The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Marion watched the clock hand crawl through the seconds, waiting to die. She didn’t need to sit up, the nurses made sure she got plenty of soft hospital pillows behind her during the day.

The drugs dulled the pain most of the time, but she’d reached the point where she just wanted the treatments to stop. Seriously, what did it do now, but eat up her savings? Let the kids have some use of the money; she’d certainly feel better that way. Everybody tried to act like everything would be right as rain in a few weeks. It didn’t fool her and Marion knew that it didn’t fool them.

The room they gave her had a swing-out cable television set, a nice view of the park, and some pleasant pictures of the sea on the walls. Her healthcare shouldn’t have covered it, but Jill, her youngest granddaughter, had some pull with the university hospital thanks to her wife, Daivya.

Lesbians! Married! Sam would have died. The thought gave her a little chuckle. Well. Soon enough she’d be able to tell Sam herself. At that moment, as if summoned, Jill walked in.

“Hello, Nan! I brought you some more grapes,” said Jill, “they’re seedless, of course.” She smiled.

Marion could see it didn’t reach her eyes. Jill’s unruly blonde hair looked even more fraught than usual.

Her wife, Daivya, a tall, raven-haired beauty came in behind her, wearing her white doctor’s coat. Marion liked Daivya, she seemed like a good match for Jill. Reminded Marion a little of.

“Thank you, dear, I’ll have them a little later,” said Marion.

She chit-chatted with them.

She enjoyed letting Daivya know about all the scrapes Jill got into at the old house. Hunting for Easter eggs, going trick-or-treating, Jill waking her up to go fishing for socks off the end of her bed. The children would sell it now, she supposed. As they talked, she could hear faint echoes in Daivya’s voice.

“I knew a girl from Brooklyn once,” said Marion. She flushed, feeling extraordinarily silly to do so at her age.

“Really? Was she a good friend of yours?” Daivya leaned forward to listen. Marion didn’t know if she just had exceptional bedside manner or if it actually happened to be genuine interest. Probably the latter, she decided. Her granddaughter wouldn’t marry any other sort of person.

“Yes,” said Marion, “A very good friend called Jack, same as Jill’s father. Short for Jacqueline, although she never told me that herself.” She’d only found that out later at the funeral. Marion closed her eyes.

She lay still, not wanting to talk any more, just sleep for a little bit instead.

She heard Jill whispering softly to her. Jill’s lips touched briefly on her forehead and then sounds carried to her of the two young women creeping out of her hospital room.

“Mrs. McCall?” A soft, soothing voice.

“Mrs. McCall?” Somebody holding her left hand.

Marion opened her eyes and saw a serene blonde woman with deep blue eyes sitting in the chair next to her bed.

The woman wore a doctor’s coat, although Marion didn’t recognize her. The woman smiled. A nice, honest smile. Marion didn’t know when they started teaching these doctors’s such good bedside manner, but it impressed her.

“I’m Gabrielle Messenger, I’m a hypnotherapist and counselor in the hospital.” Her thumb gently stroked the back of Marion’s left hand. “I thought you might find it soothing if we tried some hypnotherapy.”

Marion raised an eyebrow, but then her granddaughter did just visit her with her wife, so these days . . .

“This is a modern thing, is it?” said Marion.

Dr. Messenger shook her head. “It’s very old, but it’s still got its place.”

Marion considered. Probably a bit like trying acupuncture or something. Well. Trying acupuncture got her off cigarettes back in the seventies, so why not indulge this?

“Alright then. What do I do?”

Dr. Messenger smiled again. “Just relax. Breathe in, breathe out. Feeling your breath moving, in, out. Listen to my voice . . . ”

click-clack-click-clack-click-clack-click-clack-click-clack-click-clack-ka-chunk

click-clack-click

Marion shot back in her chair, the wheels squeaking in protest. The stationary underneath the red ribbon in front of her read “Spence & Son Auto Repairs.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, her breath coming in short gasps.

The big white keys of her Remington. Stale coffee in the air mingling with the oil smell coming up through the door from the garage floor. Mr. Spence’s cigarette smoke hanging in the office. Oh,—not just his—she fumbled in her pockets and found the packet. She flipped it open. Half a pack left, must be the afternoon still.

She found her lighter in the other pocket of her cream cardigan, fingers trembling a little, she calmed them. Lost this lighter, didn’t I? When? Never mind. Lit one up. She inhaled quick . . . exhaled slow, shutting her eyes, savoring it. She remembered a classy dame didn’t inhale. Well. They could write her a letter.

“Everything smooth, Marion?,” called Mr. Spence, out of sight behind his desk in the garage’s inner office. He must have heard her chair squeak in the outer office through his half-opened door.

