“The redness continued for twenty minutes,” says Robert’s voice.
CUT TO Edgar Cayce clearing his throat. “It is all right now,” he says. “The condition is removed. Make the suggestion that the circulation return to normal and that, after that, the body awaken.”
Layne does as he is told and they see the red fade back through rose to pink to normal color. Edgar Cayce opens his eyes and sits up. He takes out his handkerchief, coughs and spits up a small amount of blood. Then he looks at them. “Hello,” he says.
He grins. “Hey!” he cries. “I can talk! I’m all right!”
His mother weeps, his father seizes his hand, Layne looks dazed as Robert’s voice says, “So began the life of Edgar Cayce—healer.”
A SHOT of Cayce lying on his sofa, eyes shut, speaking. “Yes, we have the body,” he says.
“And, with these words, a physical reading by Edgar Cayce would take place,” says Robert’s voice.
CAMERA MOVES IN QUICKLY ON Cayce’s closed eyes, then THROUGH and we see the interior of a body suffering from intestinal fever as we hear Cayce’s voice continue speaking.
“We find the stomach is affected or the duodenum. The greater distress is in the upper portion of jejunum or in those cords that connect the intestines themselves through the lymph and emunctory circulation of same.
“These are infectious forces and, unless there is an allying, peritonitis must come and the inflammations that arise from same—and disintegration.”
CUT TO ALTERATE SHOTS of Cayce and various PEOPLE he treated. Robert’s voice goes on.
“For more than forty years, this simple Kentucky man with no medical training whatsoever or much education of any kind would diagnose the nature of every patient’s ailment, then recommend treatment.
“In this manner, Edgar Cayce healed thousands of men, women and children: of appendicitis, arthritis, tuberculosis, intestinal fever, hypertension, hay fever, polio, diabetes and hundreds of other illnesses and injuries.
“Edgar Cayce gave 14,256 psychic readings yielding 49,135 transcript pages over a period of 43 years.
“Not once did he contradict himself.”
Cut to close-up of Edgar Cayce, eyes shut, speaking MOS as Robert says:
“In addition to his physical readings, Cayce also gave readings in which he discussed the history of man, earth and civilization.”
Cayce stops talking. A man’s voice says, “Describe the earth’s appearance at the period of the appearance of man.”
“The extreme northern portions were then the southern portions,” Cayce answers. “The polar regions occupied more of the tropical and semi-tropical regions.”
CAMERA MOVES IN ON his lips as he continues speaking. “The Nile River entered into the Atlantic Ocean. The Sahara Desert was inhabited and very fertile. What is now the Mississippi basin was, then, all in the ocean.”
His lips fill the screen now as he says, “Only the plateau was existent, the regions that are now portions of Nevada, Utah and Arizona.”
CUT TO processor screen, CLOSE ON the words, “Describe the earth’s surface at the period of the appearance of man.”
CUT TO the name Arizona filling our vision. CAMERA HOLDS ON it, then:
CUT TO the Arizona desert. A sand storm rages. CAMERA MOVES IN ON the temple ruins, on a wall. Closer. Closer.
The wind uncovers a strange glyph carved into the wall: what looks like a four-bladed scythe, a circle in its center, other odd lines. The curve of the blades indicate movement from west to east.
We will see the glyph again.
In Manhattan, after seeing his agent, Robert drops in on ESPA to deliver some outline pages and to say hello to Cathy and Peter. Little more is exchanged between him and Cathy. After their momentary lapse in Los Angeles, they are keeping their respective distances.
Briefly, they discuss Edgar Cayce. Cathy, to no one’s surprise, believes the healer’s work to be a “prime example” of clairvoyance.
“What about the cures?” Peter asks her. “Surely you don’t believe the man was capable of picking the brains of doctors by telepathy.”
“Considering the alternatives, of course I believe it,” she replies.
Peter clucks in wonderment, then tells Robert that, in a few weeks, ESPA is commencing an investigation into psychic healing. He is welcome to attend. For that matter, does he know of any local healers they might contact? They want a complete representation.
