The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So Night Follows Day part 28

By T. MaskedWriter

“I started as an altar boy, workin’ at the church.
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research,
which led me to a cash box labeled Children’s Fund.
I’d leave the change and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund.
I got a part-time job at my father’s carpet store,
laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score.
I loaded up their furniture and took it to Spokane,
and auctioned off every last Naugahyde divan.”
—Warren Zevon, “Mr. Bad Example

Helen Parker pulled herself up onto the roof of the sleeper car, feeling the wind howling in her face, until she stood atop the train. In the light of the full moon, she saw him. Or rather, a steadily-blurring version of the man who was making his way along the roof of the car, about half its length away.

“Dr. Girard!” Helen shouted to the man in French, just before the steam whistle on the Orient Express blew, clutching the stiletto in her hand. “You failed to give me twenty-four hours’ notice before cancelling our appointment! I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge you for the full session!”

“That sound means that we are approaching the Simplon Tunnel, Miss Parker!” The man shouted back, laughing as he produced a long knife of his own. “As a doctor, I would not recommend fighting me in your condition!”

“Here’s my second opinion, Doctor! I’ll have that antidote now!” Helena said, fighting the poison coursing through her veins.

“Over your dead body, Helena!” He cackled as they sprinted toward each other.

The effort was too much, her heart was already pumping, and the poison was working too quickly. The last of her strength faded, and Helen became aware that she’d dropped to her knees. She saw the insane former man-of-medicine bearing down upon her, ready to kill.

As the train’s whistle blew a second time, Helen heard a sound over it; that of a revolver shot, and Dr. Girard dropped dead a few feet in front of her, the stoppered glass vial rolling out of his watch pocket, onto the roof of the train. She reached out for it, but it was rolling faster than her dulled reflexes could reach. As the train entered its final turn before the oncoming tunnel, it rolled toward the edge of the car.

A man’s gloved hand shot out and grabbed the vial at the last possible moment, before it tumbled off the roof and into oblivion. Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione, a silver-haired vision, though dashing at any age, looking roguishly handsome in his emerald green tuxedo; held a smoking revolver in his other hand. He dropped to his knees and set down the gun, cradling her in his arms.

“Helena, my love.” He said to her, breathlessly, as he held onto her with one powerful arm while bringing the vial up to his mouth to open with his teeth. “You must drink this, darling. You must live!”

“No, Vincenzo!” She said to the man she’d only known a couple of wonderful, exciting months, but to whom her heart already belonged. “YOU are the one who must take the antidote! There’s only enough for one of us, and I am nobody,” She began to lightly cough. “Just an ordinary girl from Anchorage, Alaska, my love! The people of San Finzione will ALWAYS need you! MARIA needs you! Do it for HER, Vincenzo!”

He looked at her with grim determination.

“I will do this on one condition, Helena.” He said to her. “That if I swallow this antidote and save my own life, purely for the good of The People, and for Maria; you MUST promise me that you WILL fight off the poison! That you will LIVE! That you will marry me and be my Contessa!”

“Oh, yes, Vincenzo!” Helena called out, the words seeming to give her a new surge of strength by themselves. “Yes, my love, I will! And of course, I’ll marry you! But hurry and drink!”

With a tear in his eye, Vincenzo imbibed the blue fluid. As he felt his own strength returning, he saw color returning to the cheeks of his beloved bride-to-be. He pulled an enormous diamond engagement ring from his pocket and put it on Helena’s finger. She felt his love revitalizing her and smiled as she pulled him down to her and the train steamed into the tunnel.

* * *

“Helena!” Julie Equals shouted at Contessa Helena de San Finzione. “The girl asked how you became Contessa! She’s fifteen, not Troy!” Julie turned to Denise Cole, who’d been listening to every word. “We met him at one of his resorts in Spain. I can’t give you the details after that, but, not those ones!”

“Ok, yeah, Julie’s right.” Helen admitted with a laugh. “But still, you’d go see that movie, right, Denise? I’m kind of looking for ideas right now.”

“Sounds great.” Denise said, taking a drink of her soda. “Need any actresses?”

She smiled at her own question. Denise had relaxed after everyone came back into the house. Formal introductions had been made; and Troy, Julie, and Susan had to suppress snickers when Denise curtseyed to Helen. When Helen gave a perfect formal curtsey in reply without missing a beat, they could no longer be suppressed.

