The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(Baltimore, Maryland. Two days later.)

Daniel Malcolm was waiting on a bench in one of Baltimore’s waterfront parks, looking at the Inner Harbor. The day was warm for the season, the sun out and its light reflected in the water. It made Baltimore almost look beautiful.

Now that their assignment was over—Shawbank was over at Headquarters debriefing their capture of James Bowden—Daniel felt empty once more. The next few days held some scheduled training specifically with other agents in IE Division, but it was not engaging. He missed Jenn. He hoped that O’Neill would have something to report, anything.

As if thinking of him had summoned him, Private Investigator Sam O’Neill walked around the bench and sat down next to Daniel. They both stared at the Harbor for a while. “Daniel,” the older man acknowledged.

“Sam,” Daniel replied. He hesitated to ask the next question, but he had to. “Any news?” He did not need to spell it out further, at least not to O’Neill.

“Some. I picked up her trace up after North Alexandria. It looks like she hitched a ride with a trucker and went west into New York State. He dropped her off in Schenectady, a bit past Albany.”

“And how... how was she doing?”

O’Neill hesitated, and glanced at Daniel. “Not too good. One of the reasons why the trucker was easy to find—he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the hot chick he picked up and...” He paused, shook his head. “You don’t want the details. The point is, though, she’s still alive.”

“And she’s in... what did you say? Schenectady?”

“She was. Her trace was pretty easy to follow. She stayed there for a some time, perhaps two weeks, and then her trail led to Buffalo. And there I lost it. There’s a chance she crossed over into Canada, or that she went down to Erie and from there to Pittsburgh or Cleveland. It’s not entirely clear what her goal is.”

“So you don’t know where she is?”

“Not yet. But I’ve got a few leads still that I need to pursue. I’m headed back to Buffalo later this week.”

Daniel felt discouraged. “I should be out there, looking for her.”

“No. You should be right here, exactly where you are, doing exactly what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?”

“Finding your fiancée is not enough, Daniel. You know that.”

Daniel knew. Jenn had been screwing her way west, unable to resist Biff’s last orders to give herself to random men and—what? run away? Even if Daniel and O’Neill found her, what kind of state was she likely to be in? They had to figure out a way to undo what had been done to her. And even then, Daniel thought darkly, she’s probably going to need some pretty intensive therapy for the rest of her life. Is she even going to be the same girl I fell in love with?

“You still think ADCorp can help with that?”

“Cargyle worked for them.”

“So you said. But I checked, and there’s no record of him in the company files.”

“Then you didn’t look at the right files. He worked there up until two years ago.”

Daniel felt anger rise. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to just sit back and do nothing? To know that the girl I love is out there, doing Lord knows what, alone, scared, and that there’s nothing I can do to help?”

O’Neill’s face grew dark for a moment. “I know exactly how hard it is to feel useless when someone you love is in trouble.”

After a long moment during which neither of them spoke and just looked out at the water, O’Neill patted Daniel lightly on the back. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll find her.”

Daniel looked at him but did not say anything. Which was just as well, because there was nothing to be said.

“So.” O’Neill said after another long silence. “How was your first foray into ADCorp?”

Daniel and O’Neill had already talked after his summer training before joining IE Division, and so Daniel brought him up to speed describing his first days at Headquarters and his first assignment to retrieve a Special. At O’Neill questioning look, he described what he had learned about Specials, including what he had witnessed of the interaction between Bowden and Elizabeth and Shelley.

O’Neill seemed in a state of shock upon hearing the whole story. “That doesn’t make any sense!” He seemed almost angry. He stood and started pacing in front of the bench.

Daniel frowned. “Yeah, it’s pretty far-fetched, but the documentation I’ve seen seems pretty thorough, and both Shawbank and Brisecoeur were adamant and don’t sound particularly deranged, and, well, I’ve seen some weird stuff.” He did not mention giving instructions to Elizabeth Bowden through her friend Shelley Caskill via a phone that James Bowden had decreed to Shelley she would obey at all times. That by itself had been sufficient to convince him that whatever had happened had been real.

