The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Walking through Fire...

I was still in a fog as we showered together in the morning. I was feeling better, though, and starving again. We had a big breakfast, and headed back to the airport.

The flight home was rather dull. I’d never been to the private terminal at the Seattle airport. I’d wondered how we were going to get home, but we were met by the thin gal. Our host remained on the plane. He shook my hand before we got off, apologizing once more.

As we walked to the terminal, Christie holding on to me and carrying her small bag, Janice walked out to meet us. She hugged me gently.

“No bags this time,” I told her. She managed a smile.

It took me a moment to recognize my own car.

Janice nodded, seeing me looking around—I seldom ride in the passenger seat. “We changed the locks on your car as well. While we were at it, we had it serviced and cleaned.”

Driving back to the house, we talked about the deal some more. The two rats were most likely in Europe, probably Spain or Portugal. More rats had been flushed out. They still didn’t understand a lot of things. Christie was concerned about how I was doing. I told her I was tired, hungry, and sore.

Janice had left her car at the house. Christie helped me into the house, depositing me on the couch. Janice brought in Christie’s small bag, and another one, saying, “We got this one a few hours ago.”

Christie thanked her. Janice gave me a soft hug, whispering, “Thank you,” before leaving.

I hauled myself into the kitchen. I grabbed a can of Pepsi from the refrigerator. “Any problem with having a Pepsi?” I called out.

Christie came into the room, putting an arm around me. “No—I’ll have one as well.”

She peered into the refrigerator. “Typical bachelor,” she muttered.

“How about chicken noodle soup?” I asked, “That I’ve got.”

She nodded, turning more to face me. We hugged, gently. “That will do fine. We can do some shopping later.”

After taking a sharp breath reaching up for the can of soup, I had her get the saucepan from the lower cupboard. I started it heating on the stove while she got out two bowls.

“Thought about what you’re going to tell people?” she asked.

I sighed, smiling a little. “Don’t know about school, but this time I’ll be straight at the dojo.”

“This time?” she asked with an inquisitive look.

We were standing around the island in the kitchen with the cook top. “See the towel rack at the end there?”

She nodded, looking down at it.

“Wrought iron, made by a student’s dad. You could stand on it. Notice one side is a little lower?”

She looked a little closer, then nodded.

I shook my head. “When was it? Almost three years ago? I was practicing at a Shotokan studio in town, that’s a Karate style. Had this habit of closing cupboard doors, especially upper ones, with my feet. Did that one night, wearing socks, standing about where you are. Slipped and fell. Normally, with my years of training, that wouldn’t be a problem—I’d break my fall, as I’ve done thousands of times before—reflex.”

She nodded, “Except...”

I smiled as I stirred our soup. “Yup—except that I clipped my thick skull on the towel rack as I went down. When I could stand up again, there was blood all over the place—wrapped a dish towel around my head and made it down to the ER. Four stitches and a concussion. Yet I taught at school, and the dojo, the next day. Never admitted to a thing.”

She shook her head slowly, smiling.

“I know,” I admitted, “male ego. This time I’m going to tell ‘em I was jumped and beaten like a cheap drum. I know it will shake the self-confidence of some of those kids, but...”

“Their beloved Sensei is human, and has weaknesses?” she asked.

“Oh yeah—we all are.”

We moved our soup to the dining room and ate pretty much in silence. After the first minute or two though, we held hands.

Rinsing the bowls and the pan in the kitchen later on, I stopped, looking at my right hand.

“What is it?” Christie asked.

I sighed. “So weird— my right hand again. My fingers are swollen, I can feel it.”

She held my hand, prodding and squeezing. “Edema isn’t unusual. Something else for us to watch. Notice anything else?”

I shook my head. She got a glass down from the cupboard and filled it with water.

“I’m stiff and sore, I mean besides my ribs and face.” I swung a heel up to the counter, hooking it into the sink. I squared my hips, moving them parallel to the counter and level with each other, then bent forward from my hips, keeping my back straight.

She put a hand on my back. “I should be so stiff! I’m going to watch the fog roll in.”

I leaned forward a bit more. Her hand felt good on my back. Hell, her hands feel good whenever she touches me. Leaning forward, I had to chuckle a bit—if I cheated and let my back bend, I really felt it in my ribs. Keeping a straight back, hips level, emphasized my hamstrings.

