The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

College Daze

Chapter IV: Commencement Day

“Lying low” was made easier for Bobbi and Renee by a simple purchase: a pair of earplugs. A simple test confirmed that the plugs, purchased from a hardware store that catered to construction workers, blocked out all sound: Bobbi couldn’t hear a thing even when Renee and the boys all yelled at her.

“Perfect,” Bob told the baffled store clerk when he paid for the plugs. And it was: all Bobbi had to do to keep from being hypnotized again was pop them in just before the Anderson Tower clock struck seven, and wait till it was finished before taking them out. With the girls unhypnotized, sleeping arrangements were a bit awkward. Renee took charge, demanding that the guys sleep on the floor. “You got us into this,” she scolded Pete; “you can deal with it.”

The college students had yielded. Bob had scrounged a couple of sleeping bags and some extra pillows from somewhere, and he and Pete had used them. It wasn’t the happiest arrangement imaginable, but they managed. It was only supposed to be for a little while, after all.

The foursome stuck together as much as possible. Pete and Bob still had studying to do and exams to take, but when they were free, they showed the dancers around. Several nights they went out on the town.

On one such outing, they got drunk and Bobbi confided, “Y’know, Bob, I like ya.” Her head wobbled up and down in a boozy nod. “I rilly do, y’know?”

“’N’ I like you,” an almost equally smashed Bob Johnson answered. “I wish we could, y’know, shtay . . . stay t’gether.”

“Awww,” Renee said. “Thass cute.” Ruffling Pete’s hair, she asked, “Don’t’cha think thass cute, Petey?”

“Yeah,” mumbled her escort. “’S cute. ‘S too bad you’re goin’ away after gra, graj,” he struggled with the word, “grad-u-a-tion.”

“Maybe you should hyp, hyppa . . . hyp-ma-tize us inta shtayin’,” Renee giggled. “Thass right baby, hyp-ma-tize me! Hyp-ma-tize me an’ I’m yours forever!”

Pete was smashed enough to think that was a good idea. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view—he was too sloshed to actually do it. Eventually the foursome lurched back to the dorm room they shared and passed out. None of them remembered much about the previous evening when they finally, painfully woke up—but one of the few things Pete did recall was Renee’s drunken suggestion.

In the cold light of a hung-over morning, it looked a lot less appealing than it had when viewed through an alcoholic haze. Still . . .

No, Pete told himself sternly. Hypnosis had caused enough trouble for him. And besides, if Renee stayed, he wanted it to be because she wanted to, not because her only possible answer to anything he wanted was “Yes, master.” He pushed the notion firmly into the back of his mind.

The night after the last finals, they went out again. Again, they were drunk out of their minds when the cab they’d managed to flag down by the highly effective means of Renee flashing her tits at the driver deposited them at the dormitory’s front door. This time, though, they didn’t go right to sleep.

“I feel like shell,” Bobbi announced, “ebratin’ s’more.” She giggled and batted her eyes at Bob. “Whattaya say, honey?” Her meaning was unmistakable.

“Hey,” slurred Pete. “What about me? You want me to jus’ sh—sleep inna hall?”

Renee laughed and chucked him under the chin. “Don’chu worry ‘bout that, cowboy,” she got out. “You ‘n’ me, we’ll have us . . .” she shook her head, the thread of her thinking momentarily tangled, “party of our own.”

The girls looked at each other, laughed together and nodded. Then, belting out a raucous song they knew from their performances at the club, they peeled tantalizingly out of their clothes, working in tandem as they so often did onstage.

When they were down to the high-heeled pumps both had worn for their night out, Bobbi undulated over to the gaping Bob and twined herself around him, while Renee slithered up to Pete, trapped his hips between her muscular thighs and forced his head down until his face was nestled deep in her cleavage. What little thought the drink-sodden youths had still been capable of stopped as their dates guided them gently to the floor.

It was well past nine in the morning before any of them woke up. Bob was first, and as soon as he opened his eyes, he wished he hadn’t.