“So you’re telling me,” O’Neill continued, still pacing, “that there are... what... thousands of these Specials roaming around, messing around with women’s minds? That’s insane. I mean, we’d have heard of it, somehow, in some form or another.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. According to the files—I’ll give you a copy, it’s a pretty disturbing read—most of the Specials have pretty weak abilities. They’ll be able to affect a girl into maybe liking them as opposed to disliking them, or maybe just give them a nudge in one direction or another, emotionally—hardly anything earth shattering. Hell, for all I know, many of them become salesmen in women boutiques, and end up making great sales without having a clue why they’re so successful.

“The more powerful ones, those that can get women to do stuff they don’t want to do, well, it turns out they burn out pretty quickly and go crazy. Psychosis. The more powerful they are, the more quickly and spectacularly they fizzle. At which point they’re pretty easy to find, and they haven’t had time to cause much real damage.”

O’Neill had stopped pacing, and was looking at Daniel. “So a bit like Ebola?”

“Huh?”

“Ebola? The crazy flu that kills you in a couple of days and makes you bleed out of your eyes and ears? It kills so quickly that it doesn’t have enough time to spread and cause a real extensive epidemic.”

Daniel nodded. The analogy did not seem so out of place.

“But it still doesn’t make sense,” O’Neill continued, coming back to sit next to Daniel. “I mean, somebody would have noticed and said something by now.”

“They have. But they’re few and far between, and there’s no proof anyway.” Daniel had looked online, and had found a few mentions of articles and reports and anecdotes involving people that he guessed had been Specials, but the reports were conflicting, and seemed to be both sensationalistic and low on facts. “I mean, you look online and you find people talking about Big Foot and MKUltra and crap like that, and among that you read reports of a few people that seem to be able to control minds alongside reports of guys that can bend spoons with their psychokinetic powers. Who’s gonna believe that? The truth hidden among the lies.”

“Okay, fine,” grunted O’Neill. “But why would ADCorp be interested in Specials?”

“For the good of the community? Those Specials are pretty bad people.”

O’Neill shot him a glance that said more than he could express. “I strongly doubt ADCorp has the good of the community in mind. No, it must have something to do with...” He never completed his sentence.

“Sam, what do you think ADCorp is doing? You haven’t told me yet. If I’m going to be your spy on the inside, you gotta tell me what you’re suspecting.”

“I’m not entirely sure.” O’Neill said, and pulled a cigar out of his trench coat pocket. He did not light it, but put it in his mouth and munched on the end. “That’s the part that’s so frustrating. But I’m convinced that they’re working on drugs to control women.”

Daniel would have thought the idea preposterous not even a year earlier, but after witnessing first hand what the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity had done back at Darnell University, and learning about the Specials, his worldview had changed.

“The kind of drugs that Cargyle used at Darnell?”

“That would be my guess. I’ve been keeping my eyes on them for a long time, Daniel, a long time.”

Daniel thought O’Neill would provide more detail about how long he had been pursuing this, but the private investigator merely chewed the end of his cigar more vigorously before spitting out some tobacco. “And they’re very good at covering their tracks.”

“So how do the Specials factor in?” Daniel asked.

“I don’t know. Unless...” and he paused. “Unless that’s how they get the drugs they need.”

“From the Specials?”

“Maybe. I mean, if they have this ability to control women, maybe ADCorp figured out a way to... I don’t know... extract that ability and turn it into a drug.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. That’s one of the things that I was hoping you’d find out.” O’Neill looked at Daniel.

Daniel said nothing, and turned back to look at the water.

What he was thinking was that if indeed ADCorp was developing such a drug, and Doctor Cargyle had worked on it, then they would indeed know how to revert what Biff had done to Jenn. O’Neill was right. For that reason only, it was worth remaining and investigating further.

And worse come to worse, Daniel further reflected, perhaps I can get a Special to help me reprogram Jenn. But what Shawbank had told him, that Specials’ victims did not end well, did make that plan one of last resort.

(ADCorp Headquarters, Northern Maryland. The same day.)

“Control will see you now, Agent Shawbank.”

The pretty secretary smiled at Agent Eve Shawbank, and the tall raven-haired woman, who had been standing against the wall instead of in one of the functional chairs lining the lobby, merely nodded her head before walking down the short corridor to her boss’s office.

She did not knock on the door, but pushed it open.

