The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So Night Follows Day part 11

By T. MaskedWriter with special guest author Susan Bailey

“I had a dream.
Aw, shucks. Oh, well.
Now it’s all fucked up.
It’s shot to hell.
Yeah, yeah, my shit’s fucked up.
It has to happen to the best of us.
The rich folk suffer like the rest of us.
It’ll happen to you.”
—Warren Zevon, “My Shit’s Fucked Up

Hi, Susan again. Since this part involves me a lot, I’ll be trading back and forth with The Masked Person for some of it. (I’ll tell you when it’s me, just to keep things clear.)

I was in the master bedroom of the La Contessa suite at the Seattle Hotel de San Finzione. The penthouse suite had been designed to Contessa Helena de San Finzione’s specifications, and so there was a system for locking the bedroom and private bath into a panic room. Rita Delvecchio was with me. You might not have heard of her outside San Finzione; she plays Helen on an SNL-type show there, and looks and acts like La Contessa well enough that Helen hires her to fill in at things like the phony STRANGERS conference that everyone in the streets, fifty stories below us, was protesting for one reason or another.

Rita and I hadn’t had an opportunity to talk yet, primarily because a Triad hit team who thought she was Helen were coming to kill her in retaliation for an attack on them two hours earlier. (Helen didn’t order the attack; it was a setup by that Whyte fucker.) Now we were watching as the elevator doors opened, Helen’s Ultimados and Mander standing with their guns trained on the door, Primo Tenente Marisol Velasquez standing in front of the elevator, hands behind her back.

The elevator contained six men in black suits with skinny ties. (I think of them as Quentin Tarantino’s “Gangster Uniforms.” There’s probably a real name for them, though.) I don’t know a lot about guns, but two of them were carrying some kind of sub-machine guns, and the other four carried pistols that weren’t as big as Mander’s Desert Eagle, but still scary-looking. Two of them had meat cleavers, as well.

Velasquez greeted them with a welcoming smile and removed the top of the string bikini she’d been wearing, her breasts bouncing free before the Triad goons’ eyes. While they stared, her foot shot up, and she kicked one of the two carrying SMGs in the face, wrapping her bikini-top around his gun and yanking it out of his hand as he staggered back into the two men behind him. The other one was still stunned when her left fist slammed into his gut and he doubled over. Marisol brought her leg back down for balance before head-butting the man behind him, then backflipping out of the elevator and the other Ultimados’ line of fire.

Mander and the others opened fire. Their own SMGs and pistols undistracted by the gorgeous Latina’s performance. My nipples were still hard from seeing it when Rita and I had to turn away from the screen. Helen must have soundproofed the suite as well, because we only heard the shooting over the TV’s speakers, rather than from outside the suite.

The explosions we heard next, however, carried through the walls. I looked up at the TV again to see what was happening. The metal fire exit doors at either end of the hall had flown off their hinges, and impacted as twisted metal on the opposing walls.

Velasquez picked up one of the SMGs and got Mander’s attention. They pulled back to the suite door, firing randomly down the halls to give themselves cover as smoke clouds formed at either end. Mander cracked the door open, Velasquez shouted something through the crack, and they both stepped into the suite, closing the door behind them.

The cameras showed them running through the suite to the door of the room where Rita and I were holed up. I found the door controls and opened it for them, then sealed it again when they entered.

“Helen said something about Ernst coming, then we got cut off.” I told them. “I’m not getting a signal. Hope nothing’s happening there.”

Mander and Rita took their phones out and checked as well.

“Nothin’ here, either. Bollocks! Whyte’s s’posed to be a phone guy, right? He must be doin’ somethin’ to the phones.”

“If Ernst is coming,” Velasquez said as she checked her gun, while Rita brought her a bathrobe to cover up. “This means that La Contessa is sending her helicopter. We must get to the roof.”

Mander looked at the monitor. The Ultimados had taken positions to watch either side of the intersecting hall. Against both walls of their position, two were providing suppressive fire while a third waited for an opportune moment to throw a flashbang toward the fire exits.