I’d just switched sides when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” I hollered, putting my foot back down and grabbing the phone on the kitchen wall. “Hello?”

My head felt wooly and buzzing as I hung up the phone. I knew what I needed to do—I opened the knife drawer and took out a six inch paring knife. I shook my head—no, that won’t do—still screwing up—can’t you do anything right? I took out the long serrated bread knife. It was the sharpest thing I had. It would go through the skin, severing muscles, blood vessels, nerves and tendons with ease. Take care of Christie, one quick stroke, then myself, putting an end to things.

I was still a little dizzy, my head buzzing as I stepped around the island in the middle of the kitchen. I looked at Christie—she’d collapsed back in the chair. The glass she’d been holding was broken on the floor in a puddle of water. Somehow I knew she was in a deep trance; I raised the knife.

And as I did, a spike of pain shot through my ribs. As I looked at her slumped in the chair, light glinted off the knife edge.

What the hell was I doing? I got really dizzy. I dropped the knife, collapsing down to my knees, grabbing the towel bar, closing my eyes and hanging on.

“Christie! Christie! Wake up! Please! Wake up!” I cried. I tried to shut my eyes even more, to keep out the visions. “Christie! Help me, please!” I cried out.

I knew I could still kill her bare-handed.

I gripped the towel bar tighter, holding on. “Christie!” I hollered again.

“Wha... Oh shit, I dropped the glass. Roger! What’s the matter?”

“Stay back—that phone call—it was Denise—I’m supposed to kill you, then kill myself.”

“What phone call? Roger, you’re hallucinating.”

My head was buzzing, and I had that metallic taste in my mouth again—that was it.

“No, it’s real—Denise did it. Don’t come too close—I don’t know if I can control myself.”

I heard her coming into the kitchen. “Roger, this is most likely a drug reaction...”

“No!” I took a breath. I spoke clearly, speaking the phrase I knew would send her back into a deep trance. “Christie, remember—remember back in Boulder, making love on the bed. I was on top of you, and Denise was holding your head, controlling both of us. She was holding your head, speaking to you. Remember it, Christie—remember the metallic taste in your mouth, remember what she did to us. Remember it, Christie—remember, wake up and remember...” I hung on to the towel bar as the world kept spinning.

I heard her throwing up into the sink.

“God, you’re right. She fucked with both of us!” More retching. “All the time she spent with you, and then ‘helping’ me...” One more round in the sink.

I was crying, still holding on, not daring to let go or open my eyes. “Help me,” I said, not very loud.

Water running—sounds of her rinsing her mouth. “Dammit. Roger—how are you doing—what can I do?”

“I don’t know. I’m still afraid—afraid if I let go, I’ll attack you. I don’t want to... God, Christie—I came so close...”

“Hold on—I know what to do.”

I held on. One breath at a time—focus on the breath, try and relax, one breath at a time.

“Roger,”

Her voice startled me. My grip tightened.

“Roger, you’re not going to hurt me, and I’m not going to hurt you. Can you move your left foot out for me a bit, turn your toes out?”

I did as she asked.

“Now I’m going to touch you. You’re safe, and so am I—I know you won’t hurt me.”

I focused on my breath. She touched my calf. I flinched a bit, but that was all.

“Good, Roger—I know you’re scared, and it’s hard for you to think clearly, but I’m going to talk to your body now. Your body remembers... As I touch your leg, your leg is going to relax and go into a soft, peaceful, relaxing trance for me...”

She touched my leg, sliding her fingers down my calf. I sighed as I felt my leg relax.

“Good—see Roger, your body remembers. As I touch your leg again, it’s going to go deeper into that relaxing trance. Relaxing, relaxing, the relaxation spreading higher, up your leg to your hip. That’s good, Roger. Now I’m going to slip off your sock.”

I focused on my breath, feeling her hands on me. “It... It’s helping, but I’m still getting flashes—on how to attack you... I can feel myself striking you...”

“That’s okay, Roger—your body remembers, that’s what’s important. Now I’m going to touch your other leg, and send it into a deep, relaxing trance, so relaxed, so peaceful, so soft...”

