The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The same day

“Yeah....a bakery wagon as I recall, what of it?”

The beat cop looked insolently at Sanderson. The boy may be a detective, but he was a four eyed runt who wouldn’t last five seconds in a rumpus.

“A bakery wagon that was sitting parked across from the biggest robbery in the town’s history....and you didn’t think to mention it, Muldoon. You’re really something, probably make Chief someday.” Before the hulking cop could think of a response, Sanderson crossed over to where the wagon had sat. He saw something flash in the gutter, bent down, and gingerly picked it up with his handkerchief.

Doctor Anton Miklos Dorvak emerged from his residence at the Institute, a happy man. A short, rotund man with unruly white hair, he wore a white clinician’s coat.

Though his schedule was heavy, he took a moment to admire the ladies engaged in a program of Dance on the lawn, with the assistance of a harpist. The ladies and the musician were all beautiful in their white togas that left their arms, shoulders, legs, and feet bare like Grecian nymphs.

Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and said with the barest patience:

“Yes, Mr. Grimnaldi, I know....you want your bounty now. I assure you, I do as well.” Dorvak spoke with the cultured English accent he had perfected so many years ago.

“I don’t care none about what you want, Doc...it’s my own hide I care about...after a heist that big, things are going to be real hot in this town. I think it’s time for yours truly to seek nicer surroundings....and I need my split.”

“What do you have to fear? My Angels did all the work., there’s no suspicion on you. You said it yourself. The whole affair went without issue.”

Grimnaldi hadn’t mentioned dropping the music box. He changed the subject.

“Look, Doc......I’m going stir crazy here. I’ve been here almost three months, helping you plan the job, rehearsing the girlies.....the pretty girlies....working with them, surrounded by them.....looking at them....it ain’t natural.....A man gotta be a man, capeche?”

“Mr. Grimnaldi.....once again, must I remind you this is not a house of ill repute? What you are witnessing is the advent of a new age in understanding the human mind. These ladies are not here to please you, but to participate in the greatest neurological experiment in History. As for your money, you get paid when I get paid. But if you wish me to tell the Count of your impatience....”

Dorvak’s words had their intended effect.

“No....no....don’t do that...don’t say nothing to the Count....I’ll wait...”. The thief scurried away.

Dorvak watched him go. He then returned his gaze on the ladies. After a time, his resolve broke. He approached the harpist. He murmured something into her ear, and mid chord, she shifted to playing Beethoven’s “Fur Elise”. The others continued their dance until Dorvak spoke in a loud, firm voice:

“Ladies...are you with me?”

The Dancers all ceased movement, though the Harpist continued to play.

“Yes, Doctor. We are with you and are your barefooted servants.”

Dorvak was flush with excitement. He walked among them, inspecting them. Finally, he spoke again:

“Monique.......Cassandra, enough dancing for you. Join me in the residence, I need your....Special Assistance.” The two girls blinked at these emphasized words, then smiled and giggled. He took their arms into his, and the three headed towards the large manor.

Almost as an afterthought, he called back, “The rest of you....continue as you were.”

The harp returned to its original tune and the remaining dancers resumed their exercise as if nothing had occurred.

“He may be a low life cur, but I have to admit even Grimnaldi can have a good idea.”

Dorvak said out loud.

The two hypnotized young women just smiled adoringly in response as they entered the mansion.

Sanderson sat across from Dupuis in the private detective’s cluttered drawing room.

“A music box?” Armand took the object into his gloved hands.

“I know....probably nothing of note.”

“I disagree, Sanderson. This is silver plate. I doubt it could have sat in the street for too long without greedy fingers appropriating it. Ergo, it must have fallen last night. Good work. I see from the dust that you’ve examined it for latent fingerprints. Any luck?”

The policeman smiled at the rare compliment. “Yes, a district thumb and finger. If only we had a way of comparing them with exemplars.”

“Yes.....a National Collection of exemplars would aid justice a great deal. Do you mind if we have Singh give a crack at fixing it, he’s rather handy.”

“My thought as well......that’s why I didn’t enter it into evidence yet....I wanted you to have it first. If I may, what is Briar....I mean Miss Gasdsen, up to this afternoon.

Dupuis stared at the younger man, then said a bit coldly, “If you must know, she’s visiting the girl from the museum, Kathleen Murdoch.

It wasn’t until evening that Briar and Singh showed up at Dupuis’ home.

“I’m afraid we never talked to the girl”, she said while sipping a sherry. Singh sat cross legged in the corner, already looking at the music box. “Singh and I went first to the Sanborn Building and found Miss Murdoch had resigned without notice. They were still quite perturbed. And, yes......she did so the day before the crime.”

“Interesting....” Armand murmured.

“Well done, Miss Gasdsen....well done.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sanderson. It’s lovely to be appreciated. But, there’s more. I was able to convince her manager to give up the girl’s home address. It seems until recent weeks, Miss Murdoch was a friendly and unremarkable neighbor. Then, she begun attending classes at the Dorvak Institute. They say that’s when she began to change.....became more distant......one woman said it was if she was dreaming though awake.

I spoke to the building superintendent........he claimed he would see her sleepwalking at night. Now, here’s the prize.......she’d be fully dressed......other than being barefooted.”

Sanderson looked at her. ”Barefoot? That cannot be a coincidence. And I suppose they also have not seen her since the day before the robbery?”