“Well, they’re between us and the stairs outta here.”

“So, we are trapped in here?” Rita asked, looking at the shoot-out taking place. “There is nowhere to run?”

Rita’s choice of words got me thinking. I went up to the walls and started knocking.

“No! That’s not how Helen thinks! This suite was built to her specifications. Helen is a runner. She wouldn’t lock herself into a room with no way out; she would leave herself some way to run. She’s got a hidden door or escape tunnel somewhere in here. Help me find it.”

* * *

Troy and Julie Equals knelt on the asphalt of the street where their house was located. Between them, the unconscious body of Contessa Helena de San Finzione lay in the street.

The Ultimados had been pulling the driver out of the car when Julie stopped them, telling them that he was a neighbor from down the street and that it was an honest accident. Helen had run out into the street from between two parked cars and wasn’t looking when she tried to tell Capitan Ortega to send Ernst and the helicopter downtown to collect Susan, Rita, and the others. Troy relayed the information to Ortega as Dr. Tenente Paul Maisson came running into the street with his field kit. Troy held Helen’s hand and looked down at her.

“Helen, Dearest One, traffic doesn’t stop for you in America. Still, I guess there are worse places to be hit by a car than right in front of your doctor.”

He let go and stepped aside for Maisson. Maisson had been one of the two Ultimados, along with Velasquez, who’d shot the assassin that stabbed Helen over a month ago. He was also a field medic, and was able to begin treating her wounds immediately, saving Helen’s life. He’d applied for his medical license, and Generalissimo Ramirez pulled some strings to get his application fast-tracked through the process that same day, so that Dr. Tenente Maisson could be on her care team at the hospital. After she’d survived, La Contessa had appointed Maisson her personal physician.

“After all,” she’d told him at the time. “You’ve already examined me quite thoroughly.”

Maisson looked Helen over, muttering in French. When he saw Troy’s curious look, he switched to English.

“No breaks… bruise on the left leg will be enormous. Spine ok to move…” He checked Helen’s head. “No other visible injuries, but unconscious. Help me get her off the street, M’sieur Equals.”

Troy lifted Helen up in his arms and brought her over to the Greens’ lawn. Julie saw what they were doing and grabbed one of the blankets that were laying on the lawn up by the house, bringing it closer to them and spreading it out on the grass for her.

Helen was muttering something none of them could make out under her breath. Troy motioned for Julie to bring the black Prada Arcade bag that Helen usually carried from the street. She got it and ran back, so Troy could rest her head on it, once he’d made certain her airway was clear. Maisson pulled a penlight from his kit and knelt beside her again.

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat in a chair in the dining hall of Castle Finzione. She smoked as she looked up at the three paintings on the wall that the chair had been placed a decent viewing distance from. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was playing from somewhere, but she hadn’t asked for any music. It fit, though, so she said nothing.

She wore black. It was also fitting. Helena looked at the painting on her left, dabbing tears silently as she did.

Troy Equals was looking down at her, a smile on his face. He was dressed in a nice suit, seated amongst rose bushes. Julie Andrews Roses, which reminded Helena of the first woman she ever loved, and the artist who’d painted the portrait. She sighed, a sigh that carried the knowledge that she would never see him again, but that he was in good hands. He would get over her in time.

She looked at the center painting: Propappou, his arms open. Waiting for her to run to him so he could hoist her up and kiss her and tell her he loved her and how proud he was of her. It was the picture from which the statues of him around San Finzione had been made, as well. The Medinas were a large family in Greece, and he’d lived a very long life, so she knew he had many friends and relatives with him. She hoped he wouldn’t be too busy for his Petalouda Mikro when she arrived.

A curtain fluttered somewhere as she looked over to Vincenzo, in his royal uniform. Would she find him waiting for her? Would she take him with her to visit Propappou so that her husband and father could meet at last? Or would he be happy with Contessa Sofia, his first wife, and have no need for her? Did he truly reign in his people’s hearts in the next world as well? She would know soon.