“It’s working,” I told her, “I want it to work; I need it to work.”

Her hands touched me just above my knees. “That’s good, Roger—it’s working, because your body remembers. The relaxation is spreading slowly up your body as well, slowly but surely...”

I still had a death-grip on the towel bar, and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Now, Roger,” she said, her voice calm and soothing, “Your body is remembering something else. Your body is remembering the pins-and-needles feeling you got in your feet from sitting too long. As I touch your feet, you’ll feel pins-and-needles again. Tell me what you feel, Roger...”

Her hands touched my feet...

“Yes, I feel it—pins and needles. It’s helping clear my head.”

“Yes, the pins-and-needles feeling is helping you relax, and clearing your head—just as the relaxation slowly extends up your body...”

Another thought crossed my mind. “Don’t answer the phone, whatever you do—someone must be watching the place; they knew we were home. I don’t know what she put in your head.”

Her hands paused for a moment, then one moved to my waist. “I won’t, Roger—not until I’m sure we’re both safe. Now I want your body to remember what happens when I touch the back of your neck. Your body knows...”

My eyes were filling with tears. “Please...”

“It’s okay, Roger—you didn’t hurt me, and you haven’t hurt yourself. I’m going to touch the back of your neck—and your body will remember. Your body will remember relaxing and filling with warmth, relaxing into trance for me. As I touch your neck, you’ll be able to relax more and more...”

Her touch was electric, as it often was. I gripped the bar tighter, resisting the urge to strike out.

But she continued stroking the back of my neck. “Your body remembers, Roger—listen to your body as the warmth and relaxation fills you...”

After a few moments... “I feel it...” I let my head go back, feeling the warmth spread.

“That’s good, Roger—listen to your body as you relax into a soothing, relaxing trance...”

“I can’t hold on any longer,” I whispered as I felt my arms and hands giving way.

“That’s all right, Roger—I’ll hold you, and protect you. Let go—let your body take you into trance, where I can help you.”

As my hands slipped off the rod, her arms went around me, lowering me to the floor.

“Good, Roger—now I’m going to hold your hand, and take you to where we will be safe...”

She took my hand, and we went deeper, down to a place where I knew I was safe.

But then she wanted me to watch a movie with her. At first I didn’t want to, but I knew that’s what I needed to do. I knew she was there with me.

But it was still very hard. We went back to Boulder, to the bedroom. Some times I was watching the movie, and some times I was back in it. That metallic taste in my mouth again—Denise talking to me. I didn’t want to listen—I wanted to cover my ears. Christie held me, and we listened together.

We listened to her three different times in Boulder, and then for a while in Chicago.

Listening was hard—I was tense, my heart pounding, covered with sweat.

Christie told me we needed to go back again—I didn’t want to. But we did.

I was in a small clearing, surrounded by hideous insects. I needed to catch them and put them into the fire in the middle of the clearing. I didn’t want to touch them until Christie gave me a glove to wear, a glove which would protect me. One by one, I picked them up and dropped them into the fire until they were all gone.

But were they? I told Christie I wasn’t sure they were all gone. We looked in other places, turning over rocks. It was hard work, but we found more—into the flames they went.

One I found was different—it was beautiful, curved and glistening like a gem stone, the color of Christie’s eyes. It didn’t have a stinger, or pincers, or a rapier-sharp proboscis, but I knew it was the most dangerous of all of them. I knew it had to go.

But as I moved to pick it up, all of a sudden it was around my wrist like a bracelet. It looked so pretty—but I knew.

Even though my hand was gloved, it burned my hand and my wrist as I pulled it off and threw it into the flames.

I looked around. Were they all gone? For now, yes. She asked me if I was now free of them. I laughed—of course not; there will be more.

But for now, I was safe. I could lay down before the fire and rest. On my back again, I could relax. I could let go. She was there holding my hand.

I opened my eyes, and I was on my back on the kitchen floor. Christie was sitting next to me, holding my hand. I could tell from the light in the room it was close to sundown.

“Did we make it?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

She nodded, sniffling. “Yes, we did.”

“Did you make it?” I asked her.

She let out a sobbing sigh. “I’m not sure.”