Robert gets a momentary vision of his sister doing “healing work” with her parishioners. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t know of a single one,” he answers.
He learns that Cathy is flying to England to visit her husband and will miss the healing seminar.
Acting as though the news is of slight interest to him, Robert returns to comment on his outline. He is getting so far into the twentieth century now, he says, that the next phase might, logically, be current work in psi; especially since Alan Bremer has vetoed the dramatization of Rhine’s work.
“Yes, Cathy told me,” Peter says. “And I must say it strikes me as incredible. The man was an absolute giant in the field.”
He smiles. “Maybe Bremer would change his mind if you reminded him that the Rhines established all those scientific procedures to investigate survival after death which was their major interest.”
“Maybe,” Robert says.
He is invited to observe another test that afternoon by Teddie Berger. “Since you’re here,” says Peter. “It promises to be a wild one.”
Robert hesitates, Cathy more aware of it than Peter. Then he smiles. “I’d like that,” he says. “What’s he been up to lately?”
Peter describes—and we see—an amusing incident in which, sitting in the testing room, (“Puffing on his foul cigar as usual,” says Cathy) he was asked to “see” the contents of twelve closed wooden boxes in another room.
“We only told him there was ‘something’ in each one of them,” Peter says.
As a joke, a slip of paper is placed in one of the boxes, on it the word “something”.
Teddie describes the contents of each box precisely—except for the box with the slip. Scowling, he says, “I’m sorry, I get ‘something quarts’,” he insists.
When they open the box (a former milk container) they discover that its interior was inadequately painted.
Still visible is the abbreviated word Qts.
Before Teddie’s arrival, they retire to the conference room for “another dose of St. Elmo’s fire” as Peter describes it.
Stafford is, if anything, more prolix than ever.
“Kogam’s definitive assertion that wavelengths in the range of three hundred to one thousand kilometers or frequency in the range of three hundred to one thousand cycles per second—frequency and wavelength inversely proportional to each other as stated—result leads one to the inevitable presumption that telepathic communication—or, as I have called it, telecom—might well exist if its carrier or mode of medium is the electromagnetic field of extra-long waves excited by biocurrents.”
During this something-short-of gibberish, Robert and Cathy, trying not to, are increasingly aware of one another and, at one point, look directly at each other, her expression half surrender to her obvious attraction to him, half an appeal that they not allow the attraction to exist much less increase.
“We have, accordingly, reached a current point of impasse,” Stafford says, his words accurately reflecting their feelings. “Distance perception and telepathic communication have evidence in their support but, none-the-less, absolutely contradict the understanding of modern science. How to reconcile these contradictions?”
“Essentially quisquillous,” Peter mutters when the speech is done. As Robert looks at him, he translates. “Made of rubbish.” He is by way of being a buff of esoteric words.
When they join him, Teddie Berger, minus Carla, is sitting with some ESPA secretaries, holding forth; evoking gasps and laughter as he describes the places they live. “My God, tho
se stockings hanging in the bathroom,” he tells one woman. “And that shower curtain! All those pukey looking lily pods.”
“That’s right, they’re there!” the woman cries. “Lily pods!”
“Tell Peter about his house,” a secretary says.
Teddie looks inquiringly at Peter. “Go ahead,” says Peter, smiling.
Teddie blows out cigar smoke, making Cathy cough. Shortly afterward, he describes Peter’s house. He looks at Peter warily. “I see your wife in bed,” he says.
“Ho-ho,” says one of the secretaries.
Peter’s smile is slightly pained. “She isn’t feeling well,” he explains. He clucks. “That is remarkable,” he says.
“What about Robert?” Cathy asks, making Robert start a little.
Teddie looks at Robert. Into Robert, it seems.
“This one is something more unusual,” he says. “He lives in two houses at the same time.”
As they move toward the testing room later, Cathy asks Robert, “What did that mean?”
