Prologue:
Bellevuew Mental Hospital, two o’ nine, A.M.
The attendant sat by the bed reading a book, murmuring softly to himself as he read, glancing up now and again at his charge. The patient, Vicki West, the former VP in charge of Accounting for TransCorp Industries, had been in a coma since the night of her shock therapy treatment, when the machine experienced a strange overload of power. The man keeping vigil over her bed was the self-same attendant that had administered the therapy, and had himself been badly injured when the machine overloaded. Although the hospital had examined the faulty device and cleared him of any responsibility for Ms. West’s condition, the young man insisted on keeping watch over Vicki West, to see if she would ever awaken from her coma. Except for trips home to change clothes and bathe, and frequent trips to the bathroom, the young man spent the entire time at Vicki’s bedside, watching her for the slightest signs of life. Eighteen days to the day of her accident, Vicki let out a small moan. The young woman sighed softly and opened her eyes.
“Where...where am I?” she said, her voice scratchy and horse from non-use. Moving quickly, the attendant handed her a glass of water, instructing her to sip it slowly, and carefully, until she could speak normally again. “Thank you,” she replied after a moment, sitting up a little straighter. “Where am I? Is this... the hospital? Am I still at Bellevuew?”
“Yes Miss West, you are still here among the living,” the man said smiling. “I can’t tell you what relief it is to be the first one to see you awaken. Do you know you have been in a coma for eighteen days?”
“Eighteen days? My God,” she said softly. “Is everything okay? What happened to me?”
“Try and think back to the last thing you remember, Miss West,” he said gently. “Concentrate, and see if you can remember exactly what happened.”
The young woman turned her head away, glancing at the pristine white walls, but seeing images in her mind’s eye. “Yes...YES. I think I remember now. I was in a room...they were about to shock him...no, me. They were going to shock ME. But... I had wanted them...to do it...to get HIM. Yes! I remember it all now! HE was inside me, in my head! But he’s gone now! I did it!” She looked up at the man, eyes wild with joy. “I did it! I sent that sorry son of a bitch back to hell where he belongs!”
“Miss West please, calm yourself,” the man said, closing the door to the hall. “You’re no doubt still a bit disoriented by your experience. The shock to your system that left you in the coma might have scrambled your wits a wee bit.”
“No, I’ve never been saner,” she said confidently. “I remember clearly what’ happened, and what I tried to do. I know this sounds crazy, but the ghost of Dr. James Specten was trapped inside my head, and the only way I could think of to get rid of that evil bastard once and for all was to fry him. To zap that mother-fucking piece of shit out of existence!” She sighed peacefully, a smile coming to her face. “I almost killed myself in the process, it seems, but damn it was worth it to send that evil prick back to hell.”
The man sighed deeply, walking forward. “I see.” Leaning forward, he picked up a pillow from the bed Vicki was in and fluffed it gently. “I had hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, Vicki,” he said, his voice deepening slightly, his expression darkening, twisting, into a hauntingly familiar visage. “Usually when one is in a coma for a long time, there is brain damage. Loss of memory, of motor skills, sometimes of even simple autonomic functions, is not unusual. Still, you seem to be part of the lucky ten percent that suffered no ill effects whatsoever.” Lifting the pillow, he smiled wickedly into the shocked face of his victim.
“Or perhaps, I should say, part of the UNLUCKY.” With that, Dr., James Specten placed the pillow firmly against the woman’s face and held it there, long after her struggles finally faded and subsided. Lifting the pillow, he leaned down and gave her slack, slightly blue lips a gentle kiss. “Sorry, Vicki dear. Hell will have to wait a bit longer for me, I’m afraid. But give Satan my best when you see him next.”
Story: Disembodied Vengeance, II
The Return of Dr. Specten!
(Part 1.)
Carmen Vasquez, lead reporter for Channel 34 Action News, sighed deeply, as the crew packed up the last of the equipment. It had been a long and tiring trip out to the latest site of sexual depravity. Another rape victim, Ms. Ginger Burton, had been found, tied, bound, and gagged, outside her house on the lawn. She had been stripped completely naked, raped repeatedly, and left to be found by the neighbors. Like the other victims, she couldn’t remember exactly WHO it was that had raped her, only the experience itself. Like the other victims, she wore one of the strange silver necklaces as the other victims, an expensive necklace she didn’t remember buying, but that she was unwilling to part with. Carmen’s women’s intuition told her there was a connection, that there was a deeper unknown story at the root of this, but for the life of her she couldn’t guess at what it was.