She was greeted by the familiar odor of cigarette smoke that still lingered in the air despite his owner having quit the habit nearly three years earlier. It impregnated the walls, the furniture, the very person of George Clayton, commonly known as Control, who sat behind his large desk, reading through his electronic tablet.

Shawbank stopped in front of the desk, again remaining standing, waiting for Control to look up from his reading. He looked older than the last time she had seen him, after the Darnell University operation back in the spring. He must have been nearing sixty, if not sixty-five, and his hair, which used to have streaks of gray, was now uniformly gray, and thinning rather blatantly.

He looked up after a while, and a smile which she could not honestly qualify as gentle but was probably the gentlest he could muster, broke his features. “Eve, so good to see you again. Thanks for coming to see me.” He stood and walked up to her. His steps were still as firm as they always had been.

She extended her hand, and he shook it, with both of his, patting her on the arm afterwards.

“New secretary?” Shawbank asked.

“Indeed. It was time for some new blood.”

“She’s pretty,” was all Shawbank said.

“Eve, how could you even hint at something like that,” he said, with a grin. It was an old joke between them. “Feel free to borrow her if you want. She has delightfully sensitive breasts.”

Shawbank gave a curt smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

Control gestured to the chairs and the sofa in one corner of the room. “Anything to drink?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“Still as tightly wound as ever, Eve. What do you do to relax?” He went to pour himself a glass of cognac. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that.”

Shawbank watched him sit down in front of her. She noted, with her usual fascination, her own feelings towards this man shift in her heart. He had been her mentor in the Corporation for her fifteen years, ever since she was brought to him, young, almost broken; he had taken her under his wing and fixed her up and turned her into what she was today.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked.

“I did. We haven’t really talked since you came back from that operation in North Alexandria before the summer. Did I mention how excellent a job you did? Several months later, and no one blames anything but the overabundance of alcohol on American college campuses and shoddy gas distribution systems.”

She nodded at the implicit compliment. “How goes the investigation into why Cargyle ran away, and how he managed to leave with a vial of serum?” she asked.

Control shrugged. “The investigation is ongoing. Near as we can tell, Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle just decided to up and leave by himself, and to pursue his research unencumbered by our supervision. There’s a small chance that he may have injected himself with a variant of the serum.” Control could not resist pursing his lips at the thought. He still clearly remembered the outcome of the last time something like that had happened.

Shawbank made a face, but for another reason. Davenham had told her after the Darnell operation about his suspicions that Cargyle had not acted alone, that he had been induced to leave, helped, guided. She was frustrated to have squandered the opportunity of questioning Cargyle when she had him in her grasp. If only she had been told, she would have found out the truth.

Control misread her expression, and she did not dissuade him from his misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, Eve. I know you wanted to be in charge of the internal investigation into Doctor Cargyle’s actions, but you were needed somewhere else.”

“You needed me to babysit,” she said, and it came out as if she was spitting out the words.

Control smiled. “Are you upset because I switched you from Internal Affairs to Specials Recovery, or because I saddled you with an inexperienced agent?”

“Both, sir.”

“I read the report of the operation to apprehend the Special—James Bowden, yes? You did great, as usual. And Agent Daniel Malcolm seemed to do well on his first assignment.”

“He was fine, I guess.” Shawbank looked at Control. “Can I ask a question, sir?”

“Who am I to stop you?”

“Why him?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not typical agent material.”

“In what way? Is there a problem?”

“Not yet. But he’s quiet, reserved, does not interact much. He broods, he’s introspective, curious, and also stubborn with a fierce if controlled independent streak.”

Control seemed to fight to keep his face from grinning. “A spot of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”

Shawbank did not rise to the bait. “That’s what worries me, sir. Plus, he seems a bit too ethical.”

“Well, the order to offer him a position came from higher up, so we don’t have that much choice, unless he screws up.”

“Higher up? How high?”

“The highest. Davenham himself asked for him.”

“Davenham?”

“Yes.”

Shawbank tried unsuccessfully to hide her shock. She had no response.

“In any event,” Control continued, “his first assignment went well, and we’ll be implementing the standard agent protocol. So we will know soon enough whether he is agent material.”

“Standard protocol? I think it’s a mistake, sir.”

“Why? We have his psych profile from his training over the summer. Should be a breeze.”

Shawbank hesitated. “It’s just a gut feeling, sir.”

