The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The following afternoon, Bridget was back in her office, and Jon was on his way to Tuscaloosa from the Birmingham airport. She was probably right; Clem Snopes was probably a dead end, but something about the phrase, “he didn’t belong” bothered Jon. During the drive, Jon kept asking himself why Clem didn’t use the word “stranger,” or say something equivalent to “a man from out-of-town.” Something didn’t fit. Still, he’d find out soon enough if it was demented ramblings, and then he could go home. Maribeth needed him.

Carolyn had called him that morning, having cut her ski trip short by a few days because Maribeth was not well. The pressures of the New York show had apparently worn down his fragile flower. Jon had directed Carolyn and Valentina to keep Maribeth completely distracted until he got home. That was something that Carolyn, by orientation, and Val, by training, could do extremely well.

Clem’s previous address turned out to be a vacant lot on the periphery of town. He wasn’t at the corner where Bridget had found him either, but it was late in the day. Damn. He called her on the cellular. “I can’t find him, Bridget, and I don’t have the luxury of waiting a day to try again. I need to get home.”

“Maribeth?” came the concerned query from D.C. Jon confirmed that, and Bridget immediately said, “hang on...” There was a pause, then she said, “Jon, I’m giving you the number for a friend in the Birmingham PD. His name is Cal Stanton, and he might be able to help you.” He thanked her. “No prob,” was Bridget’s businesslike reply. Yes, agent Riley was back on the job.

Cal Stanton sounded like a good ol’ boy. A big one. Deep-voiced, with a thick southern drawl that really didn’t lend itself to comprehension over the cellular. Nonetheless, Bridget had called him “friend,” which spoke volumes about his character. Cal explained and said he’d called a relative on the local force who could help. “For a friend of Bridget Riley’s? I am more’n happy to,” was his simple statement. Jon strolled into the Tuscaloosa police department and gave his name to the pretty cadet at the reception desk.

A few minutes later, a brawny black man in a suit came down the steps. “Mr. Cain? I’m Lieutenant Wes Gray. I’m Cal’s brother-in-law. He told me you were working for the FBI.” Jon nodded as he matched the man’s grip. No sense in wasting time on useless details. “Cal said you’re lookin’ for our resident crazy, Clem.”

Jon nodded. “What can you tell me about him? I’m trying to help determine his—reliability as a possible eyewitness.”

The lieutenant asked, “The Weston case?” Jon nodded again. “If Clem’s your eyewitness, you’d be better off leavin’ town now instead of wastin’ yer time. He’s mighty strange,” Wes said, shaking his head. Jon asked what made him so strange. “It’s not just that he’s a bum. Can’t hold a job—since his last one, nobody will hire him.

“Mr. Cain, Clem—sees things. He got fired for accusing his last boss of being an alien. Even tried to take out a full-page ad in the daily paper saying so. Didn’t get fired for that, he just refused to work for an ‘alien.’ Nobody wants a guy like that on their workforce.” Jon accepted that and asked the detective to continue. “Well, Clem’s part of our ‘frequent caller’ program. Aliens everywhere, damn near every day.”

“Is he violent?”

“Ol’ Clem? Naw,” the lieutenant guffawed. “You prob’ly know ‘bout the assault. Some drunk, rich, college kid kicked his beggars’ box and challenged him. Clem got riled—rightfully so, if’n’y’ask me—and kicked the snot out of that snot-nosed boy.” The officer grinned. “Clem’s harmless. He’s just nuts. Still interested?” Jon said yes. “Well, his last known address is out on th’east side. He had t’move his trailer ‘cause they’re gonna build an office park on his old lot. Good luck. I hope you find that killer. The Westons are good people.” Jon wrote down the directions to Clem’s trailer, shook hands with Wes, and left. Lieutenant Gray had no idea just how badly Jon wanted to find the man responsible for Liza’s death.

He arrived at a broken-down looking trailer on a vacant lot. There was an old man sitting outside on a cinder block. The sun was very low in the sky. “Hi,” Jon cheerily said. “I’m looking for Clem Snopes. You know him?”