“We’re all set to go, Carmen,” her camera man, Davis, said. “Come on, let’s get back to the van and get some coffee.” He shook his head. “This shit never ceases to amaze me. What kind of sick twisted individual gets off on fucking a helpless woman against her will, then leaving her out on the fucking lawn, naked, where ANYONE can see her? Hell, some kids might have seen her lying there like that!” Cursing to himself, he entered the van, giving Carmen a hand up. “I mean, its bad enough actually DOING the rape itself, but then to leave your victim out where anyone walking by can see their little handiwork? Its sick, Carmen. Totally fucking sick.”
“Yes, it IS sick, but also clever, well thought out,” Carmen replied, taking off her high heels and sighing, letting her tired feet relax. “Mmmm...that’s better. Like I was saying, Davis, its also brilliant in a way. Think about it. This guy, whomever he is, is an attention hog. He rapes these women, and in some cases the men they are with, ties them up, drugs them somehow to make them forget who did the dead, then dumps them somewhere where they will be easily found. He even leaves a calling card of sorts, those silver necklaces—”
“Collars, Carmen,” Davis blurted out. “They look like little silver dog collars.”
“Collars,” Carmen corrected. “Anyhow, he leaves them with all his victims, so you know its the same person, yet other than that there are no clues. No fingerprints, no hair or tissue samples, no blood, no telltale signs the police could use to find a link to this son of a bitch. And while there IS the semen itself, the sexual evidence of the act, the victims all flat-out refuse to be examined by a doctor, and all insist on showering immediately after being freed from their bonds.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know...its like in a way, they have been forced NOT to do anything to help catch this guy. Maybe he threatens them, makes them so scared, that they pretend not to know who it was, that they refuse to seek help from the police in any way.”
Davis shook his head, handing her a cup of hot coffee. “I dunno, Carmen. I watched them in the interview we did, and they all seemed pretty confused about what happened to them, to me. Like they weren’t trying to hide the rapist’s identity, more like they honestly didn’t know who it was! I mean, as strange as it sounds, its like this guy... I dunno, HYPNOTIZED them, before he raped them, or something.”
The reporter laughs softly. “Hypnotism? Oh come on, Davis, now you are really reaching. First of all, I happen to know a thing or two about hypnosis, from my own dad, a therapist. Hypnosis isn’t like in the books or stories, it can’t totally control you, turn you into a zombie slave or anything. It just focuses the mind, makes your memories and perceptions clearer or more indistinct. Let’s say that someone DID hypnotize the victim into not remembering his face. And it worked. And let’s take a REALLY big leap here and say he told the victim not to help the police, not to try and catch the person who did it, to shower immediately and wash away and remaining evidence. Hypnosis COULD make a person forget, but it couldn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do in their own conscious mind. After being raped—and they DO remember that well enough—they would naturally want to catch the person that did it, want to see him punished, and certainly NOT want to help him in any way by covering his trail. Nope, my dad assures me that hypnosis can only focus and alter memories and perceptions, it can make you remember small details you think you forgot, or forget things too painful to remember, it can help you accept something in yourself that you try to repress, but it can’t repress a bad side of you that already exists. It can’t make you do anything that deep inside you don’t want to do, and it can’t force you to think or be different from what you truly are inside.”
Davis frowned and drank more of his coffee before commenting. “Well, you certainly shot THAT theory full of holes. You really seem to have given this a lot of thought, Carmen. Something on your mind about all this?”
“Yeah, Davis,” she said after a moment. “There is a connection to all this somewhere, I just can’t see it yet. And I DID think about the hypnosis connection, and asked my dad about it. In fact, several of the early victims agreed to see a hypnotist to see if he could get past the memory block, but all attempts proved useless. Either it was so traumatizing an experience that deep inside, they NEVER wanted to remember the face of their rapist, or whatever was done to their minds, was beyond mere hypnosis. That’s why I suspected drugs of some kind.” Turning, she saw the program director and the driver enter the front seat of the van, and they began the long trip back to Channel 34. “This story intrigues me, Davis,” she said after a while. “I don’t know why, but I am determined to find out who is doing this and how. This is the biggest thing to hit Jacksonville since the incident of the lunatic shooting at cars passing on the interstate. And I am not about to let it slip through my fingers.”