“I need something more than a gut feeling to go against standard protocol, Eve, you know that.”

“I do not have anything else, sir.”

Control looked at her for a long time, without saying a word. She was reminded of how dangerous this man was—his age had not dulled his wits. “Well, as I said, the order came from above, so I have little choice. Unless you have a better idea on how to deal with Agent Malcolm.”

“I don’t, sir.” And partly this was because she did not know what was going on. Why did Davenham want Malcolm brought into the fold? It made no sense.

“Very well, then. Anything else?”

“How do long am I to remain on Specials Recovery?”

“Until Mister Malcolm is trained and ready for general operations, I expect.”

Shawbank nodded, disappointed, but not surprised.

“Well, I should really get back to figuring out how to deal with Advanced Research. They’re on my case for the increased supervision I’ve foisted on them.” He sighed, and stood up. “It was good to see you again, Eve. Do let me know how things get on.”

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

She stood and headed to the door. A hand on the handle, she stopped and turned to Control.

“Sir, one last question. About the Darnell University operation.”

“Yes?” Control was back behind his desk, thumbing through his tablet.

“Why did you ask us to bring the girls back instead of leaving them in the fire?”

“You do not need to worry about it, Eve. The identifying information your team left behind was entirely adequate. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, those ladies died a horrible death in the fire. A tragedy, really.”

Shawbank hesitated. “But why the deviation from standard procedure?” Standard procedure was to leave victims behind unless there was a reason to believe they knew something that made them dangerous.

Control looked up at her, and he did not smile. “Are you questioning my orders, Agent Shawbank?” Any trace of levity had left his voice.

“No, sir, of course not.”

Control merely nodded, and Shawbank left, closing the door behind her.

Back in the lobby, the pretty secretary gave Shawbank a friendly wave. “Have a good day, Agent Shawbank.”

Shawbank stopped, and looked at the secretary. Janet Flynn, said the name plate on her desk. She looked very professional, her blonde hair up in a bun, glasses, her red lips glossy. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of generous cleavage. She has delightfully sensitive breasts, Control had said.

“Thank you. Janet, is it?” Shawbank asked, a smile creeping on her lips.

(Baltimore, Maryland. Later the same day.)

Daniel was walking back to his apartment building, carrying take-out dinner, thinking back to his conversation with O’Neill, and the leads the private investigator had uncovered. He was trying very hard not to get his hopes up too much. He was also trying very hard not to think about the very real possibility that he may never find Jenn again, that she may be lost. He had given way to such ruminations a few months earlier, and it had driven him to the brink of insanity. That feeling of helplessness, that he had the energy to do something but nothing to do with it so that the energy turned on itself and had threatened to consume him whole, they were like vultures perched on his shoulder, waiting for the right moment to pounce and devour him.

He was not denying the reality of the situation. But most everything he could do was being done—short of going to look for her himself. He had tried that, spending weeks looking for her himself after the events back in North Alexandria, once O’Neill had told him that Jenn was still alive, that the car accident that seemed to have claimed her life had not killed her, that she had walked away from it. But he had been unable to pick up her trail, and the frustration would have driven him insane until O’Neill stepped in.

He entered the lobby of his apartment building in time to see a young woman struggling with unlocking and opening the main door while trying to manage a large awkward delivery box.

He reached for the door. “Hold on, let me get that.”

“Thanks,” she said, trying to get a better grip on the box.

Pushing on the door with his back, he lifted one end of the box and held it, and they maneuvered the entrance.

“Thank you,” the young woman said when they reached the elevator. “I think I can get it from here.”

“Nonsense. I’m going up anyways.

“I appreciate it.” The young woman smiled at him. She was beautiful, her face round with dark brown eyes and long lashes. She was about his age, her long body molded into tight jeans and boots and a yellow tee shirt with what looked like an indie band logo. Her hair was long and dark and pulled back in a pony tail pushed through an Orioles baseball cap.

The elevator arrived. Inside, she pressed for her floor. Daniel shifted his weight and put his takeout on the large box. The smell of curry filled the small elevator. “Nice,” the young woman said. “Thai? Do you know a good place around here?”

“The Thai Cantina around the corner. A hole in the wall, but it’s pretty decent food.”

“Thai Cantina. Good to know. It’s useful to know at least one good place when you’re new to a city.”