“Sorry, Denise.” Julie chuckled. “It was really nice. It’s just… we’ve seen Helena do that on TV, meeting other royalty; it’s just funny to see her do it here at home.”

“Don’t listen to them, Denise.” Helen said, turning to the others with a grin. “It’s nice to see someone show some proper respect for a change.”

There was a moment of silence before everyone but Denise exploded into laughter.

“Now I’m sorry too, Denise. These people are my family. Real kind, not crime kind. They do not show me ‘respect,’ and I won’t hold it against you if you don’t, either.”

That got a smile from the girl. Soon they were able to talk, and Denise asked her first question of Helena: How she became Contessa, before Helen began spinning her story.

“Well,” Helen said afterwards, drinking her cocoa. “What would you think of a trilogy about a special Chosen Girl who’s really clumsy but can do this one thing that nobody else can; or she’s the best in the world, anyway? She thinks she’s unattractive, but every boy wants her; especially the two or more super-hot ones that everyone ‘teams’ for. She eventually chooses one, then leads the revolution and overthrows the dystopian future government; she does some PG-13 stuff with him, and the series ends.”

Denise thought for a moment.

“I’d say I’ve read that trilogy six times and every time, it had a different author and title.”

Helen turned back to her family.

“Ok, I like her!”

Denise began to risk strain to her smiling muscles. Helen turned back to the game that Troy had set up.

“So, how do we play? Can I be the banker?”

“NO!” Troy and Julie shouted simultaneously.

“Helen,” Troy said. “You know you’re never allowed to be banker. In anything. Ever.”

She turned back to Denise and winked.

“Yeah, I do.” She informed her. “I just never get tired of seeing them do that.” Helen turned back to the rest of the group. “I should probably step out back for a smoke before we get into the game, since Denise is here. Mind giving me a few minutes first?”

Stunned silence fell over the room. Denise was confused again, until Julie spoke.

“Helena, I don’t think you’ve ever straight-up asked permission like that since…” Julie had to cut herself off before saying “we taught you how to Do What We Do.”

“I was just shown a great deal of respect.” Helen explained. “I’d like to return it. In fact, Denise, if you don’t mind coming out with me and sitting out of smoke range, I wouldn’t mind hearing any movie ideas you might have.”

Denise nodded and ran to the patio door to open it for Helena. She gave a thankful nod and the two of them stepped outside, closing the door.

“Her heart’s going to explode.” Susan told Julie while Troy dealt out the money and tokens and explained them to Mander. “You’re going to have to explain to the Coles why you’re bringing home their daughter’s body looking like a xenomorph hatched out of her chest.”

Julie looked through the glass door, watching as Denise excitedly talked about something and Helen sat a safe distance downwind from her and listened just as excitedly.

“They’re both making a new friend.” Julie replied. “I know Denise has been feeling better about herself and making some friends lately.” She turned to Susan and took hold of her hand. “And the last friend Helen made has worked out pretty well.”

Troy and Julie both looked out the patio door at Helen, animatedly asking questions back about whatever Denise was saying. This wasn’t the woman who tried to fake her enthusiasm through daytime talk show interviews. This was the girl they’d both stayed up all night talking with about anything and everything, continuing well past the time those daytime talk shows were ending. Troy had to forcibly remind himself that they had somewhere important to go later that evening, because he would have loved to skip the auction and see if Denise’s parents would be ok with them putting her up in one of the guest rooms; bringing her home or taking her to school in the morning, so that she and Helen could just continue talking and smiling like they were. The Coles had been over for dinner a couple of times, and so had they. They were clients of Troy’s now.

Denise’s visit had lasted most of the afternoon and into the early evening, until Julie offered to take her and her bike home in the minivan. Susan went along as well, since Denise lived in Tacoma, and Susan’s car was still parked in front of Inner Claire-ity this whole time. Troy and Helen stood on the front porch and waved goodbye to them as Mander went across the street to get his tuxedo.

“She really doesn’t know about the Thing?” Helen asked Troy as they waved.

“Oh, Denise has ‘discovered our secret’ four times now. The next time, we’ve decided to just let her remember but not to reveal it. She’s helped me plug a couple of security holes that I missed, to be honest. I’ve got some savings bonds set aside for her later on to say sorry and thanks.”

Helen bent his head forward for a kiss.

“That’s my boy.” She said to him in Greek. “Now come on, let’s go make you pretty.”