“Yes, Mr. Spence,” said Marion, “everything is . . . swell.” She reached up and pulled down a tuft of her hair for examination. Blonde. Put a finger to her lips, pulled it back for a look. Red lipstick.

She stood up, she could see the repair shop below, through the window of the outer office above her desk. Mechanics working on a Ford truck up on some rails. She choked. For a second she saw the short black haircut, before it disappeared behind a stack of tires piled up at the corner by the open garage doors.

She sat down again, placing both hands on her old wooden desk, squeezed it hard. It stayed real. Impossible. She glanced up at the calendar on the wall showing.

March, 1933.

It came back in a rush. Mr. Spence’s new secretary at Spence & Son Auto Repairs. Sam out of work. Gracie and Rose both toddling, baby Jack not even a twinkle in Sam’s eyes yet, not till the war. Twenty-one years old.

She heard the wooden stairs creaking as somebody climbed up to the offices from the floor below. She flushed cold.

“How’s my pip today then?” Petey Spence smiled at her from the doorway. His short spiky brown hair and yellow suit just the way Marion remembered.

“I’m a married woman, genius, and I ain’t your pip or anybody else’s pip except Mr. Samuel McCall’s,” said Marion.

Petey’s thin smile turned down, he didn’t take his eyes off her. “What’s Mr. Samuel McCall doing for you these days? Pip. I hear he’s beat.”

Mr. Spence bustled out of his office, battered brown suitcase in hand, his impressive stomach hanging over his belt. “Ah, good! No bumping gums with Marion, Petey, we have business to conduct at Dunlop’s. Marion, you’ll get those sales letters finished, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Spence,” said Marion. She didn’t take her eyes off Petey, her face expressionless. Mr. Spence barreled on down the stairs leaving the two of them alone in the office.

“I’ll be down in just a minute, Pa,” called Petey through the door. He turned back in, moving closer to Marion. She stood up. It occurred to her that she might just take out his eye with her cigarette, if it came to it.

“Your old man ain’t working, so who’s really providing for those weans of yours, eh? Pip. Maybe, you should start to dig that.”

Petey backed her against the partition wall between the offices. He seemed oblivious to the cigarette rising in Marion’s right hand. His voice starting to take on a husky tone. “Maybe, you should stop giving me the high hat, huh? Think about what that might do for your family. You might even find it juicy.”

Marion thought about Gracie and Rose. And yet-to-be baby Jack. Sam too.

Petey leaned in, his breath sweet from some gum he’d been chewing.

“Petey, your daddy wants you to run along now.”

A tall, muscular young woman stood at the door in grey mechanic’s overalls. She had a short, black haircut and clear blue eyes.

Petey didn’t bother looking back. “Leave us be! You’re interrupting a conversation.”

The tall woman walked into the office and tapped him on the shoulder. “Your daddy says, it’s time to make tracks.” Petey glared at her.

She shrugged, the corner of her mouth curling, “Nothing I can do, he’s the boss here, isn’t he?”

Petey turned on his heel and slammed the office door behind him. Marion could hear his steps hammering down the stairs.

“Thank you.” She knew what came next, but she wanted to hear her say it.

“No sweat,” said the tall woman. She pulled off a glove. “That nut will be in a real evil mood when he finds out his daddy didn’t send me up here.” Marion giggled in delight. “He pulled the same tricks with the last secretary, don’t want him trying it on again with a kitten like you.”

Marion took the tall woman’s hand. Her clear blue eyes shone as she gazed down at Marion.

“My name’s Jack.”

Sunset glowed in the window overlooking the park.

“What did you do to me, doctor?” Marion tried to keep her voice calm.

The serene blonde still held her hand. “I did very little, other than let your mind go where it wanted. I’m not here to upset you, though for someone like you, the experience is very intense. It’s a way of healing . . . of bringing resolution.”

Marion looked down at her hand. So old and wrinkled now, blue veins showing through the pale skin. The trance had been so real. “What do you mean by ‘someone like me’?”

The doctor stroked her thumb across the back of Marion’s hand, leaning forward a little. “Somebody with things that need to be resolved. Do you want to try one more time? You can stop now if you want, but I think that would be a . . . great shame.”

Marion pressed her lips together, looking up at the ceiling. She shook her head. “Let’s keep going.”

“Good. Now, once again, let’s begin with your breathing, in, out, focusing on your breath. Listening to my voice . . . .”

Marion looked up at the calendar. July 1933.

The Bakelite fan whirred and turned in the corner, sweeping a blast of cold air across her, giving temporary relief from the oppressive heat. Her metal lunch box sat on the desk beside her typewriter.