She sensed a presence behind her. She didn’t bother to look, because she knew she would see nothing. She did not run, because she knew there was nowhere to run from it. Calling to anyone would just endanger them as well. She took another drag of her cigarette. It would let her finish it. It was only fitting.

She smiled as the thought came to her that maybe she was worrying about nothing. Perhaps Propappou and Vincenzo were waiting right there on the other side for her, with Wade trussed up and stuffed into a burlap sack behind them. And she could come and visit Troy and Julie and Susan and all their children in spirit like everyone said. Would Susan want Troy’s children as well? Why not? She had, once. She finished her cigarette and bowed her head, lowering her veil.

There was a sound of something slicing through the air. For a moment, it seemed nothing happened. Then, Contessa Helena de San Finzione’s head rolled off of her body to land at her feet, still staring up at the paintings, the light fading from her eyes, Vincenzo’s pendant hitting the floor; as she saw the Nothing that had removed her head start stalking toward Maria’s room. Only then did she try to scream, but there was nothing.

It wasn’t like the dreams she’d been having of this moment, because she didn’t wake up. It started again immediately after. The music, the paintings, the invisible blade severing her head with one blow, the pendant; it was a repeating pattern playing in her head as her body lay unconscious on the Greens’ lawn in the real world.

* * *

Hey, Susan here. I’d been fiddling with stuff around the fireplace, thinking that maybe Helen used the same trick as the passage from the study to her bedroom in the castle. Of course, she wouldn’t. Nothing there.

On one of the walls was a large portrait of Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione; Helen’s late husband. A brass nameplate at the bottom identified him and listed the years of his reign for those unfamiliar with the history of San Finzione. Engraved beneath was an Italian phrase that, although I didn’t know much of the language, I had learned enough from my time in San Finzione to recognize it as a saying about him: “Forever does he reign in our hearts.”

I checked the painting and found it bolted to the wall. On a hunch, I looked to where Vincenzo’s eyes were pointing in the picture, but he’d simply been looking straight ahead, and the opposite wall told me nothing.

“Is there a Propappou in the suite? I asked Rita, referring to the statues of Troy’s great-grandfather in front of all emergency services buildings in San Finzione. Children were taught to “Run to Propappou if You are in Danger” in their schools, so maybe that was something.

“Si,” Rita answered. “By the fire exits outside.” Ok, for once, Propappou wasn’t Helen’s answer.

I looked over at the monitor, Rita, Velasquez, and Mander still trying to remove paintings, lift knick-knacks, pull books off of shelves, etc. The Scooby-Doo approach was getting us nowhere. I sat down on the bed. I needed a moment. I needed…

* * *
Trying to escape from Triad goons takes everything you’ve got.
Finding Helen’s secret passage sure would help a lot.
Cause if they caught you, that would totally blow…
That’s why you need to go…
Where Everybody Has Your Name.
And you all look just the same.
You need to stop and think it through, cause panic’ll get you dead.
You need to talk to the other women in… your head.

“Evening, everyone.” I said, entering the bar.

“Susan!” Everyone cheered as I walked to my stool.

“What would you say to a beer, Miss Bailey?” Suzy-Ho asked as she poured me one and set it in front of my stool. I sat on the stool and looked down at.

“Hey, Beer, would you happen to know where Helen keeps her secret passages?” As the studio audience laughed, I took a sip and then looked up at Suzy-Ho, dressed as Woody.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be Diane or Rebecca? Or naked, at least?” I asked her. The audience liked that one, anyway.

“We’re short-staffed today, Miss Bailey.” Suzy-Ho replied. “And I like Woody.” She stage-whispered. “In more ways than one.” That got a laugh, too. (Easy room in my head today, it seems.) “It’s just me and Carla today.”

Sue slammed a bowl of pretzels down on the bar in front of me.

“Yeah, tell me you didn’t see THIS one coming.” Sue said, before turning to go serve someone else. Another laugh.

“Ok,” I said, looking at the empty stool next to me, then back toward Sam’s office. “So, I’m Norm for this one, where’s Suzy-Q? And who’s she going to be? Cliff? Sam? That background extra who only talks when they need a pervy old guy? That’s who I really figured you’d be, Suzy-Ho.”