“You just moved in?”

“Still am. This box here,” she nodded to the box they were still holding between them, “got here a bit late, and the moving guys were already gone. I’m glad you showed up when you did. My hero,” she said with another smile, to which Daniel had to respond with a smile of his own.

“I’m Calypso,” the young woman added. “But you can call me Cal.”

“Calypso?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re going to say—”

“That your parents had a thing for classic Greek literature?”

She gave him a long appreciative glance. “My mother’s a classics professor. Most people think I’m named after the music.”

Daniel shrugged, vaguely embarrassed. Calypso, the nymph who had kept Odysseus on her island for seven years during his fateful trip back home from the Trojan war. Daniel remembered the first summer he had spent with Jenn, when she had decided that they should read the Homeric poems out loud to each other. Jenn, the English literature student, avid of reading and fiction and history. Daniel had acquiesced, and found to his surprise that he enjoyed The Odyssey a great deal, although he found The Iliad a slog. Jenn had taken him to task about it—she had always found the tragedy of Achilleus poignant.

“You okay?” Calypso asked, concern in her voice.

“Yes, sorry. Just—” He smiled. “My name’s Daniel. Daniel Malcolm.”

“Hi Daniel. So how long have you been in Baltimore?”

“Oh, just a few months. Moved in for work.”

The elevator stopped at her floor. She navigated them down the corridor, the large box between them.

“So you’re basically new here as well. That’s cool. I’m also here for work. Theater.”

“You’re an actress?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Calypso laughed, then stopped before a door marked 403. “That’s me.”

She unlocked the door, and they carried the box inside. The apartment was smaller than Daniel’s, and was filled with moving boxes. “Sorry, as I said, just moved in. I’d... huh... I’d offer you something to drink or something but—”

Daniel grinned in response. “It’s okay. Maybe some other time, when you’re more settled.”

“That’d be nice.”

There was a moment’s awkward silence. “Well then. Good luck with your settling in, Calypso. I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks again for your help.” Her smile was genuine, and warm.

Daniel barely remembered to pick up his dinner.

Back in his apartment, he stared at the poster picture of Jenn on his wall, and sighed. He fingered her engagement ring hung around his neck through his shirt. Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay. I miss you.

His laptop, open on the couch, dinged. He frowned. Few people would be trying to contact him for chat. Although most of those were people that he felt would be good for him to talk to.

He grabbed the laptop. Cindy. He fired up the customized encrypted video chat system, and a bubbly blonde appeared in a window, her bright smile contrasting with his dark mood.

“Hi Dan! Glad I caught you.”

“How’re things?”

“Pretty great. We’re expecting a massive thunderstorm tonight, so my roommate and I and a couple of friends are hunkering down with ice cream and bad eighties movies.”

“Lucky you... I guess?”

“Do you have some time to chat?”

“I have nothing but time.”

“Tell me all about your adventures with Super Cop.”

Daniel gave her a variant of the story that he had given O’Neill, with slight changes in emphasis and commentary. Cindy was curious and, Daniel thought, disturbingly aroused by the effect that James Bowden had had on his stepdaughter and her friend.

But she was also intensely fascinated by the scientific aspects of Specials, and begged Daniel for a copy of the report that Brisecoeur had provided him at the beginning of the investigation.

“I’ll email you a copy as soon as we’re done.” He could tell something had spiked her curiosity. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s just a shot in the dark, but remember earlier this year, back at Darnell, you sent me off to get a blood analysis? You wanted Radhu to have a look at the results?”

Daniel remembered. Cindy had been abducted by Doctor Cargyle and programmed with his mixture of drugs and other technologies into basically acquiring a secondary docile sex-doll personality that would manifest itself when the proper trigger sentence was pronounced. The same programming that Biff had applied to Jenn, except in Jenn’s case it had been much more extensive. Cindy’s programming had not taken, however—whether she had acquired a resistance to it, or whether she was partially immune was not clear.

Daniel paused. Immune. Cindy was partially immune to what the Doctor had given her. Shawbank was immune to the effects of Special. This added some credence to O’Neill’s theory that what the Doctor had done to Cindy—to Jenn—had something to do with Specials. But the doctor was not a Special; or even if he was, as near as he could tell, the doctor had not been involved in programming Jenn—it had been Biff with his friend, what was his name? Bernie. Biff and Bernie had programmed Jenn.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re thinking along the lines of what I’m thinking?” Cindy asked, a knowing smile on her face.