A miserable hour later, he finally felt steady and clean enough to leave the bathroom, to which he had barely managed to run. The others were all awake by then; none of them were in much better shape than he was.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” croaked Renee. She looked quite pale.

“I think we all are,” moaned Pete. “Another couple of nights like last night and we won’t have to worry about some loony doing us in, because we’ll have killed ourselves.”

That reminder that there was someone out there who might really be out to get them was a splash of ice water. Since the episode with the police, they had put their awareness of the danger they were in on the back burner. Nothing had happened to any of them—but that didn’t mean the danger was gone.

Something else was different, though. An observer could have seen it in the way Pete and Renee were beginning to look at each other, and in the way Bob and Bobbi interacted. The previous night’s sexual pairings, booze-propelled or not, were another sign: they were the first time the dancers had had sex with the boys while not in trance, and even now, the morning after, the girls showed no sign of regret.

By lunchtime, all of them were more or less recovered enough to eat. Showered and dressed at last, they made their way over to the cafeteria, unaware that they were being watched.

The lean, brooding figure in the shadows whose pale eyes followed the four as they crossed the quad on their way to eat was fuming.

He had arrived days earlier and had waited with mounting frustration as the Jezebels and their companions went about their business on campus, and occasionally elsewhere. He needed to get them alone, or at least corner the two women somewhere apart from their escorts. But they never separated! Either they went about in a group, as they were doing now, or they traveled in pairs, male and female. Evidently the dancing whores had sunk their claws deeply into these two young men.

That was unfortunate. If the youths were too deeply tainted by sin, perhaps they would also have to be disposed of. He would have to let the Lord guide him in this matter: if the males could be detached from those two sinful witches long enough for him to do what he must, perhaps they could be spared. If not . . . !

He recognized that his thinking had changed in these matters. Originally he had pursued the two blondes because they had seen him kill the Oriental slut, the race defiler, and might identify him to the authorities. As time had passed, though, he had realized that these girls were little better than the one they’d seen him kill. Sinful. Salomes. Succubi. They deserved what he would do to them!

But first he had to catch them. He had faith that an opportunity would present itself. After all, he was doing God’s work, wasn’t he? Surely the Lord would provide.

Unaware of their sinister stalker, the college boys and the dancers ate. They couldn’t help be aware that they were drawing attention: after all, Bobbi and Renee were pretty spectacular, even dressed in ordinary clothes, and word of their dancing at Gamma Pi Alpha House had spread throughout the campus. But it seemed silly to hide out all the time in a single room.

Time passed. Final grades were posted. Pete and Bob both did well, as they’d hoped, although Pete had to admit Dean Fredericks had been right that his marks wouldn’t have bowled over graduate school admissions people. Fortunately he had insurance in that department, thanks to Bobbi.

They had still seen nothing of the killer, nor had they heard anything about him. He seemed to have dropped out of the news altogether, overshadowed by the latest celebrity scandal. The girls were starting to wonder if he’d fled the country or something.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” noted Bob one evening after dinner. “Commencement.”

He regarded the two girls cautiously. “I can fix it so you can sit with us during the ceremony—there’re always extra caps and gowns, in case something happens to any of the ones ordered for the graduating class.”

“What about afterward?” asked Renee. “That bald-headed wacko is still out there somewhere; the cops haven’t found him yet. Maybe we should turn ourselves in after all.” She sighed.

“That’s up to you, of course,” Pete said. “I can certainly understand how you might feel that way, after all that’s happened. Just—think about it first, that’s all I ask.”

Renee nodded. “Fair enough.”

They went out that night for a late dinner, arriving at the restaurant about eight-thirty. This time, they didn’t drink the way they had before; shuddering memories of the morning after the last time combined with the desire to be in good shape for tomorrow’s ceremony held them back. They came home, spent a quiet evening watching TV and went to sleep.

The next morning dawned clear and warm, promising a perfect late spring day. It was already after seven when Bobbi woke up, so she didn’t need the earplugs. When everyone was up, they dressed, went to breakfast, and then came back to the room and put their graduation garb on over their regular clothes. As he’d promised, Bob provided caps and gowns for Renee and Bobbi as well. “College camouflage,” he called the outfits, grinning

Bobbi’s was just a little too big. “Sorry about that,” Bob apologized. “I had to take what I could get from among the extras.”

