come back,
I’ll have Hawk with me. Then we’ll really take care of Sal.”
    “I just want
to get out of here,” Mike confessed.
    “Well, that
too.”
    Scott called
up the spiral stairway, “All clear?”
    They heard
Howard relaying Craig’s message: “Go!”
    Mike flipped
the latch and slid the door open. Edgar slipped out. He hauled the glass shut
as fast as he could and snapped the latch back down. Edgar was already
invisible, lost in the bushes. Mike felt vulnerable in the lowest room. He
signaled to Scott that they should go back up to the room above. There they sat
on a white linoleum floor, walls bright and shining. The mirrors gleamed even
in the dark.
    “I can’t
believe this is happening,” Mike said. “How’d you meet these guys anyway?”
    Scott
shrugged. He seemed calm, even comfortable, in the midst of the madness.
    “Edgar took
me out to Hawk’s trailer. You know, it’s that place in the canyon, made up like
a church, quotes from Revelations written all over the side.”
    “With the
crosses in the yard? Jeez, that’s Hawk? The guy who’s supposed to save us?”
    “He’s like
an ex-con, ex-biker, ex-everything. Edgar says he’s rehabilitated, but I don’t
know. The people he hangs out with seem pretty wild. There’s one guy, Stoner?
Looks like a big blond caveman. I saw five guys ganging up on him, trying to
drag him to the ground, but they couldn’t do it till Hawk jumped in.”
    “And you
really want to join this club?”
    Scott
chuckled. “To me, they make an interesting study in anthropology. The
hierarchical structure, the messianic overtones . . .”
    “Well . . .
Edgar seems okay,” Mike said doubtfully.
    “He’s
intelligent enough, except for his obsession with ESP.” “You don’t think it
works?”
    “The
visualization stuff, it’s meant to be psychological. It’s a form of therapy,
but I think he missed the point. It’s all turned into mumbo-jumbo, psychic
mush, in his head. I mean really, ESP?”
    “I remember when you used to do black magic.”
    “That was an
experiment. And at least I was drawing on some existing tradition. This is all
old hippie bullshit people came up with after doing too many drugs. You
know—peace, love and transactional analysis.”
    “Maybe
Edgar’s experimenting, too.”
    “Edgar’s
bored and desperate. Having a shrink for a mom has got him all twisted up. Last
month he was into Transcendental Meditation and Eckankar. Next month, who
knows?”
    Mike sighed
and banged his head back against the wall, feeling almost secure to be alone
for a minute with his friend, with whom he had shared numerous moments that
felt dangerous but turned out okay. Scott could keep him from going too far
into fear—most effectively by ridiculing him, as he now derided Edgar.
    “I should
never have brought them all in here. I wish I never had . . .  ” His breath
sucked back into his throat. He jumped to his feet. “The key!”
    He dug stiff
fingers into his pocket—his empty pocket. The other one was full of change. He
turned it inside out and shook through a handful of coins, hoping one of the
silver shapes would turn out to be something more valuable than a quarter.
    “I don’t
believe it,” he said. “Why is this happening to me?”
    He headed
for the stairs, slipped and banged his shins, kept going till he reached the
top again,