“Yep,” the grizzled old man said. His appearance matched the trailer. Both needed some repair, and had clearly seen better days. “Y’found’im.” Clem looked up at Jon, but didn’t move.

Jon was surprised at the man’s worn demeanor. He looked at least fifteen years older than he was. “I’m agent Riley’s partner. She told me about you, and I’m just following up.” Jon sent a weak probe to Clem’s mind.

The man sat straight up, taking on an air of alert defensiveness. Eyes wide, he pointed a steady finger at Jon. ”You don’t belong,” he declared. “You’re an alien.”

Jon froze. Clem had no weapons around him, so he thought he was reasonably safe for the moment. He slowly raised his hands. “No, Clem, I’m not an alien, but I am different,” he softly admitted, trying to maintain a non-threatening demeanor. He slowly probed deeper into Clem’s mind. What he found surprised him. “Just like you, Clem. You’re different, too, aren’t you?” Clem’s psionic ability was formidable, but uncontrolled. Unlike Jon’s, it had grown wild like a weed, slowly choking off his non-psionic higher brain functions. Obviously, Clem could sense other psi talents, but as far as using his own, it was probably hopeless. Since a significant minority of the population had, at the least, some latent psionic ability, he was sensing them. As his power continued to grow, he’d be able to “see” more and more “aliens” over time.

“You—yer—different. Not like th’others. You know,” Clem’s posture changed. He now seemed like a child in the presence of an admired adult. “You’re good at it.” Jon nodded slowly, still very aware that his presence could make Clem snap at any moment. He probed a little deeper, to see if he could ascertain if Clem was any threat to him. “Can you make it stop?” Clem suddenly asked, hope in his voice. “You’re making it quieter now. Can you make it stop?” Jon looked quizzically at him. Apparently, the strength of Jon’s probe interfered with Clem’s psionics. “Please... make it stop. I don’t want to know any more. I’m tired of hearing them. It makes me tired, people think I’m crazy. Please... make it stop.”

Jon cautiously approached the man, who looked even more frail than when he’d first seen him. Kneeling a body’s length away, he gently asked, “Can you answer a question for me?” Clem eagerly nodded. “You told my—partner, the tall red-headed lady—about another man who didn’t belong. Do you remember him?”

“Make it stop first.” Although Clem maintained his child-like demeanor, it was clear that he knew how important the answer was to Jon.

“I’ll make it stop a little.” Jon didn’t want to remove the man’s psionic ability; it might destroy some of his memory. He also worried about the wild nature of that ability. It may have developed its own automatic defense mechanism outside of Clem’s conscious control. He eased into the wilderness of Clem’s mind, trying to avoid attracting attention. So far, so good. All of a sudden, Jon got a vicious headache, as if he’d been struck by a glancing blow from a hammer. Clem’s brain was fighting back. Jon dropped all efforts at subtlety, picked a particularly dense area at random, and wielded his own mental power like a scythe, slicing through the weeds. The headache stopped immediately. Clem’s psionic talent retreated, trying to hide itself. Jon held his breath; he didn’t know what he had just cut.

“You can make it stop!” Clem exclaimed, slightly awestruck. Slowly, a genuine, grateful, albeit somewhat crooked, smile emerged. Jon nodded, hoping he didn’t have to say anything more. Keeping a presence in Clem’s mind was tiring. “I told the lady about him, yep, I sure did. Tall fella, not too skinny, but not a football player, either, not wearin’ nuthin’ so you’d notice. He walked by, ‘bout from here to the end o’ the trailer.” Clem pointed, and Jon estimated that it was about forty to fifty feet away. “Bad one, if y’ask me. I could tell he didn’t belong easy.”

Jon withdrew his probe. He had to talk. “Did he try to make contact? You know, like I did?”