“Depends. Are you thinking that perhaps whatever was done to you is related to those Specials?”

“It would make sense, no? Remember, we were trying to figure out what could affect women the way that whatever Doctor Spooky did to us affected us? And we couldn’t really come up with anything?”

“But I don’t think Doctor Spooky was a Special.”

“Maybe not, but maybe he figured out a way to extract whatever caused a Special’s ability—”

“Like a drug,” Daniel said. That was exactly what O’Neill had wondered.

“For instance,” nodded Cindy, thinking out loud. “Remember, Mister Dick told you that Doctor Spooky worked for... the Company.” She meant ADCorp. “And the Company is hunting down and capturing Specials.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“That it does. So after you send me that report you mentioned, I’ll look more carefully at the results of the blood analysis and see if I can find something that correlates.” She hesitated. “You know what would really help?”

“What?”

“Blood and tissue sample from a Special.”

“I don’t know how to get that.”

“Something for you to think about on those long cold lonely nights in Baltimore, then. While I’m down here, in sunny California, basking in the warmth and letting Dan Junior explore the inner depths of that tight pussy that really misses you.”

Daniel shook his head. Cindy had named her dildo Dan Junior, something that both embarrassed him and gratified him.

“You’re nuts, Cin, you know that?” he said, to diffuse the unease that sometimes crept up on him when he thought of his relationship with Cindy. He glanced up at the poster picture of Jenn on the wall, looking back over her shoulder, resplendent, happy, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Something crossed Cindy’s face, an expression that Daniel could not interpret. “What was that?” Cindy rarely looked serious.

“Nothing,” she said, looking downcast for a second. “I’m gonna have to go soon. But... well, I ran into something today.”

Daniel was intrigued. “Okay? What?”

“Remember that short story that Jenn had submitted and published under the name J. Dumas back in the Spring?”

Daniel’s blood froze in his veins. “Yes... Charlie and the Chancellor’s Plot.” How could he forget? As near as he had figured out, Jenn had written up a creative reinterpretation of what had happened to her when she was under Biff’s control as a short story, probably taking advantage of a loophole that Biff had left in her programming. She may not have been allowed to talk about what was happening to her, but she could spin fiction based on it.

“Well, there was another story by J. Dumas that appeared in that same magazine earlier this week.”

Daniel could only stare at her.

“Do you want me to send it to you?”

“Of course! Please—” Daniel cleared his throat. “Please do.”

“Okay. But I warn you, it’s a bit... well... it’s rough.”

Daniel looked into Cindy eyes, and read the rapid cycling of love, pity, and support in them. He nodded. “I understand. If we’re lucky, it maybe will provide us with some clue as to where Jenn is.”

“I think it does. Although I haven’t solve that riddle yet. But I’m in contact with the magazine to know how they got the submission. They are understandably reticent to share that information, but I’ll try to work them anyways.”

“Thanks, Cin. I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve been doing.”

“Least I can do, Dan. You gonna be okay tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“All right. Take care of yourself, and feel free to call if anything’s the matter.” Uncharacteristically, she did not make a sexually suggestive comment.

“Will do. Have fun with your friends tonight.”

By the time Daniel had broken contact, Cindy’s email was waiting in his inbox. He clicked, and a document opened on the screen.

Charlie and the Convent of Oblivion, by J. Dumas. “It was year four hundred and seventeen of the Renascence Era, forty-one years since the Great Darkness War, one year past the reign of King Altobar the First, the Hero of the War, Bringer of Peace. It was the first year of the reign of Queen Helena, daughter of King Altobar the First, a reign destined to be unlike that of her wise and just father. For Queen Helena ruled through fear and repression, levying crushing taxes and imposing exhausting production requirements on her subjects.”

He closed his eyes, noticed he was shaking. He stood, paced around his empty apartment for a while. He did not know if he was ready to do this.

As if in answer to his doubts and fears, there was a knock at the door. He almost yelped in surprise.

He opened the door, not even thinking about looking through the peephole first. He was what met with the smiling face of Calypso, her hair freed of her baseball cap but still in a high ponytail, her hand raised for a finger wave.