I moved to sitting up. I was shaking, wobbly. As I sat up, I saw a syringe with a long piece of tubing ending in a butterfly needle on the floor. I moved closer, putting my arms around her, holding her tight. It hurt, but I needed to hold her.

Her arms went around me and she sobbed.

“She can’t hurt us any more,” I told her as I held her.

We sat back some time later.

“I wish I was sure of that,” she whispered.

I held her hands. “You gave me strength. You saved me.”

She shook her head. “No—you saved us both. I helped clean up the mess.”

She looked as if she’d been through hell. And what did I look like?

“I need a shower.”

She nodded, now smiling a little. “Go ahead—I have some calls to make.

I didn’t let go of her. I shook my head slowly. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Thank you,” she whispered in return.

We helped each other to our feet. We picked up the broken glass, wiping up the remains of the water. We rinsed out the kitchen sink.

As we did I saw her jaw set, saw her shake her head occasionally.

I took her back to the couch, sitting down, holding her hands again.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“Oh Roger,” she sighed, “I missed so many clues! From the first time I came out here, they were in front of me! I didn’t spot them! Even in the last few days—part of me knew.”

I kissed her hands. “We don’t have time for blame right now. What do we need to do?”

“Let’s shower. I feel dirty,” she said, making a face.

We walked to the bathroom arm in arm. As Christie reached for the light switch, I pulled her hand back.

“No lights,” I told her.

She turned to me, frowning. “Why?”

I shook my head. “Just a hunch. I don’t want to do anything observable from the outside.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You really think we’re being watched?”

“Not sure, but someone knew to call, and when. Let’s play it out for a while.”

She shrugged. We showered together in the fading sunlight. The phone rang again as we were drying off.

In the bedroom, I got clean sweats for each of us. In the hallway, I checked my caller-ID box. “The last call was from the same local number as the mind-fuck one,” I told her.

She nodded ruefully. “What now?”

I looked around. The hallway wasn’t very comfortable. At one end was my bedroom and bathroom, then down the hall was the smaller bathroom, the bedroom I used as an office, and the door to the garage and laundry area.

“Let’s move back to the living room,” I suggested. She was a little surprised when I sat us down at the side of the couch next to the wall. She gave me a questioning look.

“We’re hidden from view from any of the windows,” I told her.

She frowned more. “You’re serious about this...”

I raised my eyebrows. “Humor me for a while. So tell me, Doctor, what the hell happened?”

She sighed and shook her head. “When? Months ago, or today?”

“Start where you like.”

She shook her head again and held my hands. “This is really bad... I need to call this in—we can’t trust anyone she’s been around for any length of time.”

“Did she screw with your head?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said softly. “You dropped me in my tracks, twice—and got me to remember part of what went on.” She shuddered, her eyes closing momentarily.

“It’s all right—we’re here, and we’ve made it through the worst—right?”

She managed a slight smile. “Yes, we have—thanks to you.”

I shook my head. “So close—what was the metallic taste all about?”

“That was a big clue—a side-effect of the drug she used on both of us, a dangerous and very powerful one. Combined with the hypnotic control she already had, it was easy...”

“You helped me dig things out—how about yourself?”

She shook her head again. “Now that I’m aware of what happened, I have control over what happens. So do you—you know that, too.”

“So we dug it out?”

She nodded. “Yes—you led the way for us in trance, and I followed straight up.”

It was my turn to shudder. Then I frowned and asked, “But why bugs?”

She smiled. “Don’t ask me—that was your doing, your metaphor.”

“God, that was ugly—and hard.”

She put a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, it was—but because of the work we did in the past, the connection we already had, we made it.”

“Because of the help you’ve given me, I could break free, for a moment.”

She nodded. I moved closer and we hugged on the floor.

“How long are we going to continue this charade?” she asked.

I sighed. “Until I feel comfortable?”

She moved over a bit, curling up by my side and putting her head in my lap. I put an arm on her.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I whispered. “I’ll protect you.”

She moved a bit, settling in.

I sat there, holding her. I’d been the one resting the last few days.

And what now? At one point I’d almost screamed out something else—but now I wasn’t sure. What part of my feelings about her came from Denise? Was that mutual? How much had we been manipulated? Shit—I was feeling like the guy in “A tall blond man with one brown shoe”—wrong place at the wrong time.