“Nope,” Clem flatly stated. “Tol’ you, he’s a bad’un. I cain’t usually tell ‘til I’m real close, like you’n’me now.” His detection ability was apparently limited to about three or four feet under normal circumstances. Jon had just gained a bigger clue than either he or Bridget had even thought possible. “But thass why ah ‘member’im.” Clem suddenly grabbed his head, his face contorting in pain. ”Please—make it stop!!!” he screamed. Jon quickly made another foray into Clem’s mind. Almost instantly, the activity stopped. It was definitely afraid of him, and was attacking its host, since it couldn’t affect him. He couldn’t stay inside Clem’s head forever.

“Clem, you are going to have to make it stop,” Jon said. The man frantically shook his head. Jon could see why from a very clear memory. Clem’s last attempt at controlling his psionic ability had failed, ending with a debilitating, near-paralytic retaliation. He’d been incapacitated for three days. Clem’s own mind was at war with itself, and the part that Clem couldn’t control was winning. “I’m going to help you this time, Clem,” Jon cajoled. “You and I together, we can make it stop for good.” In all honesty, Jon didn’t want to attempt cleaning out Clem’s head indiscriminately. There was a very high probability of leaving him a vegetable. Only Clem knew what was good in there and what wasn’t.

Speaking calming words in soft tones, Jon patiently worked deep into Clem’s brain. He could sense Clem’s own power, but it was keeping away from him. He began to visualize the synapses as they sparked and glowed around him with electrical charge. It took him several minutes to find the main control center. This was the part of the human brain responsible for all of its functions. It was also, in general, the laziest part, working at ten to twelve percent capacity in most people. Jon poked and prodded it, trying to raise a response. He got intermittent sparks of activity that, had he been able to translate them, would have registered as annoyance at being bothered. Focusing his power, he sent a strong charge directly into its core. “Clem,” he gasped, ”now. Take care of it now.” The control center of Clem Snopes’ brain engaged fully, directed by its owner, and activated by Jon’s psionic energy. It returned to its normal operating state a few seconds later.

“It’s gone. The noise, the pain... they’re all gone!” Clem said. “Ah dunno who the hell you are mister, but ah ain’t gonna ask any questions. For the first time in six years, I cain’t hear nuthin’!” He cackled, and jumped up from his makeshift stoop. He danced around.

“Hang on a sec, Clem,” Jon cautioned. “Let me rest a moment, then I’ll see if you’re really clear.” Clem’s mind and body hadn’t been drug-addled, so the task was much easier than the last time he’d needed to access someone’s control center. It only took him a few minutes to recover this time. He extended a wary probe. “Feel anything?”

“Nope. Ah cain’t... wait... lessee here... ahh... nope. You are tryin’ t’contact me through mah head, right?” Jon nodded. “Pardner, it’s gone. Ever since I was 16, that noise has always been there. It got worse ‘round certain folks—you’re sure they ain’t aliens, right?” Jon smiled and nodded again. “But th’older ah got, the worse it got. I couldn’t function for a while. Mebbe I can git a job again. I allus figgered that it was aliens messin’ with me, but—you say it wuz all me?”

“No, Clem. You did sense something. Special people, people like me, although most of them aren’t very powerful at all. They can’t use their ability. You could have, but it was too wild for you to control. Maybe you could have been taught but—”

“Naw,” Clem said. “I wanted it gone, son. It wuz too much trouble. I couldn’t figger out whut t’do with it anyways. Ah’m just a simple feller, like t’work with mah hands. Thanks, pardner.” Clem extended his hand. He gave Jon a firm, strong handshake.

“You’re welcome, Clem. I have to go now,” Jon said, turning to leave.

“Pardner?” Clem called. “That feller? The one y’asked me about? He’s real, ain’t he?”

Jon turned back before getting into his car to give him a grim nod. “Oh yes, Clem. Very real.” Clem waved as he pulled away. This trip had been anything but a waste of time. The FBI now had a description, a physical clue, something they could work with. Bridget would be pleased. But Jon had something he could work with, too. The “eraser” leaked. That could mean one of three things: 1) he was extremely powerful but lacked the discipline to contain his power, 2) he was so arrogant that he didn’t bother to mask his power from anybody; 3) he was ignorant enough to believe that he was the only psi in the world. Most importantly, though, this psionic leak meant that Jon could sense him without trying. All he had to do was get close.