“You coming for lunch, kitten?”

Jack peered in through the door, a smudge of oil still on her cheek. Marion smiled and got up, crossing to Mr. Spence’s door. She peered inside, but he’d passed out behind his desk, a handkerchief over his face. Better to let sleeping dogs, she decided.

They passed swiftly out through the garage doors. Nobody raised an eyebrow, only natural after all, the two women at Spence should rub along together. Headed west, down towards the park, the red brick of the university hospital rising in the distance.

Jack grumbled about the Dodgers most of the way, she’d come out from Brooklyn looking for work in ‘31 and ended up at Spence. Apparently, the Dodgers looked like having another poor season.

Marion nodded along to the baseball talk, only half-listening, enjoying being out of the office. Jack didn’t ever talk about family much, although Marion gathered that’s how she learned auto repair.

They entered the park and found their spot on a bench between two big bushes up against the park hedge. Nice and secluded, with a view of the great lawn. Pigeons hopped around on it.

“Petey came round again, he’s just getting more and more whacky,” said Marion, “at least he doesn’t try it on when his daddy’s there.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. Marion put her hand on Jack’s arm, she shook her head.

Jack frowned at her. “I’m not a dummy,” said Jack, “but I could find a new job, people always need their tin cans fixed. He’s taking advantage of you.”

“Yeah, he’s all wet, but don’t go playing the hero, I don’t want it,” said Marion. “Sam will find work soon anyways.”

Jack snorted.

Marion decided to feed the pigeons rather than start an argument. They hopped over to peck at her bread. When she sat up, she could feel Jack’s arm lying along the top of the bench behind her. Their thighs and hips touching. Nobody in sight.

“You’ve got a smudge on your cheek,” said Marion. She fished a white cloth napkin out of her lunchbox and turned to dab at Jack’s cheek. Jack leaned in, so Marion could raise the napkin. She rubbed at the smudge, moving the napkin over Jack’s cheek, just below her clear blue eyes.

Lips touched.

“Okay, got it.”

Pigeons hopped about Marion’s shoes, hoping for more bread.

“Time to head back to Spence.”

Jack nodded, eyes scanning the lawn.

They got up and walked out of the park.

Marion could see the stars over the park as she lay in the hospital bed.

The pain started in her left side. Prickled needle sharp against her ribcage before moving in a wave through her left shoulder and down her arm.

Sweat burst as she scrabbled for the emergency button with her right hand. A steel band seemed to constrict her lungs, she fought to breath.

The waves intensified. Black spots appearing in the corner of her eyes.

She found the cord and the small handheld device.

Hit the button.

Pitch black swallowed her. In the last moment, through the pain, it felt as if someone stroked their thumb across the back of her hand.

Marion breathed through the oxygen mask. The plastic irritated the bridge of her nose. Well. Have to get use to it. The drip in her left arm didn’t bother her any more, so she guessed she could learn to make do. Jill held her right hand, squeezing it gently.

“You gave us a fright, Nan,” said Jill, “don’t do it again, okay?”

Marion nodded. She wished the nurses could put a few more pillows beneath her to sit up, but at the moment the doctors seemed to want her prone. At least Daivya made them raise the angle of her bed a bit.

“I’m fine,” said Marion, “still in the land of the living.” Her voice slurred slightly. Her eyes hooded. “Can you see if the hypnotherapist is available, dear?”

Jill flicked her eyes over to Daivya, sitting on the other side of the bed. She raised her shoulders slightly at Jill, hands parted, palms out. “Of course, Nan. Daivya will be able to find her I’m sure.”

Daivya got up.

“She’s been helping me remember Jack,” said Marion. Daivya stopped at the end of the bed, placing her hands on the rail, looking at Marion intently. “It’s been . . . wonderful . . . seeing her again.”

Daivya flicked through the charts hanging off the end of the bed, looking for something. Jill raised an eyebrow, Daivya looked up and shook her head. “Mrs. McCall, this hypnotherapist is a doctor?”

Marion’s chest rose and fell peacefully.

Daivya looked at Jill. “Could be a consultant of some sort I suppose, but there should be a name on the time charts.”

“Find out, Day, please.”

Marion could feel the thumb stroking the back of her hand. Oh, good, they did find her.

She opened her eyes and managed a half-smile at the serene blonde woman. Night starting to fall again outside.

“Ready?,” said Dr. Messenger, “You’ve done fantastically well so far, but things may start to be . . . difficult to cope with if we go further.”

“I know,” Marion smiled gently, “I’m the one remembering, aren’t I?”