Still, someone had fucked up—we were both alive. We were alive and pissed off.

What happens next? The mind-fuck call had been local—that much I recognized from the phone number. We could trace it later. Was Denise local? Nah—didn’t think so—probably a recording. And someone had followed up with two more calls. Would they be curious enough to pay us a visit?

I certainly hoped so. If I was doing it though, I’d just sit back and read the newspapers for a few days, waiting for reports of the mess... A lot of the other things they’d done—nailing me in the elevator for example, had been very well planned and executed. Boulder—was that part of an overall plan, or opportunistic?

I zoned out for a while. Christie moved around, stretching out. Her legs were extending out into the room.

Another phone call—I sat still, counting rings. Twelve rings before they gave up.

That gave me a burst of adrenaline, which I really didn’t need right now. I pulled a comforter off the couch and put it over her. I zoned out again.

Something happened—I was wide awake and alert. I looked at my watch—almost 9. A sound—someone walking on gravel by the side of the house. I listened with all I had—one person, moving slowly around the side. Okay, should be getting to the porch about now...

The sound changed, a little creaking from the wood deck. Someone pointed a flashlight in through the big glass doors. I was hidden from view.

But Christie’s legs were visible. I smiled. How nice... The light played through the room, lingering on her legs. The light went away.

I moved silently, quickly. I pulled the comforter up so it was covering her head. Christie didn’t awaken. In the bedroom, I grabbed my jo, a short hardwood staff—it lived by the door. In the hallway, I saw the light shine in through the kitchen window. From that vantage point, the lower portion of Christie’s body was visible, but not the top.

Okay fucker, what next?

More gravel noises—around at the side of the house again. Another sound—the bastard was coming in through the side door! Whoever it was had a damn key!

Coming in that way, he’d see Christie’s legs, but not her head and chest until he was a few feet into the living room. And he’d see her legs first. I moved quickly, back to the kitchen, holding the staff at the ready.

I heard the lock on the door between the house and the garage, then the sound of the door opening—a brief flicker of the flashlight.

I focused on my breathing. I needed control now. Zanshin—focus and control.

“Wow... Hard to believe—still, after what she’s done to me... Too bad, honey—I bet she could have made you love me,” he said, stepping into the room.

That was enough for me. He had a flashlight in his left hand, and what looked to be a gun in his right. He was wearing blue plastic gloves.

I moved—my first blow struck the side of his head. Stepping closer, I cleared his hands as he started to fall. A tap in the chest headed him backwards, helped along by swinging the jo through his left leg. Training, not compassion, kept his head from hitting the wooden floor.

I reached into the junk drawer in the kitchen and got a handful of nylon cable ties. I flipped the bastard to his stomach with a foot and quickly secured his wrists together, and to his belt. I slipped another tie around his right ankle, pulling off his shoes. I emptied his pants pockets, then the pockets of his windbreaker. Bending his right leg up, I put two cable ties around his right thigh up as high as I could, and then used another tie to connect that to the one around his ankle. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Almost as an afterthought, I checked his pulse. He had one. Controlling the force of that first strike had been difficult.

“Christie,” I said, shaking her gently, pulling the comforter off her.

She rolled to her back, opened her eyes, and smiled.

“We’ve got a visitor,” I told her.

She bolted up to sitting, scooting back against the wall.

“He’s not going anywhere,” I told her. I reached back and turned on the hall light.

I flipped our visitor on his side.

“Holy shit—Janice’s so-called partner,” I said.

“Janice is clean,” Christie said.

“You sure of that?”

I’d dumped his pockets out on each side of him. Keys, pocket knife, wallet, and some pen-like things, two on each side. I picked them up.

“Careful—spring-loaded hypodermic injectors,” Christie said as she stood up.

I grunted. “Okay, I can understand 4HR, that’s four hours, but what does LD stand for?” The two on his right side were labeled 4HR, the two on his left LD.

“Lethal dose, I’d guess,” she said as she took them from me.

“Nice.” I picked up his gun from the couch—Glock .40 caliber, a round in the chamber. I put it on the kitchen counter.

“Get your phone and start making calls,” I suggested.

Instead she knelt down by our visitor. “Where did you hit him?”