Bobbi laughed. “It’s fine,” she reassured the college boy. “It’s not as if I actually have to go up on stage in it.”

The ceremony began at eleven with the processional, everyone filing down to take seats in the forest of metal chairs set up in front of the presentation stage to the strains of the traditional music. The band was polished, but looked ever so slightly bored as it played.

By unspoken agreement, Bob, Renee, Pete and Bobbi sat down together near the back. The girls might be dressed like everyone else, but it struck everyone as a bad idea to sit where the presenters, including Dean Fredericks, could see them. They’d made themselves too conspicuous already.

Several speakers droned through prepared remarks. The boys and their disguised dates found it difficult to stay awake. They weren’t the only ones. Their attention wandered. . . .

Hidden among the crowd, a pale-eyed, overcoated man burned. He had tried again and again to get at his blonde targets, but they had never been alone, never been exposed. And now this class of students, including their protectors—the bald man had finally learned who they were, and that they were seniors—would graduate, and leave, and doubtless the dancers would leave as well. If they did, they might be able to disappear for good this time. Or they might finally decide to go to the police with his description; if they did that, killing them would be pointless except as revenge.

Not that revenge would be a bad idea. The bald man gritted his teeth. Those two blonde sluts had escaped him, defied him—defied the Lord’s will—for too long. Finally eliminating them would be rewarding all by itself. Thinking of it, he felt himself grow excited, just as he had when he’d taken care of their yellow friend—what had she called herself? Cherry, that was it.

But he had to wait. Wait until after the commencement ceremony, he promised himself. All he had to do was follow them and their escorts back to the dormitory quarters where they were sinfully cohabiting. It no longer mattered whether they were together or not; he had finally resigned himself to using a gun rather than the ritual purity of a knife. God, he felt sure, would understand.

Bob was jolted out of a light doze by an elbow in the ribs.

“They’re starting!” hissed Bobbi.

And so they were. The first students were already walking down the aisle to claim their diplomas. The class was being called in alphabetical order, so Bob and Pete were somewhere in the middle. It would be a while before their names were called. Just the same, he was grateful to his blonde companion for waking him. It wouldn’t be right to snooze through his classmates’ moments of triumph.

He watched dutifully as, one by one, the senior class heard their names called and filed down to pick up the ribbon-tied scrolls which certified that they had survived four years of college. Eventually his own name was spoken, and he left his seat.

When he came back, he noticed that Pete had a funny look on his face. That observation was driven from his mind as soon as he sat down, however, by Renee, who unexpectedly leaned into him, took his face in her hands to turn it toward her, and kissed him, full on the mouth. Several guys in nearby seats let out appreciative whistles.

Soon afterward, Pete’s name was called. Smiling, he went up to collect his sheepskin. Now that his future was assured, thanks to Bobbi and Dean Fredericks, this was a happy occasion.

He returned to his seat, getting another kiss from Renee. “Congratulations, honey,” the dancer purred.

The presentations continued, Finally the last senior, a tall brunette, left the stage, scroll in hand. Dean Fredericks clutched the microphone and gave another speech, mercifully short. When he finished, the band launched into the recessional and people began to leave, getting up by rows as they had been coached beforehand and filing up the aisles.

At last, the bald man gloated to himself. At last the graduation ceremony was over. His targets would be returning to the dorm. He’d give them time to reach their room and get nicely relaxed. Vulnerable. Then he would finally—finally!—finish what he’d begun with the Oriental bitch.

A wicked grin on his face, Pete reached for something inside his robe. When he pulled his hand out, his small player-recorder was in it. He thumbed the tiny play button.

What came out wasn’t music.

Bong . . . . bong . . . bong. . . . The familiar clanging of the Anderson clock tower’s massive bell filled the air, surprisingly loud for a sound coming from so small a source.

“No!” Bob grabbed for his friend’s techno-toy, hoping to shut it off before it was too late. Bong . . . bong . . . bong, the recording continued. Bong.