“Maybe she’s Vera, and we’re not gonna see her.” Sue called back over her shoulder.

“She’s not in the pool room.” Suzy-Ho chimed in. “I’m meeting some guys back there later to knock some balls around. Then we might play pool.” The studio audience laughed again.

“Well, fun as it might be to have a Cheers episode with you guys, I’m in danger out there. Can either of you think of a place Helen might hide a secret door?”

“Have you tried the bed?” Suzy-Ho asked.

“Tried the knobs and the headboard, nothing there.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, but ok.”

“You’ve tried all the D&D tricks already.” Sue said as she set a tray of empty glasses on the counter. “Unless somebody there happens to be an elf and can sense secret doors, you might have a problem.”

“And I’ve got to say, Suzy-Q’s absence is bothering me.” I looked up the stairs. I usually just “return to reality” from our meetings. I’ve never tried just walking out, and had no idea what would be up there or in the pool room. Empty space? The real interior of my brain? Both? (If I didn’t make that joke, you would have.) I’ve never been to Boston, I don’t know how good a job I would do of imagining it. I looked around, trying to see where one of three people who were always here when nobody else was had gotten to.

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat in a chair in the dining hall of Castle Finzione. She smoked as she looked up at the three paintings on the wall that the chair had been placed a decent viewing distance from. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was playing from somewhere, but she hadn’t asked for any music. It fit, though, so she said nothing.

She sensed the presence behind her, put out her cigarette, bowed her head… and was startled by something flying over her head with a loud thump. She turned and looked behind her to see the Springheel suit lying on the floor. Over to her right, someone in a US Postal worker’s uniform hefted a large mailbag onto her shoulder.

“Hey, Helen.” Suzy-Q, wearing a mustache, said to her. “So, this is why you want to destroy Springheel, right?”

Helen stood up and smiled, hugging the woman who looked like Susan, but Helen knew that wasn’t who it was.

“Suzy-Q! But that means…”

“Yeah, you’ve been knocked out.” Suzy-Q cut her off. “You’re not dying this time, though, just unconscious. Still not sure how I’m doing this, but I’ve got a better idea now. I don’t know what’s going on out there on your end, but they’ll wake you up soon, so quick: Where’s the secret way out of the panic room?”

Helen composed herself.

“Hatch to a roof access in the closet. The nameplate under Vincenzo’s portrait pulls out. Turn it to the left to unlock it and a retractable ladder drops down. Close the hatch, everything resets, there’s a lever on the wall, pull it down if someone’s following you. That’ll stop the ladder from dropping for them if they find the hatch. The door out leads to the helipad, and Velasquez or one of the other Ultimados can call the express elevator if needed. Is everyone ok?”

“For now. The Ultimados are still holding them off in the hall, nobody on our side’s been hurt yet, but the Triads have all the exits. Except the one I’m going to tell Susan about now. It’s time I told her everything. I still don’t know how.”

Helen kissed her.

“Hey, you’ll be fine, I’m the one who’s going to have to talk with her AFTER you tell her! Thanks again, Suzy-Q. None of you die.”

Suzy-Q gestured to the unconscious person in the Springheel suit.

“You either. And do something about that fucker.”

Suzy-Q faded away. Helen caught the scent of ammonia, and the room began to fade.

* * *

Contessa Helena de San Finzione woke to the smelling salts, and what felt like someone had hit her in the side of her thigh with a sledgehammer.

“AAAAAAHHHHFUCK! ORTEGA!!!” She screamed. Capitan Ortega was standing over her.

“Si, Contessa!” He said, standing to attention.

“Tell Ernst…” She hissed through the pain as Maisson applied lidocaine cream to her already-discoloring leg. “Triads have the exits! Ultimados… stand-off in the hallway!”

Ortega nodded and went to radio the pilot and the Ultimados flying with him. Julie came running up from the street.