“Head, chest—left side of the head, then across the sternum.”

“Flashlight?” she asked.

I handed it to her after she finished running her hands over his head. “Nothing wobbles...” She looked in his eyes. “Pupils responsive but unequal—concussion at least.”

“I’ll fucking apologize later,” I said.

She looked up to me. “I would have killed him. But he is more useful alive.”

She walked over to her purse and tossed me her phone. “You start calling—I’ll bring him around. Are those ties secure?”

“Oh yeah. What should I say? To whom?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Beats the hell out of me.”

I called my favorite 888 number. “Technical support; may I have your name and customer number please?” a female voice asked.

“Roger Hawthorne, number 151. I need to speak with Mister Hammond—this is an emergency.”

After a brief pause, “I’m trying to connect you, Doctor Hawthorne. Is Doctor Flynn with you?”

“Yes she is, and we’re both safe—for the moment.”

“Still trying to reach Mister Hammond... Thank you for everything you’ve done... I’ve reached the Director... Sir, Doctor Hawthorne; he says it’s an emergency...”

It sounded as if he was still in his private jet. I gave him the quick summary. He wanted to know why I was so sure Cavanaugh, Janice’s partner was bent. I repeated what he’d said when he came into the room—leaving off the last part, ‘I bet she could have made you love me’—the consequences of that were still too troubling for me.

With a sigh of disgust he agreed we’d found another rat—evidently they’d turned up some other questionable things on him in the last few hours. He also agreed Janice was clean. He’d call her and get her out to the house as soon as possible. I told him I’d be answering the door armed, and that we wouldn’t trust anyone who had been around Denise. He thought that was a good idea. He was headed back to Seattle to pick up the rat personally.

As I put down the phone I saw Christine waving something under the rat’s nose.

He took a breath, moving his head around, his eyes opening. He looked around, struggled briefly, then settled down again.

I picked up my jo again. “Hi Mike, thanks for stopping by. I’ve got some questions for you,” I said with a smile.

He looked around again, looking to Christine kneeling near him, then back to me.

But when he started talking, I felt dizzy for a moment. I threw off the command to go into a trance as he told us to release him. As he started to repeat the sequence, Christie slapped his face, hard, and I whacked him in the rocks with the jo.

“Those don’t work any more—you should have figured that out by now,” Christie said.

A look of panic shot through him. That made me feel better.

“Watch him for a moment,” Christie said as she got up.

I moved closer, then slammed the end of the jo down on the floor right beside his head. That shook him up even more. “Oh, I’d like to work you over...” I told him.

Christie returned with her bag, getting out another syringe, needle, and a vial.

But when Mike saw that, he actually relaxed...

Christie smiled. “We’re going to have a little chat...” She sat back and looked at him for a moment. Then she pushed him to his stomach. “Pull up his pants leg,” she asked me.

He flopped around until I put my foot on his thigh. He gave up quickly. I pulled up the pants leg, exposing his calf.

Christie dug in her bag and came up with what looked like a standard insulin syringe. She loaded it with the contents of the glass vial, then moved to his leg.

I moved as well, putting a foot on his ankle, and placing the end of the jo under his chin. “Hold still,” I told him.

She looked to me with a brief smile. Then she bent over him, took up a pinch of skin on the back of his calf, and poked him with the needle briefly.

She sat back. I gave her a questioning look. She smiled again. “We’ll know in a minute,” she told me.

After a bit, she shined the flashlight on the injection site. I blinked—the spot on his leg was red and blotchy, looking like he’d been stung by a wasp or something.

Christie sighed, then looked up to me again. “He’s been sensitized—if I’d gone ahead, anaphylactic shock would have killed him in less than a minute.”

She pushed him to his back. “But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? No easy-out for you... And I’ve got just the thing...”

She dug into her bag again, pulling out other glass vials. Panic filled his face again, and he started to flop around on the floor. I put a foot on his neck and pressed gently.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Christie said as she loaded up another syringe, “struggling will help move the drugs through his system faster.”

It looked like she was mixing a cocktail in the syringe, stuff from different places.

“Let’s get the butterfly placed—we’ll use the greater saphenous—his lower leg.”