* * *

Late that evening, Contessa Helena de San Finzione, Troy Equals, and Mander sat in the back of her limousine, watching the news as Scappa departed the hotel for the Auction site.

“They’re still calling me ‘Con-Hel.’” Helen groaned. “I guess I asked for it. I sound like I come from the side of Superman’s family that the Els don’t like to talk about. Jor-El thought ‘Should I warn the Hels, clear on the other side of Krypton; that the planet’s gonna explode? Nah, fuck those guys.’”

She looked over at Troy, wearing the same tuxedo with white jacket that he’d worn to the ball she’d thrown for them almost a year ago.

“You didn’t pack the Walther, did you?” She asked, after looking him over for several seconds.

“Standing close to you with guns is something you pay men for, Helen. I’ll always do it for free, no gun required.”

“Besides,” Helen offered. “You found out that the real Berns-Martin Triple-Draw Holster was only designed for revolvers, didn’t you? I tried to protect you from that one.”

“Q could’ve whipped something up; modified one for the Walther.” Troy replied. “And given time, the right tools, and a couple samples to work with…” Troy thought a moment. “You’re trying to distract me, Helen. To keep me from being nervous, is my guess.” Troy patted her hand. “I do my best to never be nervous around you, Helen.”

“Because you know that, like with Julie, nothing bad can ever happen to us as long as we’re together?”

Troy patted her hand again.

“I do my best to never be nervous around you, Helen.”

“For the record, that’s two questions that you haven’t really answered since this conversation started.”

“As long as we’re keeping track,” Troy responded. “That’s all that matters.”

“He ain’t packin’, Your Countessness.” Mander spoke up, adjusting his cuffs, so that his Rolex could be seen, but not so far up that it’d be obvious he was showing it off. They’d found a Big & Tall store at the mall that had a tuxedo in his size. “I’d know.”

“I could be making you ignore it.” Troy offered.

“Nah, first off, you ain’t a wanker like that. Second, a man carries himself different when he’s brought Death with ‘im. He thinks he don’t, but he does. You wouldn’t’ve thought to make me ignore that.”

“I get why Helen likes you now, Mander.” Was Troy’s response.

“I’m a likable guy.” Was Mander’s response.

The limo turned off of I-5 at the Southcenter exit, then took 405 down through Renton and Kent, until it reached the farm country, and smells thereof, of Auburn. As they got closer to Auburn, Troy became aware of other limos and expensive cars on the road, also appearing to make their way to the same destination.

“Getting a little unsubtle.” He commented as a Rolls-Royce passed them by.

“Bunch of limos and fancy cars clogging the roads of some Hicksville town for a night?” Helen asked. “People in fancy suits and dresses stopping by the all-night diner for directions or food? By the time someone realizes it’s not the local high school’s Prom Night; and the older people in the fancy clothes, driving the SUVs and Porsches aren’t poor parents who’ve been roped into getting dressed up and chauffeuring for their kids’ big night, or that they don’t see any kids, we’ll be long gone.”

“One I went to were in Africa.” Mander added. “More obvious guns, of course; but there, who cares about some rich foreigners who ain’t really even stoppin’ and spendin’ money on their way to their Rich Foreigner Whatever?”

“Speaking of which.” Troy asked him. “How did you get that Desert Eagle under your jacket so well?”

“Ya get a jacket that’s a couple sizes too big, then ya fuckin’ learn how ta sew.”

Helena’s dress had no room for such concealment. She wore an off-the-shoulder velvet gown with a long slit up her right leg. She would have gone with one slit up the left, but after the punishment it had taken the past few days, the bruise on that thigh was enormous, and there’d be no way to conceal it. Her pistol was in her black bag, where it was usually kept. She didn’t worry about being searched or having it taken, since she could always tell security to ignore it and any detectors it set off.

The cars headed out of town, toward an old country road. Instructions had said to give the car in front of you a few minutes before heading down the road, to prevent traffic jams. Like most such advice, it had been largely ignored, and now it had become an obvious line of slow-moving fancy vehicles winding its way down a deserted road, toward a single destination; an old farmhouse, next to a large barn that looked like it predated the railroads. Behind the barn were parked three black semis with black cargo trailers hitched to them. A fourth truck, hauling a generator, was parked alongside the barn, cables leading into it.