Bobbi froze. Her eyes went wide and dreamy, losing focus as her mind floated away into a world of its own.

“You bastard!“ Renee snarled. “You set this up!” Her hand came up, slapping meatily against Pete’s face.

And it was true. Try as he might, the idea Renee had inadvertently planted in his mind refused to stay buried. At last he’d been unable to resist the temptation. A few evenings ago, he’d sneaked out briefly with the recorder and captured the sound of the Anderson bell striking seven. No one had suspected anything; he hadn’t been gone long enough for them to guess anything was up.

Renee was furious. “We trusted you, goddammit! We trusted you, and stayed with you, even slept with you, and you do this?”

Things were heading south fast. There was only a small window of opportunity for the crucial second move. This had better work, prayed Pete.

“Bobbi,” he asked, “do you know where you are?”

“Sure,” the blonde murmured. “I’m at . . . grad-u-a-tion.”

“No,” Pete told her. “You’re at the Palace, Bobbi. You’re just about to dance at the Palace, just like Salome.” He gestured toward the presentation platform. “See? There’s the stage!”

What?“ Renee squalled. “You can’t do that!” But Bobbi, oblivious to her friend’s outrage, had begun moving eagerly toward the platform. In her mind, she was now about the step onto the brightly-lit stage of the Palace Theater, just as she had longed to do ever since she’d started dancing.

The other girl moved too, trying to stop Bobbi. Before she could do so, however, Pete spoke again. “Renee, Bobbi’s about to dance. She’s about to dance at the Palace.”

The angry blonde faltered. “At the . . . Palace?” Her furious expression faded and a confused look came into her eyes.

“That’s right,” Pete agreed. “She’s about to dance at the Palace. Can’t you see her heading for the stage?”

“Y-yes,” Renee whispered softly. “I see Bobbi . . . heading for the stage.” Her face softened further, lips pursing.

“She’s going to dance, just like Salome,” Pete went on. It was working! Just as he’d hoped, Renee had responded to the suggestion that Bobbi was about to dance at the Palace by slipping into a trance herself, just as she’d done at the Gamma house and, before that, back at the very beginning when he’d hypnotized her by accident while trying to snap Bobbi out of it. He pressed his advantage. “And when Bobbi dances, you’re her partner, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Renee meekly. “Bobbi’s part-ner.” Her eyes moved from side to side, helplessly following an imaginary pocket watch as it swung back and forth, back and forth.

“Then you’d better hurry up,” Pete went on. “She’s almost onstage already. You don’t want her to start without you, do you?”

“No,” mumbled the blonde. “Mustn’t let Bobbi start with-out me. We’re . . . part-ners.” Eyes wide now, wide and blank, she hurried down the aisle after her friend.

Pete smirked. He’d taken care of that, all right.

He turned, and ran face-first into a punch. Caught off guard, he stumbled back and fell over a chair, landing hard on his back amid the seats.

“God damn you!” Bob snarled. “You had no right!” He advanced on the other youth, fist raised for another blow.

“H-hey, wait! Bob! C’mon!” Sprawled on the ground between the rows of folding chairs, Pete was at a serious disadvantage: he couldn’t get away, and he couldn’t really fight back. “What’s your problem?”

“What kind of asshole are you?” yelled Bob. “What’s my fucking problem? Just look!”

Bobbi was up on the presentation platform now. Grabbing the microphone, she cried out gaily, ”Hit it, boys!” She reached up and tossed her tasseled graduation cap into the air.

The band got the idea. Several of the musicians had seen Bobbi and Renee at the Gamma House party. The music changed as they abandoned the slow, solemn graduation recessional for a brassy, thumping beat.

Laughing, Bobbi pranced across the stage, lifting the hem of her graduation gown steadily higher. At last she wriggled out of it, pulling it off over her head, and flung it aside.

By then, Renee had reached the stage as well. Bumping and grinding energetically to the music, she tossed away her cap and writhed out of her gown just as Bobbi had, then started in on her street clothes.