James checked the figures and smiled. His assistant and protege‘ Patrick Sikes, had done a wonderful job laying the groundwork for his Master plan. His rape victims had become Specten’s thralls, his mind-fucked minions. Learning from his near-fatal mistake with Vicki West, he had thoroughly conditioned and trained his latest group of converts into total and absolute obedience, even when not directly controlled by him. It had been fun, and enticing, toying around with victims, allowing them just enough control and freedom of mind to feel terror and anguish at their own slow corruption. But Vicki had proved then when a victim feels she has no hope, no escape, even a mind-controlled slut can sometimes bite the hand that enslaves it. He had been lucky; his new form of pure thought and energy was impervious to harm, albeit he could still be dispersed like any amount of energy. Worse, the severe voltage that had so nearly disrupted him had caused him to slowly lose cohesion everytime he left the mind of one of his drones. Before, he could simply float immaterial and observe, take his time and corrupt others when they fell asleep, and their mental guards dropped. Now, he had to be contained inside a person’s mind in order to retain his cohesion. He knew more about the physics of what had happened to him than anyone, even the most noted physicists and theorists in his field, but he was currently at a loss for how to reverse this condition. So, he put his brilliant mind and creative energies into another direction.
“Mr. Chairman, the television, por favor,” he said with a chuckle. Obediently, the naked collared head of the government Space and Exploration Branch flipped on the television. Chairman Edward M. Drexel had been a lucky find, converted when he and his wife had noticed one of his slave’s collar and had asked discretely for one made for his wife. The Chairman, it seemed, had a bit of a kinky streak. Learning from the Chairman’s enslaved wife about the Branch’s new outlook on controlling satellite transmissions as part of their control and regulation of all things dealing with space, Specten added Edward to his group as well. The spreading of his total control would be greatly helped if he had control of all the communication satellites orbiting the Earth, where he could broadcast his message of domination to the masses. He had the means to such an end in the works, but he needed capital to see it through. LOTS of capital. Mind control machines were surprisingly expensive to build.
“This is Carmen Vasquez, Channel 34 Action News...” James glanced up at the television, the financial charts temporarily forgotten. Here was a true vision of loveliness. The woman had an obvious Spanish background, with exotic almond colored skin, long black hair, running to the middle of her back, even in the tight restrictive ponytail she wore while reporting. Specten wondered idly how it would look running free, the wind blowing it lightly. She was talking about the latest mysterious rape, Patrick and Ellen’s work, but he didn’t notice her words; he was watching her deep red lips, mouthing the words, moving erotically in and out, brushing her teeth lightly with her tongue, so sensual even if she herself wasn’t aware of it. He remembered her during his long incarceration in jail, when all he’d had for sexual companionship had been his cellmate Charlie. Seeing her for the first time he had determined to have her for his own one day.
“Well, why not now?” he asked the entranced slaves kneeling in a row in front of him. “I have the means, the motive, and the opportunity to add her to my collection. Why not take the lovely Miss Vasquez and seduce her, entrance her, remake her into my own personal little fucktoy? You certainly have no complaints.” The seventeen mindless slaves, men and women alike, merely blinked, staring straight ahead. They would not respond in this mode, unless given a direct command to DO something. James sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I forgot. Like talking to a damn wall. Chairman Drexel, awaken, and look at the television.” Simple as that, the Branch Chairman blinked, looking around at his surroundings, trying to recall what was going on. He glanced up at the television, frowning. “Well, Edwards, what do you think about the sexy young reporter?”
“Huh? The reporter?” Edward said, as his consciousness struggled to rise from the depths of the trance-induced fog. Finally, his mind reordered itself according to the program firmly imprinted within his mind. “Well, she is pretty hot I suppose,” he said after a while. “Not as beautiful to me, personally, as my wife Denise, but she has her appeal.”
“Yes,” James said impatiently, “but would you like to FUCK her? Looking at her, imagining her naked in front of you, my totally mind-fucked slave, helpless and obedient, would you FUCK her? Would she make you hot and horny with desire?”