Briar nodded her head in agreement and sighed. “I can’t believe I was so wrong about Kathleen. She seemed so lovely and sweet, if a bit lost.”

“Perhaps your instincts were true. Perhaps some true villain is forcing Miss Murdoch’s actions by threat or blackmail.” Armand paused, and looked at Sanderson.. “Just what do we know about Doctor and Madame Dorvak?”

Sanderson took out his notebook.

“They immigrated from Britain nearly a year ago, She’s a British Subject, he affects the airs of an English Gentleman but is actually Hungarian. They arrived wealthy, and for all appearances have devoted that wealth to helping the women of New York. They do it at their Institute, a former seminary complex on Staten Island.”

Briar slyly glanced at Dupuis.

“London, Armand........we could....perhaps......reach out to....”

“NO!”

Dupuis’ vehemence startled Singh and Sanderson, but Briar obviously expected it.

“Hear me out, Armand......”

“I will not stoop to going hat in hand to that egotistical, arrogant, cocaine imbibing degenerate!” Dupuis snarled.

Sanderson’s eyes were wide. “You two aren’t referring to...”

Briar talked over his question.

“Setting aside the irony of you calling someone else egotistical and arrogant, I was trying to suggest we could reach out to his associate, the good Doctor. John and I quite hit it off, in our last trip to Old London. (The Mysteries of Andrew Dupuis #36: Murder Most Foggy), and I remain close to both he and Mary Watson. We found we all had much in common when it came to working with egotistical and arrogant men.”

Armand ignored the insult and thought for a moment. “Well...I suppose that would be acceptable.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind learning Singh and I stopped at the Telegraph Office on the way over here.” There was triumph in her voice.

Sanderson saw Singh’s body shake from silent chuckling.

The Next Day

Dorvak looked around nervously at the giant wooden and steel structure surrounding him. The Polo Grounds in its current form as a baseball stadium was less than five years old, but still seem unstable and rickety to the Doctor. Carrying a simple carpet bag, he walked through the stands until he found the right box. Sitting alone in the center was the man with the red mutton chops. Next to him, sat a carpet bag identical to the Doctor’s.

Dorvak sat. “Good Day.”, he muttered.

Count Ernesto Clement Spenzini, held up a hand. “A moment sir.......this is Johnson... the Giants’ new pitcher. They say he hurls the rock like a cannon.”

“Forgive me, but I prefer a gentlemanly game of Cricket.”

The Count sighed, then took Dorvak’s bag, while still watching the diamond action.

After the St. Louis hitter struck out to the crowd’s roar, the Count quickly opened the bag and looked at the Eye of Morgana.

“As you see, the experiment yielded superb results, Count.”

For the first time, the Count looked at the other man.

“Grimnaldi lost the music box, Doctor. I have reason to believe it is in police hands. I think it is time to part ways with our thieving friend. Make sure whoever does the deed uses this.” The Count took from his pinstriped coat a yellow silk scarf covered with Chinese logograms and offered it to Dorvak.

The Doctor did not take it. “You can handle Grimnaldi yourself. Lorna and I have done our bit. Our Angels stole the gem for you, now give us our payment, as agreed.” He took it upon himself to take the bag next to the Count.

It was far too light. Dorvak looked inside, then glared at the other man.

“Books? I must say, I do not appreciate you attempt at humor.”

The Count laughed, but there was no mirth.

“You fool. All you have is due to me and what I taught you about Dark Hypnotism. But for my intervention, you’d be rotting in Pentonville Prison for your self indulgence in London. You really thought my efforts were to gain a pretty trinket? Why did I have you make sure Miss Gasdsen notice our girl at the museum? No, the jewel, much like you and your institute, are just tools to my ends. My aim is so much higher than money. I don’t seek wealth, but revenge.....revenge against the two people who have done me so much harm.”

“And if I refuse?” Dorvak sounded absolutely insolent.

The Count pointed at the new scoreboard. Lounging to its right was a youth, the scorekeeper’s assistant, with his legs dangling over the platform edge. The Count raised his left hand. Johnson retired another hitter and the crowd roared. At its loudest, the Count dropped his hand. The teen’s head exploded and his body was hurled off the platform without anyone else noticing.

Dorvak was shaking. The Count went back to watching the game. As the Giants ran off the field, he again spoke.

“Doctor, let me assure you that there is nowhere you and your bewitched harem can go where my agents won’t find you. You will have your money, and more, but not until I say you are done. I hope I have been perfectly clear.” He handed over the yellow scarf, and this time Dorvak took it. “Open the bag” commanded the Count.

Dorvak could only nod his head. He pulled out one of the books and read aloud the title: “‘The Mysteries of Andrew Dupuis #11: The Mystifying Mystic’ by Briar Gasdsen.”

“Indeed. The beautiful, brilliant Miss Briar Gasdsen. The next phase in your grand experiment. You need to study all of these novels, especially the one in your grasp. They will help you immeasurably as you turn her into my weapon. Now, please, Anton.....go. I wish to enjoy the match, and...well... I think you’ve soiled yourself.”

Singh gave the telegram delivery boy a tip, and brought the paper to Briar. She read it, then went to the kitchen where her telephone hung on the wall. After five minutes, Armand’s tinny voice said “Hello.”

“Armand.....I think I know how they turned Kathleen Murdock into a criminal.”