“This was the OTHER reason I didn’t want to have STRANGERS here.” Helen told Troy. “Seattle people PRIDE themselves on this shit! I mean, in Anchorage, or San Finzione; yeah traffic can suck sometimes. Ok, except for if you’re me in San Finzione, but still, you know you’re going to get to your destination EVENTUALLY! ‘I can’t make it, because nobody’s cars are allowed to move’ is a legitimate fucking excuse to cancel plans here!”

“I have no defense for that.” Troy replied.

The line of cars eventually moved until it was time for them to emerge from the limo. Mander got out first, followed by Helen, then Troy. They stepped out onto a red carpet leading to the barn. Troy thought the scene was missing spotlights and photographers, but then supposed that wasn’t the kind of thing the Auctioneers went in for. Helen stepped up to a man with a clipboard by the open barn door. Troy thought he could hear music coming from inside.

“Contessa Helena de San Finzione.” Helena said. The man looked at the list, then up at Mander. “He’s my Plus One.” She commented.

The man with the clipboard looked at Troy.

“And who is he?” He asked.

“He’s my Plus One More Because I’m La Fucking Contessa, that’s who he is. Others are being aided or represented by attorneys, consiglieri, advisors; he is my financial advisor.”

The man remained unfazed and ticked the list.

“Welcome, Contessa. Right inside.”

He gestured to the open barn door. Helena made a nod at Mander, who stepped up to the man and shook his hand, slipping him a hundred-dollar bill in the process. Mander then held the already-open door open for her and Troy before following them inside.

“Pretty rude to someone whose invite list you want to stay on. Mander doesn’t go in first?” Troy whispered to Helen as she took his arm.

“La Contessa makes the entrances, Troilus.” She whispered back. “The bodyguard does not. And arrogance is to be expected from the sort of people we’re about to join. Followed by a hundred-dollar tip, once they’ve seen reason.”

“That explains trusting Mander with a stack of hundreds. So, what does the financial advisor do?”

“Arm candy.” Helen replied. “Until it’s time for the other thing.”

Troy looked around the barn. He’d been to a couple of farms on field trips in Alaska and knew some people up in the Valley who’d bought farmland, and he’d been to state fairs, but didn’t recall seeing a string quartet and cocktail bar set up in the other barns he’d had call to go inside in his life.

The dirt or concrete floor that Troy would have expected was, instead carpeted. Or rather, rolls of something that had a black grippy surface on the bottom side and blue carpeting on the top had been deployed across the floors of the barn, so there was no hay or sign of animals on the ground. The walls of the barn had been covered with tapestries to hide whatever farming equipment was hanging behind them. Men in expensive suits mingled with women in expensive dresses as Troy took it all in. It felt very quickly put together, as tastefully as possible, and still very easy to take down and be gone with in five minutes.

Heads turned as La Contessa and her escort entered. Troy stayed as cool as he could with all the attention on him, then relaxed when he realized that it wouldn’t be him that they were all staring at, anyway, but Helen. He’d been surprised at how many of his fears had turned out to be groundless recently; however, he’d remembered that the fear of his first girlfriend was not only a perfectly healthy one, but likely her country’s primary export.

Helen released Troy’s arm and grabbed a pair of champagne glasses from a passing waiter, giving one to Troy. Helena clinked glasses with him and drank. Troy followed her example, then waited for his next cue and leaned over to whisper to her again.

“So, what next?” He asked her.

“Next, we make you interesting enough to be approached, but not so interesting as to outshine me.” Helen finished her glass, grabbed Troy’s, finished his drink, too. She kissed him on the tip of the nose, then stuck her tongue out a little and licked him before giving the glasses to another passing waiter.

“That ought to do it.” Helena said with a smile. “Mingle.” She turned and waked away. Mander followed her.

Troy looked around the room, at the gathering of the rich and powerful who’d been on the guest list. He knew a lot of them from the news, almost none in a good context, and many of their opinions of his date were matters of public record. Some of them had large, public bounties on their heads that he was aware of, even though Troy didn’t usually follow such things. One phone call to the FBI right now would probably mean he, Julie, Susan, and all his clients could retire tomorrow, if he thought he’d live long enough for anyone to answer if he tried. He remembered the words Helen had told him at another fancy party that she’d thrown. “You’re a good person, Troy, and these people are sharks.”

He touched his ring and walked into them.

* * *

An hour later, a bell sounded. An area of the barn that had been shrouded in darkness lit up, revealing rows of chairs, most with a name card and a numbered sign atop them. La Contessa’s spot was, of course, in the front row, as was the seat for her Plus One More. Mander stood with the other bodyguards off to the side, watching the room and each other.