Edward wiped his brow, one hand moving to stroke his stiffening cock. “Damn you, Master, you know I would! You have made me that way! I get off on having submissive mind-fucked slaves to serve my pleasure...as well as reversing it, making the mindless slave, unable to resist, while she dominates ME, fucking me like a piece of meat. Either way, I can’t help it, its programmed in me now.” He hung his head, letting his tears run down his cheeks even as he pumped harder and faster on his throbbing cock. “A part of me knows what you have done, to me and my wife, and hates you for it! But that part is so small it might as well not be there at all! You’re my Master, and though I hate you, I love you more! I fucking LOVE you, Master! I can’t help it! If...if it pleased you to give the reporter to me...yes, I would fuck her and happily, even in front of my wife...it would tear me apart but I would do it and love it. GOD! What have you done to me?!?” he cried out as he came, his cock spurting thick gobs of cum down his legs to the floor, as he moaned in despair and passion both, his conflicting emotions only serving to intensify the sensations even more.
James watched the display, openly amused. All of his “new recruits” suffered from similar conflicts, utterly enthralled, but with the smallest weakest knowledge of what had happened. As a safety precaution, he had included a personality shut-off command, rendering even that small part of their original selves inert and hidden. Thus far, he had not needed to do so, but he remembered Vicki West, and had no wish to repeat the mistake.
“Edward, disconnect,” James said, sending his original psyche back into sleep, leaving only the complete slave once more. Slowly, the man’s face changed from anguished to unfeeling, then to pleasant. A smile slowly crawled across the man’s face. “That’s more like it. Now, rest Eddie...go play with your little slut wife and then go back to sleep again. Eagerly, the Chairman walked over to his wife, pulling her into his embrace, and soon the sounds of passion filled the room. Heedless, James walked to the door and exited, getting into his car. He had things to do.
The news crew arrived back at the station around five o’ clock. Carmen’s day was nearly done, the actual reporting and investigative work of the story complete, now all that remained was the final editing of the tape for airing on the evening news. The technical coordinator, Kevin Jordan, nodded to her as she entered the room. He tossed her a pair of headphones as he began playing the tape. “It’s a good shot, Carmen,” he said idly, twisting a few knobs and fine tuning the focus. “As you can see, there is no problem with the picture at all. The only problem is a slight bit of distortion, a little interference, that keeps the sound from coming in quite right. It’s the same small little annoyance that we usually get when we do these footage clips outside, particularly while we have been covering this big rape story. I can tune it out easily enough, I just wish I knew where it was coming from.” Carmen nodded softly, listening to the sound portion through the headphones, watching the picture as well.
“Yeah, I can see what you mean. A little static pulsing sound coming from somewhere. I remember you saying something about that at the last location we shot at, and had the equipment checked out. I take it that its a filter problem?”
“Nope, not as far as I can see. I checked them all out, and they’re fine. I think its some kind of background noise or interference, like a short-wave radio or something nearby, in the shot. Who know? All I know is that its too regular to be a natural phenomenon.” His words tickle something in the back of Carmen’s mind, and acting on a hunch, she moves to the file cabinet and pulls out a tape.
“Here, Kevin, put this one in and play it, full spectrum.” He glances at the cover of the tape, labeled Rape Victim, #23: Aileen McCall. “I just have a hunch about this. Play the tape.” Kevin shrugged and placed the tape into the machine. It ran the interview and report she had made two months ago, another victim if the serial rapist. As the shot focused in on the victim, naked except for the silver collar, she reached out and paused the tape. “Hear that? Its that same static pulse sound as in the other tape. Here. Now run THIS tape.” This time she handed him a tape labeled Grand Opening, Jacksonville Kids Museum. The tape ran, a short but witty piece about the new kids’ wing being opened. “See? No static pulse this time. And as I recall, we shot both new pieces back to back that day. So, we know its not a natural phenomenon, and its not a filter problem. Its in some shots but not others, but in almost EVER one of the rape victim shots. My gut tells me that this interference may be another calling card from our rapist—an unintentional card.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “Damn. I promised Ronnie I would meet him for dinner tonight, but we really need to go back over all these tapes and see if we can find the source of the interference.”
“Well, go on then,” Kevin said, taking out the previous tape. “I’ve already got the evening new segments done, and I can look through the stack well enough by myself. Besides, I now know what I am looking for.”
Carmen smiled and kissed her tech support coordinator on the cheek. “Thanks, Kev. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise!”
“Hey, if you REALLY want to make it up to me,” he yelled as she ran out the door, “then bring me back a doggie bag or something! I’ll be here late!”