Not all of the students and spectators had left yet. Those remaining crowded toward the stage, the males among them cheering, whistling and clapping. A chant began: “Go, girls, go! Go, girls, go! Take it off, take it off, take it all off! Go!”

And, deep in trance, Bobbi and Renee did. They weren’t wearing their show costumes, but that didn’t matter; the two blondes made stripping out of ordinary clothing a thoroughly dick-stiffening experience for the watching men. And when they’d gotten down to their underwear, Renee’s clothing purchases showed the influence of her profession: both were wearing tiny black lace panties and bras beneath their outer garments.

Pete got to his feet and moaned, “Jeez, Bob, did you have to let her buy that stuff? I thought you took her to get regular clothes!” The punch his friend had thrown minutes earlier was forgotten. “Which head were you thinking with, anyway?”

Bob turned red. “I wasn’t going to stand over her every second while she bought women’s underwear! People’d have thought I was some kind of weirdo—and besides, I thought she had more sense than this! I didn’t know she was going to—!”

“You didn’t even notice when you were paying for the stuff?”

Bob looked away. “Er,” he said, “I, um, let Renee pay.” His face turned even redder. “It was her idea. She said it’d raise questions if I paid, so I gave her my credit card and waited for her at the store entrance.”

Pete shook his head. “Boy, you are something. She’s the one who got hypnotized, but the way you let her lead you around, anyone’d think she’d put you under!”

Bob had nothing to say to that. It rung too true. He’d never had a girlfriend anywhere close to as sexy as Renee, or Bobbi either—or as experienced, wither. He had let her manipulate him!

As for Pete, he guiltily wondered whether he’d have been so upset if it had been Bobbi who’d made that shopping trip with his friend. Was he so angry because it had been Renee—his Renee, as he found himself thinking of her?

All at once a voice commanded sharply, “Stop! Stop this at once!” Heads turned toward the speaker automatically: it was Richard Wiederman, the university’s president. “Stop this, I say!”

The white-haired old man forced his way through the crowd in front of the presentation stand which had become the Palace Theater stage in the blonde dancers’ minds. Mounting the platform, he advanced on the band. Intimidated, the musicians stopped playing.

Bobbi and Renee slowed, stopped, and bowed to their audience. Amid thunderous applause, they slipped into their graduation gowns and bowed, caps in hands. Then they swept up the rest of their clothes and, without bothering to put them on, left the stage. Their admirers made way for them, parting like the Red Sea in Exodus before closing ranks again to block the red-faced President Wiederman. Pete and Bob caught up to the hypnotized honeys as they emerged from the crowd and gently guided them away, narrowly evading the campus cops Wiederman had finally managed to summon. The uniformed security officers’ efforts at questioning the spectators kept anyone from following them.

Almost anyone, that is.

Back at the dorm, Bob berated Pete again. “Jesus, look what you’ve done!” he yelled, waving at the befuddled blondes who stood at attention, blank eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Wasn’t it enough you hypnotized them in the first place and can’t figure out how to undo their programming? Did you have to make them do—that—right at our graduation?” He groaned. “They’ll probably revoke our diplomas; the only question is whether they’ll do it before or after they call the cops!”

“All right!” Pete shouted back. “All right! I was stupid! I admit it!” In a lower voice, he went on, “I just . . . I didn’t want to take the chance that Renee—that they’d leave, and I—we’d never see them again.” He looked down. Miserably, he explained how he’d schemed to use the bell sound to trigger Bobbi in order to take advantage of Renee’s own programming.

Bob stared at his friend. “You really love her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Pete admitted. “Yeah, I guess I do.” He gave a sickly grin. “My family’d freak out, considering what she does for a living, but—yeah.” He sighed. “I sure didn’t see that coming.”

Bob laughed shakily. “Welcome to the club, pal.” He looked over at Renee. “I didn’t either.”

“What?” Pete’s jaw dropped. “You mean you and Bobbi—?”

“Uh-huh.” Bob nodded. “I’ve known for a while now. I just couldn’t figure out how to tell her—and I didn’t know what I’d do if it turned out she didn’t feel the same way.”

“We-ellll,” his friend drawled, “there are ways of making sure. . . .”