“I have no idea,” says Robert, smiling. But the failing of his smile as Cathy turns away reveals that he may understand Teddie’s answer. He looks around uneasily, considering departure. He even starts to suggest it but Peter cuts him off. “Oh, you’ve got to see this,” says Peter.
Robert avoids Teddie’s piercing eyes, made uncomfortable by what the older man seems to know about him.
“All right,” says Peter in the testing room. “Today we have a test the like of which has never been attempted to my knowledge.”
He explains that Teddie, bored by local distance perception tests, made a suggestion for something “more interesting”.
Namely, use a map of the United States to pick out, at random, ten latitude and longitude coordinates, then see if, knowing nothing else, Teddie can describe those locations.
Accordingly, a friend of Lee Easton, not associated with ESPA, has chosen ten sets of coordinates in degrees, minutes and seconds. He has asked another friend to check them out and sent the coordinates to ESPA in sealed envelopes. The random choice generator will select one of the numbered envelopes and Teddie will attempt to “see” that location and describe it.
No one at ESPA has the least idea what exists at any one of the coordinates.
Even the man who picked them out has no idea what exists at them.
Will Teddie be able to travel to them and describe them?
“Why not?” growls Teddie. “Did I come here to go to the bathroom?”
He looks at Robert then. “He’ll stay with me,” he says.
Robert tenses. “Why me?”
“Listen, I’m the goddam star here, I get what I want,” says Teddie with a pseudo-snarl.
Robert is trapped. He exchanges a look with Cathy as she leaves. Clearly, she is wondering again what bothers him.
Then Robert and Teddie are together in the testing room.
Teddie opens the envelope and looks at the coordinates, grunts. He hands the slip of paper to Robert. “I would say approximately three thousand miles away. Would you?”
Robert glances at the coordinates. “If you say so,” he replies.
“All right, let’s take a look,” says Teddie, his tone seeming to include Robert.
He closes his eyes, puffing leisurely on his cigar. Robert swallows, staring at him.
Fleeting visions start to drift across his mind. A sense of flying. Rolling hills in the distance. Trees below.
He starts and tries to blank his mind, watching Teddie intently.
The visions persist. Flying. Rolling hills. A city in the distance. Tall buildings. Smog.
Again, he tries to thrust away the visions. But it is as though they thrust themselves back into his mind despite his will.
Untended lawns. What look like bunkers. A flagpole. Highways to the left. A river to the right.
“Are you getting anything?” Peter’s voice breaks in over the p.a. system. Robert twitches, almost answers.
“All right, all right,” grumbles Teddie. He opens his eyes for a moment and glances at Robert as though amused. Then closing his eyes again, he speaks. “Cliffs to the east; a river. Fences to the north. A circular building, probably a tower. Buildings to the north. A city. Tall buildings. Smog.”
Robert shivers.
“Untended lawns,” says Teddie. “Highways to the west, a river to the east. What look like—bunkers, I guess. There’s a flagpole.”
Robert watches mutely as Teddie opens his eyes, grabs a pad and pencil and quickly sketches a detailed map of the target site he has seen. He hands it over to Robert.
“Look right to you?” he asks.
Robert can barely speak. “How should I know?” he asks.
Teddie frowns at him. “Get off it,” he mutters scornfully.
The call comes back from the friend of Easton’s friend. The target site chosen by the generator was a former Nike base in Florida.
Teddie’s map is accurate. Even the relative distances on it are to scale.
“Good God in heaven,” Peter murmurs.
Only Cathy notices Robert’s reaction as everyone cheers and applauds, pats Teddie on the back. “Shucks,” says Teddie with his distinctively Germanic accent. “‘twaren’t nothing, folks.”
“Rob, are you all right?” asks Cathy, following as he turns to leave.
“Sure,” he says, “Robert Allright.”
“What happened?” she persists.
“Nothing, nothing,” he replies. “Really. Nothing.” He walks away from her.