“Yes, that’s right. Let’s begin. Relax and breathe. Listening to my voice . . . ”

Marion sat back in her chair, touching up her nails before “clocking on.” Jack liked scarlet. Looked like being a quiet day at the office, Mr. Spence gone upstate to an auto fair, hawking for contracts. She glanced up at the calendar. August, 1933.

Oh, no.

The outer office door swung open, Petey staring at her, his eyes a little bloodshot, the spiky brown hair starting to get a little frayed.

“Daddy left me in charge today,” said Petey, “guess we can rub along just fine together, can’t we? Pip.”

Marion pretended to ignore him, carefully stroking the tiny brush over the nails of her left hand.

Petey came over and half-sat on the edge of her desk, demanding her attention. Marion looked up into his face. She decided to try a non-antagonistic approach.

“Petey, I’m sure we’ll be swell, why don’t you go take a seat on the throne,” she gestured towards the open door to the inner office, “let me know if you need me to make you coffee.”

Petey’s lips curled, leaning over her. “I have something special to show you, want to see it?”

No. Absolutely not. Marion shrugged non-commitally. “Mmhmm?”

“I got talking to some boys in O’Donoho’s, talked to me about . . . ,” he giggled, “you’ll see,” from his pockets, Petey pulled out a rather battered gold pocket watch on a chain. “Have a look at this.”

He must have been to a lock-in given the state of him, thought Marion. Prohibition ending back in April, probably means business is booming.

Petey held it up in the light coming through the outer office window. It turned, glittering very faintly in the air.

“They sold me this watch, isn’t it great?” Petey sounded genuinely enthused. “Look at it how it catches the light.”

It did catch the light. Glittering and sparkling as it turned.

“Have a real good look, Marion,” said Petey, startling her by using her given name for once. “You know, I find it kind of relaxing, don’t you? Just very relaxing.”

Petey started swinging the watch slightly. “Just watching it swing back and forth.”

Marion’s eyes widened as she looked at the watch. Petey droned on, his voice getting thicker by the second.

The watch swung through the air, Marion following it with her eyes. It glittered and glinted.

She burst out laughing.

“Petey, did those boys at O’Donoho’s tell you you could do hypnosis?” Marion put a hand to her mouth, trying not to start crying. Petey’s face started turning red.

“Let me guess, it’s a magic hypnotic watch, right? Probably got it from gypsies, huh?” Petey’s lips parted, baring his teeth. “Oh, boy, you got chiseled good!”

His right hand shot back and he brought it forward sharp, but Marion remembered it and it glanced off the top of her head as she ducked. Enough to hurt like hell, not enough to take the fight out of her. Marion rammed the point of her right shoe into his left shin and Petey yelped, falling off the edge of the desk.

She twisted out of the chair as he grabbed at her from the floor, his fingers raking her back, but she grabbed the back of the chair and shoved it into him. The edge of the chair connected with his chest. He came up screaming bloody murder, but too late. Marion grabbed the handle to the inner office door and yanked it shut behind her.

The door started banging as Petey tried to pull it open. Marion braced her left foot against the wall, but Petey outmatched her for strength and she could feel the handle coming loose in her hands, the door opening.

Thud.

The door slammed shut, suddenly the pressure from outside gone.

“Kitten?”

Marion opened the door. Jack stood over Petey, a large mechanic’s spanner in her right hand. Petey slumped on the floor between the door and the wall, blood seeping out the back of his skull. Marion thought she saw him still breathing. She hoped.

Jack held out her left hand. “We need to get out of here.”

Marion took it.

Together, they ran.

Marion let Jack pull her down into the subway station, they waited on the platform, nobody seemed to pay them great mind. They sat in the carriage when it came, wordless. Marion didn’t remember any of this.

She remembered Petey hitting her, falling out of the chair, dazed face down on the floor. Petey shouting about what he wanted to do to her, pulling at her undergarments, then Jack coming through the door with the spanner. The other mechanics gathering around her, picking her up into the chair, then Petey scrambling up from where he lay, startling them, rushing into the inner office. Coming out with the revolver.

Now. Well. What?

“Are we on the lam?” She whispered. Jack shook her head, she looked a little pale. She’d tossed the spanner in a dumpster they passed in the street before reaching the subway.

“What can he do? He had it coming. Sonuvabitch.”

“Thanks,” said Marion. She wanted to kiss her, but she couldn’t, not in a subway carriage with a crowd. “I guess we lost our jobs.” She thought about Gracie and Rose. What now?

The carriage screeched, halting. Jack tapped her shoulder and she followed out into the streets again, sweat trickling down her back, her shirt starting to soak with it. A row of worker’s tenements, a few mothers and grandmothers sitting on the steps outside, watching children play. Somebody had opened up a fire hydrant.