“I talked to Mr. Harrison.” She told Troy. “He was going too slow to make a dent, so he’s just going to remember it as almost hitting her, but slamming on the brakes in time. Everything was a little tense there, but nobody pulled guns or tried to drag him out of his car. Big misunderstanding, we’re all good now, the Harrisons might stop by the barbecue later.”

Helen looked around for her purse, realized it was what her head was on, and sat up, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

“Ernst is bringing backup.” She said, as Maisson applied some kind of cream to her leg. “They’ll flush them out of the stairwells.”

“Helen,” Troy said, looking her in the eyes. “I hope this isn’t one of those mood-killing questions, however, it has to be asked: How did you wake up with tactical knowledge of a situation that’s unfolding right now, about forty miles from here?”

She took a long, thoughtful drag of her cigarette.

“I think, Troilus, that a couple of other conversations need to happen first before we can have this one.”

* * *

In my head, Suzy-Q ran down the stairs into the bar. It looked like she was Cliff in this one, mustache included. I stood up and met her at the end of the bar.

“Ok, Suzy-Q, either you tell me what’s going on, or if we live through this shit, at my next therapy session, I’m asking about medication. I don’t know what that’ll do to any of us, but I can’t have this…”

She cut me off.

“Susan, I’m sorry. The thing I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain, it happened again. I still don’t quite get it, but I think…” She stepped forward and cupped my face in her/my hands. “I think I know how to explain it now.”

And with that, she kissed me. That special kiss that Troy and I share when we agree too much for words. I couldn’t think of what to do but respond, like I always did.

That’s when it all came flooding into my mind. Into the head that was inside my head, locking lips with hers/mine: Her/me shooting some freaky monsters in a bizarre TV studio in Helen’s mind. Like I’m one to talk about having weird things in your head. Talking about what she’s/I’m doing there. So, a qipao is what that dress is called! Raymond Chen was a red herring. Helen met a girl in Africa, she was always a better criminal than Wade. It’s not Persephone. Whyte tried to stop Helen from looking into Springheel. So that’s why she wanted to make up so badly! She’s never put spies on me, weird. She tracked down Chad? I/Suzy-Q makes a valid point; I’m no one to talk, really. And then AFTER! Again, and again in her bed! No wonder I knew where the passage was, how comfortable her bed was, how it felt to hold her when we said goodbye. Oh, Suzy-Q, I get why you didn’t think you could tell me. Told her we can’t go to hospitals, that’s why she asked not to meet me there! Heh, Vulcan Mind Meld, good one. Her sister ran away because Wade was touching her! He killed her mother when she saw he’d started eyeballing Helen the same way. Nice to just hold and be held by her for who knows how long. Wake up, you fucking cunt! Don’t die.

And now: Whacking Springheel with the mailbag, how the hell am I going to tell myself about all this? Never mind, here’s how you get out of the room. Don’t die again. Back here.

The kiss ended.

“Thank you.” I told Suzy-Q. She smiled back, mustache curling above her lips.

“Always for you, Susan. Now, go help everyone.”

* * *

“Oi,” Mander said to me. “You all right, there?”

I was back in the suite. I looked over at the TV. The fight in the hall remained at a standstill. Thankfully, it seems whatever grenades or explosives the Triads had brought had been used on the fire doors. Unless they were saving them to get in this room.

No time to think about that. I walked up to the painting of Vincenzo and took hold of the plaque.

“Forever does he reign in our hearts.” I said to the painting as I pulled out the handle and turned. Rita and Velasquez muttered the phrase in response as I heard the noise in the closet.

“This way.” I told them, opening the closet door and revealing the fire escape ladder out.

“What if they see the ’andle?” Mander asked, climbing up.

“It all resets when we close it.” I told him as I followed and we helped Rita and Velasquez up. “As for how I know that… all I can say is that when I get home, I need to kiss, slap, hug, or punch Helen. Maybe all four.”

I closed the hatch and locked the ladder back into place. The sounds of a helicopter and shouted orders could be heard outside.

“Sounds like he’s here.” I told everyone. We followed Velasquez, wrapped in a bathrobe, and carrying a submachinegun, to the exit.