Mind Invaders

Do you have another copy of the tape?” asked Ken anxiously the moment Dr. Elliott and his wife stepped inside his room later that evening.

“Is there a problem?” asked Elliott, instantly apprehensive.

“Is that the tape you gave me?” Ken nodded toward the side table.

“Why, yes,” began Hal, picking it up and examining it. “It certainly looks like it. There’s the hospital label. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Leighton says it’s blank.” Ken’s eyes told the story.

I’m not happy about this, Frank. Not a bit!” said Ken for the third time.

The morning sun was streaming through the open window. Ken had been enjoying the sound of the birds outside and the scent of fresh-cut grass—and feeling ravenously hungry and impatient for breakfast Suddenly Frank had been standing beside his bed. He’d gotten permission from the RN on duty to drop in early before visiting hours. An emergency had affected Ken’s business, he’d told her, and he’d promised to take only five minutes—ten at the most.

It was a still-apprehensive but very excited Carla Bertelli that the charge nurse led into Ken’s room about an hour after the Elliotts had departed. They found the exhausted patient still sleeping soundly. “You may sit beside him and wait,” the nurse said softly, “but be careful not to awaken him. He needs all the rest he can get.”

When Dr. Elliott returned a few hours later, he was accompanied by a woman who was apparently not a nurse—at least she wasn’t in uniform. The doctor closed the door behind them. Then he pulled up two chairs and they both sat down next to the bed.
“Ken,” he said to the patient “I want you to meet my wife, Karen. She works with me on cases like yours.”

“You are a nurse, then?” Ken liked her immediately. She exuded the same warmth and the same quiet confidence as Elliott—and her smile was contagious. “I’m an RN—long retired,” she responded.

When Ken awakened about eight o’clock the next morning, he felt as though he were ascending slowly out of a dark pit Mercifully, the mocking voices and hideous images seemed more memory than reality and faded away as the room in which he found himself came steadily into clearer focus. The sun was slanting in through a large window to his left. Its welcome rays were glinting from a metallic apparatus standing just to the right of his bed. He had difficulty turning
his head far enough to see it clearly, but the realization slowly dawned that it was an intravenous pump—and that it was connected to him.

Prayer was a major part of Dr. Harold Elliott’s life—a fact that drew varied
reactions from his colleagues, from shrugged shoulders to veiled hostility. This
was not due to his critics’ lack of interest in alternative methods of healing. The
hospital, in fact, sponsored seminars in everything from yoga to shamanistic
visualization and was considered to be on the cutting edge of holistic medicine.
The problem with Elliott was his polite but uncompromising insistence that the
God revealed in the Bible was the only true God and that He alone could
intervene miraculously, and then only as He graciously chose—there were no
techniques that could guarantee miracles.

Upon leaving the lab, Ken instinctively drove toward the coastal hills. So many times he had gone there in the past to wander the woods and think tough problems through to a solution. This time, however, when he found himself on the winding mountain road that he knew so well, and facing the late-afternoon sun that was about to sink into the Pacific just beyond the range he was climbing, he could not remember how he'd gotten there...

THE COLD WAR FOR PSYCHIC DOMINION HEATS UP!

Ken Inman experienced an exhilaration beyond his wildest imagination. He had made contact! Excitedly he listened:

“We’ve been watching your development—we’re here to help you take the next step. Open up. There’s nothing to fear.”

Spine-tingling action follows this incredible breakthrough in mind research. Opening doors to the unlimited vistas of the mind, the Archons share their gift of psychic power, promising a new era of peace. But then governments get involved...

Carla recovered consciousness about a quarter of a mile away from the installation when Ken pulled over to let the first fire engine—with siren wailing at ear-splitting amplitude—roar past. She opened her eyes, looked around in terror for a moment, then realized that they were safe and on the way home. He had to pull over and stop to let another fire engine go by, and Carla took hold of his arm. He turned and their eyes met. She was crying again, but now she was smiling through the tears.

“Look at me, Ken,” she said between sobs. “Something happened to me— something wonderful. Can you tell?”

“Are you telling me... ?”

Ken had been growing uneasy as the afternoon progressed. It was now after 5 o’clock. What was happening out there? Was it enough just to pray, or was there something he had to do as well? Decisively he rose from his knees and announced to the rest, “I’ve got to leave. I just know I’m supposed to get out to the installation as soon as possible. I don’t know what I may be getting into or why the Lord is directing me to do this, so please pray for me! You know the guards have my picture and instructions not to let me in.”