True to her word, Carmen stopped back by the station, shortly before eleven P.M. to check up on Kevin’s progress, and drop off some food. She found the station mostly deserted, but knew the dedicated tech coordinator would still be there hard at work. Walking into the video lab, she found not one but three figures, sitting, watching the myriad viewscreens, all wearing headphones. “Hello?” she said loudly, causing each man to turn towards her. “I brought you some food from Gibson’s.” She placed the bag of food on the table and sat down in an empty chair amidst the towers of opened video cassette cases. “Hmm, I see you convinced two more people to come and help you watch. Tell me you found something to make this all worthwhile.”
“Mmmm...this is GOOD!” Kevin said with a mouthful of food. The others were also digging in. “Thanks Carmen, you’re an angel. Actually, we DID find something strange, and a bit unusual. Take a look at monitor three and six.” He pointed to the two top screens. “These are two rape victim segment. One had the static pulse interference, while the other does not. In the sixty or so tapes we viewed, we found the static in fifty-six of them, no static in eight. Do you notice anything different in the two shots, that really stands out to you?”
Carmen viewed the screens. Both screens showed a victim, both of which she well remembered. “I see it,” she murmured after a moment, frowning. “I don’t see the connection, but yes, I see it. Victim in video three is wearing one of those weird necklace-collar things. The victim in video six is not. Like we thought, the necklaces are his calling card. But what does a piece of jewelry have to do with creating static interference so small its is only barely noticeable when you ran the tape through final processing?”
“Maybe its NOT jewelry after all?” Carmen turned at the voice, the second man in the room, who she now recognized as Fred, one of the Key Grips that worked on the news set behind the scenes. “We were discussing that before you came in. What if the necklace or collar, or whatever it is, isn’t jewelry, but some kind of sophisticated high-tech transmitter/receiver unit? And it’s sending signals directly into the victim’s brains, telling them to forget, to cover the rapist’s tracks, etc..? I mean, I know it sounds far fetched, like something out of the twilight zone or something, but the advances in technology these days are astounding! Working behind the scenes, with all the technical equipment at this station, you get a better idea of just what technology is capable of these days.”
“Hmmm...you may be right, Fred,” Carmen said after a moment. “That would explain a lot. The interference from another signal being received. And the victim’s strange behavior. But it still doesn’t tell us WHO we are dealing with.”
“Actually, it tells us EXACTLY who we are dealing with,” another voice spoke up for the first time. Carmen turned and frowned at the unfamiliar face.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce you,” Fred said, chuckling. “Carmen Vasquez, meet Jim Spencer, our newest college intern. Jim here was real interested in what goes on around here, and is kind of a local prodigy, so I told him he could stay behind a bit and watch how a REAL news crew handles a story. Now then, Jim, what were you saying?”
The young man stared at Carmen, then blushed and ducked his head shyly. “Um, I was saying that, well it has to be obvious where to start looking for those necklaces. I mean, of all the places in the state of Florida, only one has the super advanced technology to create something like that, a place that has already been featured as a center for abnormal mind-control type incidents already. TransCorp.”
“Ah. TransCorp. Of course! Its so simple, why didn’t I see it?” Carmen groaned. “Okay. Let’s review. TransCorp...no, somehow I don’t think the entire company has its sights set on raping and controlling the entire world...not in the traditional sense, anyway. So let’s say someone from TransCorp...with access of their technology, and a disgruntled attitude, decides to follow in that convicted rapist, James Specter’s—”
“SpecTEN. Specten.” Jim pointed out.
Carmen frowned. “Ah, yes.—SpecTEN’s legacy, by raping innocent victims and making them unable to ID him. These collars he gives them are high-tech, and obviously expensive to make. He’s made a LOT of them at least one for nearly every victim to date and who knows how many more. As a scientist working for TransCorp, he has the knowledge, the access to materials, and the machines to produce small quantities without much notice, as MASS PRODUCING it would alert the heads of the department. So, how do we draw him out into the open and expose him to the world?”
“We can go to TransCorp’s B.O.D. and tell them what we suspect,” Kevin said.
Carmen shook her head. “Scratch that. Since the incident three months ago, when we came for that anonymous call and caught them in that scandal with those three girls, they have been unwilling to talk to us.” She smirked. “AND they have a restraining order on me, to keep me off the premises. We could go to the police with our suspicions, but that is all we have, suspicions. If only we were able to get one of those stupid collars to examine, or could catch the guy in the act somehow.”