“Don’t you dare,” Bob warned. “I want Bobbi to want me for real, not because she’s been programmed into it.”

“All right, all right,” Pete acquiesced. “I wasn’t really serious anyway. I want Renee to want me for real, too.” He carefully did not add out loud, But I’ll take what I can get. The young hypnotist wanted his gorgeous girlfriend one way or another, and if he had to keep her hypnotized to do it, he’d do it. What Bob didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. If he didn’t feel right about doing the same to Bobbi, that was his lookout.

Suddenly there came a scraping sound from the window.

The boys whirled to see the window screen being forced up from the outside. It had been jimmied somehow to release the catch. As they watched, it slid up and a tall stranger in a coat far too heavy for the weather climbed through.

“Hey!” Bob stepped toward the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”

“I wouldn’t,” cautioned the other as he reached into his coat. A moment later, he had pulled out a gun.

Pete started for the door.

“Don’t even think about it,” the stranger warned him. “You’d never make it, and your friend here wouldn’t, either.”

“If this is a robbery, pal, you’re wasting your time,” observed Pete.

Cold eyes fastened on him in a reptilian stare. “Don’t play stupid with me, boy.” He jerked his chin toward the stupefied strippers standing oblivious to his presence. “You know what I want.”

Bob got it first. “You’re him,” he realized. “The guy they were afraid of, the one who killed that other dancer, what’s-her-name.”

“Cherry Tang,” the invader reminded him. “That’s right. These two saw me kill that slut, so they have to die too. Small loss; they’re no better than she was.” He paused a moment before adding thoughtfully, “I’m afraid I can’t let you and your friend live either, now that you’ve seen me.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” muttered Pete.

The intruder gestured with his weapon. “All right, everybody move together now. In the center of the room, that’s right.”

The youths moved to obey, linking arms with the still-entranced dancers to bring them along as they had done when leaving the commencement ground. Suddenly, Bobbi tripped over the hem of the slightly oversized graduation gown she was wearing. She stumbled and would have fallen if not for Pete’s support. Startled, the bald man swung toward her as Pete reached out to keep her from falling.

Bob lunged forward, shouting “Now!” He ran full tilt into the gunman, knocking him off balance. “Get him!”

The gun went off, the bullet plowing into the wall by the hall door. The bald man fell, dropping his weapon, and Bob jumped on top of him. Pete joined in, pinning the lunatic under him and yelling, “Call security! My cell phone’s over there”—he jerked his head toward his desk—“the number’s 6-6-1-1. Hurry up!”

Bob got up, ran to the desk, found the phone and dialed frantically. When the call went through, he yelled, “Help! There’s a guy with a gun in here!” A moment later, prodded by the officer on the other end, he gave the building and room number. He went on breathlessly, “My friend Pete’s got him pinned down, but we need help! He’s crazy!” As soon as he heard that a car was on the way, he went back and grabbed hold of the struggling stranger.

The security dispatcher didn’t waste time. It was under three minutes later that two blue-uniformed men raced into the dormitory. As soon as they entered the dorm room where Pete and Bob were holding their captive, they took charge of him. They led the red-faced, wild-eyed stranger away to their waiting vehicle, stowing him in the wire-screened back seat. Then they came back to question the college boys and the blondes.

“That’s gotta be the screwiest story I ever heard,” one of the campus cops said at last, scratching his head. “If we hadn’t had to wrestle that wack job into the car the way we did, I’d say these boys were jerking us around.”

“Plus there’s the girls,” his partner added. He nodded toward Bobbi and Renee, who were still standing in the middle of the floor, nodding and smiling. They had responded to the officers’ questions only after being commanded to do so by Pete, and had recited their answers in dreamy, halting voices. “They sure seem hypnotized.”

The first cop nodded. Addressing Pete, he said, “We’ll want to question these broads when they come out of it—which, from what you say, should be by tomorrow. If they tell the same story then, well, I suppose you could have fixed it, but I guess we’ll just have to take it as given.” He scowled. “If I was you, I’d hope like hell they don’t press charges.”