“Hi,” she said. “I felt bad about earlier, being a poor hostess and all, so I went out—” she lifted a six-pack of beers, “and got a little something. If you don’t mind a bit of company, that is...”

Daniel perceived the slight look of loneliness in her eyes. First day in a new town—never an easy situation.

Part of him wanted to just have her go away, so that he could read the document Cindy had sent him—Jenn’s story. Another part of him saw her presence as a way to delay something he knew full well would hurt and force him to think about something that he had no power over—Jenn’s predicament.

When Calypso uttered a simple and vulnerable “Please?” he opened the door fully, and let her in.

“How did you know my apartment number?”

“Your name on the mailbox downstairs. Only one Malcolm in the building.”

As he watched her walk into his living room, he noted that she had changed—she still sported her yellow tee shirt, but had traded her jeans for a pair of shorts bearing the University of Alabama logo. They bared her legs, which were long and lean and reminded him so much of Jenn’s that he had to suppress a groan. Her whole body, now that he thought of it, reminded him of Jenn’s body. Jenn had been a dancer in her youth. He wondered whether Calypso danced.

“Wow. I like the uncluttered decorating style. It’s very... pure?”

“Yeah, I don’t... let’s say I don’t spend that much time here.”

“So what do you do anyways? Oh wow!” she said without waiting for his answer. “She’s beautiful.” She nodded towards the poster on the wall.

“She is. It’s my fiancée.”

“Your fiancée? Lucky boy! Where is she?”

“She’s... well... huh... well, it’s complicated.”

“Ah! Aren’t all relationships complicated?” She shook her head as if she was continuing the conversation within herself. “Do you think.... I mean, would she mind that I’m here tonight, bearing gifts?” She put the beers on the floor near the couch.

Daniel grimaced. “No, I don’t think she would. And to be honest, those beers look like a pretty good idea right now.”

She grinned, and sat down on the couch, folding her long legs beneath her. Daniel tried not to stare at the flesh on display. She pulled two beers out of the pack, and uncapped them.

Daniel walked up to her, and accepted the bottle she offered.

“Cheers, then,” she said, clanging bottle neck against bottle neck. “To new friends.”

“Cheers indeed.”

The beer feel good going down his throat, refreshing and tasting of oblivion. He eyed the untouched take-out. “Huh, have you eaten yet?”

“No. I haven’t had the courage of trying to find the box with the nonperishable provisions I packed. Though I think I have a box of saltines on a windowsill downstairs.”

“Want to share?” He nodded towards the take-out.

“Do you mind?”

“I wasn’t really hungry to start with...”

“That’d be great, then”

He went into the kitchen to grab two plates and some extra chopsticks from too many previous take-out dinners.

Went he came back, Calypso was reading the file Cindy had sent him on his laptop. He did not know what to say, and she preempted any reaction of his by her exclamation.

“Whoa, this is pretty good.” She scrolled down, reading quickly. “I love fantasy.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God!”

“Listen, Calypso—”

“This is kinky!” She looked up at him, her eyes wide, a broad smile on her face. “If there’s anything I love more than fantasy, it’s dirty fantasy!” She eyed him, with a mock frown. “You know, you didn’t really strike me as the type.”

Daniel sighed. This was getting weird. But perhaps this was exactly what he needed. Something to take the edge of fear off. “Believe it or not, someone sent it to me, and I was trying to gather the gumption to actually read it through. I’m not really a fan of the stuff.”

“Wait, let me guess. The author, asking for comments?”

Daniel grimaced again. “Something like that.”

“Well, I know how to make it more interesting.”

“How?”

“Hey, I’m an actress, I told you. I’ll read it. I love reading out loud.”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. Beer, Thai food, and a hot chick reading you smut. You know, there are guys that’d kill for that.”

Daniel sat down on the couch, his back against the side, and pulled up his knees to his chest, clutching his beer. He did not have the stomach for food. And he was not sure he had the stomach to hear Jenn’s tale either.

Calypso seemed to have misunderstood his reluctance, and smacked him on the knee. “Come on, trust me. I’ll make it good.” Her smile would have been infectious under any other circumstance.

Closing his eyes, he nodded. “Fine.”