As she started to move down, he thrashed even more. She looked to me and frowned.

“Give me a moment,” I said, putting down the jo. I knelt at his head, putting a foot on one of his shoulders. That gave me a flash of pain from my ribs, a reminder of where I’d been the last few days. I put one hand on his forehead, and the other across his throat. “Get ready,” I said. Some of the martial arts still teach choke holds; I teach them to my students. I held pressure on the carotid until he started to fade, then backed off. I watched him carefully, ready to reapply pressure if he acted up again.

“Got it,” she said. I stood, keeping my foot on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you sit by his foot,” Christie asked me.

I moved down to his extended foot. The butterfly needle was taped in place along the side of his calf. The thin tube to the syringe was full of blood. She drew up a little more, then sat down next to him on the floor.

“Now Mike, this works a little slower than what I normally use, but it’s far more powerful. You may even notice a funny taste in your mouth...”

His eyes flared wide at that.

With a smile she continued, “Once you’re at a reasonable depth, I’ll break the conditioning Denise put in. That won’t take very long at all, it’s actually very, very easy, as you’ve seen. Then we’ll talk for a bit, and then I’ll let you rest. It looks as if your pulse is quite rapid right now; we’ll let it race a bit longer and then we’ll begin.”

I put one hand on his ankle and the other on his hip. He wasn’t struggling now. I watched clear fluid move through the tubing to the needle in his leg.

“You’ll start feeling it, subtle at first, warmth, maybe a little tingling, and then you’ll start to relax... Pretty soon you won’t be able to keep your eyes open, and they’ll start drifting closed...”

I watched her, listening closely. Her voice was so good... I felt myself relaxing as well. After a while I saw his eyelids waver and start to close...

“Roger, someone’s at the door.”

I blinked and sat up, pain in my ribs helping clear my head. Christie looked to me, smiled, and nodded to the door. I got up quickly, a little too quickly, leaning on the kitchen counter. I picked up the gun, looking for the safety—Glocks don’t have an external safety.

Someone knocked at the door again.

“Who is it?” I asked, standing to the side of the door.

“Janice—are you okay?”

I recognized her voice. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been alone with Denise?”

“No—why?”

I looked through the viewer in the door. With the light from the streetlight I could see Janice. If anyone else was there, they were back out of sight.

I let her in, quickly closing the door behind her and locking it.

“Shitload of good that did,” I said as I turned the deadbolt.

Janice looked shocked.

I pointed to her ex-partner. “He used a key to get in.”

She wobbled a little on her feet.

Christie said, “Janice is here now.”

I saw her phone open, sitting on the floor between her and Mike’s head.

She looked at us and said, “The Director and others have been listening.”

I put the gun back on the counter, closing my eyes for a moment. I’d dropped into trance as well—I remembered her calling, asking Mike questions, and his answers.

I turned the leather chair around and sat down in it. I pulled Janice to my lap, putting my arms around her.

“How much do you know?” I asked her.

Janice looked at me, still quite surprised.

I shook my head, loosening the grip I had around her waist. “Sorry, I needed to hold someone.”

She shook her head. “That’s all right—I don’t mind. The Director called and told me to get over here right away, there had been an attempt on your lives, but you’d survived. I... I didn’t know what to expect—not this...”

Christie nodded, sitting back a bit. “I don’t think any of us did. He turned more than a year ago. Their organization was highly compartmentalized, so his knowledge is limited.”

She looked down at Mike, shook her head, then looked back to us. “He’s recovering now, we’ve taken care of the worst of what Denise did to him. I knew better what to look for this time.”

With that she took the butterfly out of Mike’s leg, recapping the needle and rolling up the tubing.

As she stood up, so did Janice, and so did I. I hugged Christie, and Janice joined in.

Christie gave me a sad, longing look. “Oh Roger,” she whispered.

I held her close again.

We separated a little. “Coffee?” I suggested.

Christie sighed. “I need something with sugar in it.” She stepped to the refrigerator.

“I’ll take one,” I told her.

“Me too,” added Janice.

“One left,” Christie said as she handed us cans of Pepsi.

I motioned us over to the couch, turning the chair around to face the windows again. Christie and I sat on the couch, Janice taking the loveseat across from us.

“What did you use on him?” I asked.