The chairs faced a podium. Standing at it was a man in a tailored Saville Row tuxedo, wearing a black hood over his head. He spoke in tones that told Helen he’d been Sotheby’s trained.

“Ladies and gentlemen. It is now time for the Auction to begin. If everyone will be seated, all of you should already be familiar with our procedures.”

The first lot was wheeled up to the podium for presentation.

“Lot one: A shipment of assorted assault rifles in excellent condition, two hundred in total. A sampling of which, we present for inspection. Primarily Warsaw Pact weapons, taken from a terrorist training camp shortly before it was wiped out from the air, reported as having been destroyed. All display samples have had the firing pins removed; the final product that the winning bidder transports away comes with our standard guarantee, and all understood denials. We shall allow two minutes if anyone cares to inspect the samples. I think you’ll find our lack of reputation speaks for itself.”

There was an appreciative murmur at the Auctioneer’s little joke.

“It was funnier when Mander said it.” Troy whispered to Helen as some of the prospective buyers signaled to have the weapons brought to them. Pages, also wearing black hoods, brought the weapons to them. Looking around, Troy noticed that the waiters, bar, and quartet were all gone.

“Nobody was wearing hoods before.” He murmured to Helen.

“Locals hired for the night.” She murmured back. “All they know is some nutty rich people decided to have a fancy cocktail party in a barn in the middle of nowhere. They’ll go back home and tell their friends, but the only thing that’ll come of it is that in a few months, ‘Barn Soirees’ might become a thing for a little while in Seattle.”

The samples were returned, and bidding began. Troy watched as Helen did nothing while the guns went to someone whom Troy didn’t recognize but was certain had nothing good planned with them.

“You’re going to let them go?” He murmured to her.

“Troilus, if one of Whyte’s drones hit this barn right now? All the evil and suffering in the world? It’d be confused for about two weeks, then it’d pick right back up again. With a new set of assholes in charge, now looking to prove themselves and working to make up for the lost time. I saw who got them, I’ll pass it along to the Ministry of Intelligence, but that’s all I can do right here. We have an objective. We can’t stop all the evil in the world tonight, even though I know it looks like most of it is right here in the room with us.”

“Ok, ok.” He whispered back. They turned their attention back to the podium and another item was brought out. This one was behind thick, bulletproof plastic. An odd device with some strange canisters hooked up to it.

“Lot two.” The Auctioneer continued. “Weaponized Anthrax with aerosol delivery system. Can be triggered in a populated area or, for maximum effect, dropped from the air, into a convenient wind stream. Bidding to open at ten million dollars.”

“You’re getting that, right?” Troy asked Helen under his breath.

“What?” Helen almost blurted out but managed to keep under her own breath. “Troy, you WANT me to bid on that?”

“It’s a GERM BOMB, Helen.” Troy muttered back to her. “Your Ministry of Science has the facilities to safely destroy it. I can afford it, especially after yesterday. I will buy it if you don’t. Stuff like this is what that Kiburi guy you mentioned was after! We cannot allow one of these fuckers to walk out of here with this thing!”

Troy took hold of Helen’s arm that was holding the sign and lifted it.

“Ten million is bid.” The Auctioneer announced. “I’m seeing twenty.”

Helen turned to smack Troy with the sign before realizing that by lifting it again, she’d just bid thirty million for it now. Someone else bid forty million.

She looked into Troy’s eyes. Saw how serious he was about this. Thought of just how few times she’d heard him use the word “fucker,” even to describe Wade. Helen nodded.

“Fifty million!” She called out. There were no further bids. The germ bomb was hers.

“Thank you for that, Helen.” Troy murmured.

“Just don’t keep expecting it.” Helen replied, taking hold of his hand for a moment. The bomb was wheeled away to an area where Helen would complete the transaction and take possession or arrange delivery of her purchases.

“Lot three.” The Auctioneer continued, as a metal briefcase was wheeled out. “Briefcase-Contained Thermonuclear Device, 20-megaton yield. Can be triggered remotely or via timer. Completely undetectable by all modern scanning measures until everything is over. Shall we begin at fifty million?”

“Helen.” Troy murmured.

“Troilus.” Helen murmured back.

“I will bankrupt myself to keep that out of the hands of anyone here. Julie and I will live on the streets, unless Susan wants to take care of us, with nothing but our love and our briefcase nuke to keep us warm.”

Helen sighed and raised her sign.