“Yes, sir,” Pete answered meekly. He gulped. Renee had said she didn’t want to make trouble for them, yeah, but that was before the guy chasing them had been caught. They didn’t have to be afraid of either him or the cops now. And it was also before he’d pushed things with that recording. If the girls were pissed enough, who knew what they might do?

“Can we go now?” Bob asked. He and Pete both heaved sighs of relief when the officers agreed.

The rest of the day passed quietly enough. Back at the dorm, Pete and Bob busied themselves with packing. Now that graduation was over with, it was time to clear out. The girls, of course, lost in their own private worlds, kept quiet. Bob went out briefly to bring back sandwiches, and when dinnertime rolled around, he and Pete got the blondes reclothed and took them out to the cafeteria, where the two young men and the pair of vacuously-smiling, glassy-eyed glamor girls with them attracted a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles as they ate.

That evening, they went to bed early. After dealing with a go-go graduation, a mad killer and the authorities, the guys were too tired for anything else.

The next morning, when they woke, Bobbi and Renee were themselves again, just as expected. And they were not happy. They knew something had happened, even if they couldn’t remember the details. Fuming, they pressed Pete and Bob for an explanation. Finally, the boys confessed, spilling everything about the previous day.

“That was a dirty trick,” simmered Renee when they finished. She looked reproachfully at Pete, who wilted under her gaze. “I thought I—we could trust you.”

Eyes downcast, the young man muttered, “I’m sorry. I already said I was stupid to do that—but I just didn’t want to lose you.” Ducking his head sideways toward Bobbi, he added, “Just so you know, Bob wasn’t in on it.” He touched the side of his face, visibly bruised now from where his friend had hit him. “He wasn’t any happier about it than you are.”

Bobbi looked at him, then at Bob. Her face softened, and she moved over to take Bob’s arm. Bob smiled.

Renee kept on looking at Pete. “You’re not so bad,” she finally admitted. “But if you ever do that again, buster, you’re done.”

“You mean . . . ?”

Renee nodded. “You get another chance, Petey. Don’t screw it up.”

“You’ve got my word,” Pete said. Digging among his stuff until he found the CD player, he ejected the tiny platter inside. Carefully, ceremoniously, he put it on the floor. There was a satisfying crunch as a heavy shoe came down on it.

Their police interview later that morning was an anticlimax. The campus security officers who had met them the previous day took them down to the local precinct, where what Pete, Bob, and the girls all thought of as the “real” police interrogated them with the college cops watching. Once it was clear they had told the same story as before, they were released.

That wasn’t quite the end of it, of course. As the foursome left the precinct house they found themselves mobbed by reporters. Their involvement in apprehending a notorious murderer had turned them into minor celebrities. The hypnotism angle, of course, would have made the story even more sensational—but the quartet had agreed to keep that out of the official version, and the police had been willing to play along.

They returned to the dorm to finish packing. Later that day, Bobbi and Renee boarded a bus for the city. They had their own lives and careers to get back to.

Pete and Bob went with them. With the school year over and graduation behind them, they could afford to take a day or so before going home for the summer.

It was a long trip. Presently, Bob nodded off in his seat next to Bobbi.

A low murmur from across the aisle woke him.

“Watch the watch,” Pete was saying. “Just relax, and let your eyes follow the watch, Renee, relax and follow the watch. Everything is fine, follow the watch, listen to my voice and follow the watch, obey my voice as you follow the watch. . . .” As he spoke, he swung a very familiar pocket watch.

Renee, seated next to him, droned back, “Relax . . . follow the watch . . . listen . . . follow the watch . . . obey. . . .” Her eyes were wide and empty as they followed the swinging watch.

And Bobbi, seated next to Bob, repeated, “Relax . . . follow the watch . . . . listen . . . follow the watch . . . obey. . . .” Her eyes, too, swung back and forth helplessly.

“Pete, you prick,“ moaned Bob. “I thought you were done with this hypnosis stuff. You promised!”

“Sorry,” Pete answered. “I just can’t take the chance that she’ll dump me.”

Some people never learn. . . .

END.