Christie took a sip, and actually smiled. She shook her head. “He was sensitized to what we usually use,” she told Janice. “His reaction was so anomalous I decided to do a skin test. If I’d shot the normal dose into a vein, he would have been dead in a minute. But he’d been conditioned to commit suicide, and he knew that would happen, thus his reaction, relaxing as he expected me to help him along.” She shook her head again and took another long sip.

She turned to me. “I used the most powerful thing I had—so strong it got you too...”

I nodded and put a hand on her thigh.

She held my hand. “I used his own conditioning. Denise had worked on him as well. He knew what Denise had done to us had been broken—after all, we were alive, and didn’t respond to his commands. I emphasized how easy it would be, and took him into hypnosis. Oh, I gave him some benadryl to counter the histamine release, thorazine, and a mild muscle relaxant. He did the rest.”

“And what now?” Janice asked.

“Oh...” Christie reached down and picked up her phone, folding it up and putting it on the coffee table. “The cavalry should arrive in about four hours to pick him up.”

I frowned. “And how will we recognize—and authenticate—them?”

Christie nodded. “The Director is bringing them.”

I looked at the clock. It was a little past midnight. I shook my head and closed my eyes.

“I don’t remember booking a trip on the express to hell,” I said with a sigh.

I felt Christie’s arm on my shoulder. “None of us does.”

Janice sighed. “Why don’t you two go to bed. I’ll watch this bastard.”

I looked at Christie. I didn’t feel comfortable about that.

She looked me in the eye, nodding her head slightly. “When I finished with him, I gave him more thorazine—a heavy-duty tranquilizer. He’s going to be nonresponsive for a few hours. When he does wake up, he won’t be able to put up a fight.”

I shook my head again. “I don’t feel comfortable...”

Christie patted me on the thigh. “You can sit up if you want. He’s not going anywhere, and I’m going to bed.” Then she moved closer to me and whispered, “I need to be held—I need you to hold me.”

I could see the need in her face. But where had it come from? That remark of his—what had Denise done to us?

Janice spoke up. “I’ll sit and watch. He won’t go anywhere. If anything happens, I’ll let you know. I’ll let you know when the others arrive. And don’t worry—I won’t open the door until you’re standing next to me.”

“Shit... Let’s get things cleaned up and crash, I guess.” I stood up.

“I’ll take you up on the coffee,” Janice said.

I loaded up the coffee maker while the ladies moved our guest more to the middle of the floor.

I stood around, watching, not really doing anything. Christie had picked up her debris, stuffing it into a small plastic box. Janice had the pistol, holding it in a manner suggesting more familiarity than I had.

She looked to us and said, “Go—go get some sleep.”

I got my jo. Good solid hickory, with very tight grain—I liked it better than the traditional Japanese white oak. I followed Christie into the bedroom.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth while she was using the toilet. We switched when she finished.

I pulled down my sweat pants, and the damn disposable diaper. I sat on the can with an almighty sigh. What the hell had I gotten myself into? I took a deep, slow breath, holding it at the peak. I exhaled and let go, relaxing as best I could. Peeing hurt a little, but I was doing it.

I started laughing. The last vestige of control—I knew that “Control,” with that capital-C, and “being in control” were dangerous illusions—there was so little in our lives we actually controlled. But as adults, we expected, I expected, that control over simple bodily functions was something I could rely upon. Even that had been stripped away from me for a while.

“Something wrong?” Christie asked.

I opened my eyes. She was drying her face.

“No, learning a little more.”

“Could you go okay?”

I nodded. “Yes. A little discomfort, but at least I seem to be regaining control.”

She leaned over and kissed me on the head. “Good. I’ll be waiting for you in bed.”

When I completed my business, I pulled up the diaper, taking off my sweats. I flushed and headed for bed.

She was naked. I crawled in next to her, snuggling up to her back.

She turned to me, putting her head on my chest. “Hold me, please,” she said. I put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. I was exhausted. I hurt.

So many things hurt, more than just physically. What had Denise done to us? Earlier, I’d almost cried out, “I love you...” Now I wasn’t sure. Were my feelings different? Don’t know. I was certainly suspicious of their origins.

For now at least, I promised to hold and protect her.