“I think I can help,” Jim said slowly, as all eyes turned to him. Reaching into his pocket, he took out one of the silver collars. “Before I heard all about this, I stopped at a local jewelry market, a new place, only been there a few months. I wanted to get a present for my girlfriend, so I picked this up. The guy...he was a bit strange now that I think about it. And the shop was only open in the evenings, from five PM to eight PM. It struck me as funny, that you couldn’t really do much business being only open for three hours, but all my other friends swore by his stock.” He handed the collar to Carmen, who nodded grimly. It was identical to the ones worn by the victims. “If you like, I can take you to his store, and we can sneak in tonight while its closed.”
Carmen grabbed her purse, and rose to her feet. “Jimmy, I like the way you think! Come on, kid, let’s go!”
Carmen had to admit that Jimmy was pretty useful...for a snot-nosed, wet-behind-the ears intern. The young college student was smart, and street-wise, and just a little bit crooked. Not only had he led her effortlessly to the strange shop where the unknown man had been selling the control-collars, but he had picked the complicated locks on the doors with nothing but a paperclip. “It’s all in the reflexes,” he had replied, with a smile. Making their way through the darkened building, she found that everything was going very much according to plan, with no trouble whatsoever. And that was what worried her.
Pulling Jim to a halt, as he moved to switch on the overhead lights, she whispered, “Wait a minute. Something is wrong here. This was all just TOO easy. You would think that if this was the guy we were looking for he would have more security than a padlock, a deadbolt lock, and a ID card lock. No silent alarm, no security guard, no cameras or photo eyes in sight. Something doesn’t smell right about this.”
Jim nodded, impressed. “Hadn’t thought about that. You’re gut instinct again?”
Carmen sighed. “Yes. And its telling me to get the hell out of here fast. I think we should...” She suddenly went silent, placing a finger to her lips, warning Jim to be quiet as well. After a moment she heard the noise again. Now her reporter’s instincts kicked in, and despite her better judgment, she crept forward, silently, to investigate the noise. A large man-sized shadow walked behind a door in front of them, and a small soft HUMM could just barely be heard. Moving closer to the door, she tried to peer through the glass, but the opaque window gave only shadowy impression of who and what was inside. Waiting beside the door for an interminable amount of time, she gathered her wits, sloooowly turned the doorknob, and slipped inside the dark room.
Almost immediately, she knew it was a mistake. A strange pungent odor hit her full in the face as she walked in. Unable to help herself, she breathed in, and nearly choked on the sweet powerful vapors. Almost as quickly, the potent mist reached her brain, adling her thoughts, making her muscles dim and unresponsive. A light suddenly flickered into view, and naturally her eyes focused on it, dilating at the sudden change from dark to light, dilating even more as the chemicals began to affect the muscles in her eyes as well...dilating even MORE as the flashing strobe colors on the screen she was watching resolved into a steady pattern, a slow steady spiraling of flashing colors, streaming unprotested into her brain. Movement sounded behind her, although she was frozen, and unable to move she knew it was Jimmy. “j...j...Jimmmy...Run...G.g.g.eeeet...out!” she managed, her breath starting to become ragged as the vapor and the lights drained all of her strength and resistance. A flicker of motion, and then Jimmy walked into view, standing directly between her and the light show. He was wearing a gas mask over his mouth.
“Sorry Carmen my dear,” he said smiling, his voice slightly muffled but audible. “You should have went with your gut instinct after all. I was so impressed with your intelligence and your intuition, that I was going to give you fifty-fifty odds. If you had managed to get out of this trap without being caught, I was going to let you go. But I see your ‘journalistic integrity’ got the better of you, and you decided the story was worth the danger. <sigh> Oh well, now you’re caught. You wanted to crack the story of the millennium, so now you are going to get an exclusive. A real inside view of the life of a mind-fucked slave girl!” Jimmy moved then, and the colors once again danced before Carmen’s eyes. She tried to shut her eyes then, concentrated on shutting her eyes, tried with all her might to close them. Several minutes later, a dazed, entranced Carmen, her eyes now tightly shut, focused her mind on still trying to close her eyelids and shut out the spiraling colors dancing before her.