When he gets home, he has recovered somewhat from the experience and, realizing how remote he was to Cathy, he phones her apartment, apologizes, then, on impulse, invites her to dinner at his house the following Sunday.
She hesitates until he tells her that Peter and Carol are coming too. Then she accepts.
After he hangs up, he telephones Peter, fingers crossed that Peter and Carol can accept his invitation.
Sunday, November 18. Robert rising. His backache, his arm. Slow water in the bathroom. Preparations to run.
He leaves Bart behind, then, hearing the dog cry so pathetically, returns and lets him out. The happy Lab starts running with him.
Robert goes as slow as he can but Bart still has trouble. Finally, Robert has to stop and sit with the wheezing dog.
“What should I do, pal?” he asks, staring into Bart’s eyes. “I don’t want you to suffer. But I can’t just… pull the plug if you’re enjoying life.”
He sighs unhappily. “Oh, God, Bart, talk to me.” He strokes the dog’s head. “Talk to me, buddy.”
Cathy arrives at noon, lovely in a pale yellow sweater and tweed skirt, a string of pearls around her neck.
She feels somewhat awkward, arriving first. Keeps her jacket on, pats Bart and sympathizes with Robert’s dilemma about the dog. Looks at photographs on the walls and comments once again on how beautiful Robert’s mother was, observes how handsome his father was. Asks him general questions on his family’s background: where they lived in England, when they immigrated.
Then the phone rings. Robert answers it. “Hi,” he says. He listens, looks at Cathy worriedly.
“It’s Carol,” she says as he hangs up. Robert nods.
“She hasn’t had a healthy week since they came here,” Cathy says.
They look at each other. Cathy hesitates. “Well?” asks Robert. “Oh,” says Cathy, sighing. “Hell.”
Robert laughs, then stops. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, unable to repress a smile at her charming distress.
They decide it would be immature and fearful for her to leave. The decision seems to relax them both. They aren’t blind to the situation. They can keep it under wraps.
“Or die trying,” he says, straight-faced.
“That’s the spirit,” she responds.
“What is it with Carol?” he asks as they start off for a walk in the woods. (“It reminds me of England in November,” she tells him.)
Primarily, she’s home-s
ick, Cathy answers. Carol has a big family in London, a family with many children. Even loving Peter, Carol also feels deprived being childless.
“Then, too, I’m not sure she has much interest in Peter’s work,” she says. Not that she means to be critical, she adds. “Carol is a lovely woman. Very good hearted.”
She shakes her head. “I just hope she makes it ‘til next June,” she says.
As they walk, she takes his arm. He doesn’t know if the gesture has significance and doesn’t mention it.
“Tell me about what Teddie said,” she asks him. “About your living in two houses at the same time.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Don’t you trust me, Rob?” she asks.
He hesitates further, then, deciding, tells her about his dream. “I keep going back there all the time,” he tells her. “I think maybe that’s what Berger meant.”
They discuss it and she offers her opinion that, being only six when he lost his mother, he is still emotionally “attached” to the house in which she died.
“That seems a logical answer,” he agrees.
She asks him if only his sister was there when the accident occurred. Robert says she was. His brother was working that summer as a busboy in a Catskill hotel. His father was, by then, living elsewhere.
“And the ESP?” she asks unexpectedly.
He looks at her, not knowing what to say.
“I know you have it, Rob,” she says. “Teddie knows it. Even Peter does, I think.”
He exhales heavily. “A perfectly kept secret,” he says drily.
He tells her that, yes, he knows there’s “something” in him, how extensive he has no idea. Without telling her of the various experiences he’s had, he explains, again, that coming from his particular family background, he simply cannot allow himself to examine or release it.
“Why, Rob?” she asks. “Because it did some harm to your family? It’s an ability that can be controlled. It doesn’t have to victimize you.”
He tries to agree, then (since he’s started talking about it now) tells her about Ann, about how disturbed she is, how her mother is unable to understand what’s going on.