“You’ve never seen my cave,” said Jack. She led Marion up some steps to a black door, let her inside. “I’m at the top.”

The stuffy air inside the building stifled her. They went up four narrow flights of stairs before reaching a tiny landing split between two facing doors. Jack opened the one on the left and gestured Marion to come in.

Marion saw two small rooms.

The immediate one had a sink under the window and a stove in the far corner next to it, some white cupboards had been placed on the other side of the sink, a pockmarked wooden table and a couple of plain chairs stood in the middle of the room. A stars and stripes hung off the wall on the right.

To her left, she could see a small bed in the other room through the door. She walked into the bedroom. The fire escape ran outside the bedroom window, just above the head of the bed. A small wooden dresser with a mirror had been squeezed up against the wall at the other end of the room.

Jack watched her from the bedroom door. “You want to sit at the table, I could make you something?”

Marion shook her head, she peered out the bedroom window, looked up and tugged the blind down. Jack came in carrying an electric fan, the cord trailing behind her, she set it up on the dresser. Cool air started to sweep over them. She stood looking at Marion, awkwardly.

“You sure you don’t want a coffee? We have to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Sit on the bed.”

None of this happened. She didn’t remember any of it.

Marion passed Jack where she sat on the bed and peered at herself in the small mirror. She started unpinning her blonde hair, it fell into its natural unruly state. She looked down at the ring on her finger, she struggled with it a second and then it came off. She set it down on the dresser beside the hairpins.

Jack looked wide-eyed. It gave her a little shiver. She slipped her hands around Jack’s neck and leaned down, forcing her tongue into her mouth, pushing off Jack’s overalls and pulling up her white tee.

She took one of Jack’s nipples in her mouth, sucking on it, Jack’s fingers ran through her hair, arching her small, high breasts forward for Marion to kiss.

Jack pulled at Marion’s blouse till it came loose, undid the buttons, snapping open her bra. They both stopped for a moment and looked at each other, Marion giggled. They started kissing again, trying to take a little more time.

Marion lay back on the bed, naked, her legs splayed open. Jack tracing her fingers and tongue over Marion’s pale white skin. She gasped as Jack’s tongue moved down to between her thighs, arching her back up.

She reached down with her left hand and pushed her fingers through the short, black hair. Jack’s tongue licked and then traced circles, repeating the pattern, maddening her.

Her fingers kept teasing Marion, Marion called her name. She pressed herself up against Jack’s mouth, eyes shut, as her body spasmed.

Marion ran her tongue across Jack’s stomach, her hands pushing on Jack’s thighs, spreading them out and up. The smell of sex filled her nostrils, intoxicating. She moved her head lower, shifting her fingers to spread and then her tongue to lick. She found the little bud she sought and devoted herself to it. She loved the feeling of Jack pressing up against her tongue.

She stopped when she could feel the tremors start, licked slowly up again to Jack’s navel. Jack sobbed in protest.

Marion dipped her head down again, this time she didn’t stop for anything.

Dawn shone through the window over the park. Marion thought she might be able to see their bench in the distance if she could only get up and look. She turned to the serene blonde woman sitting beside her bed.

“My memories have changed, I changed them,” said Marion, “what is this? It’s not hypnosis.”

“It’s very ancient, just as I said,” Messenger, or whoever she might be, didn’t seem surprised by the question, “not everybody is given the chance to re-live their past as clearly as you. You have a very unique soul.”

Marion rolled her eyes. “Well. Too bad I only find that out now, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is. That’s why I’m here, a soul should be complete.”

Marion’s brow furrowed. “Or you’re a figment of my dying mind’s imagination. I just had a stroke, trying to talk to my granddaughter wiped me out, but with you? Here I am, chatting away.” She could feel the anger boiling. It felt good. Alive.

Marion stared into the deep blue eyes. “Petey Spence shot Jack. There.”

The past came out a cruel rush.

“She died. She jumped in front of a bullet to stop him from shooting me. I mourned her, but I got on with my life, I raised my kids, because that’s what they needed me to do. And I did a damn good job.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Tiredness lapped at her mind.

“This is all in my head, a stupid dream. . . . No more.”

Time passed.

She could hear nurses starting their rounds. She opened her eyes and saw the . . . whatever it is she’d conjured up in her head still sitting beside her bed, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Messenger didn’t offer her hand. “You can see her one last time. That’s all that’s left to you.”

Marion looked out the window.

She reached out her hand. The thumb stroked across the back of it as Messenger started to speak.

Jack strode along the sidewalk. “It’s fine, Marion. I’ll be in and out in a second.” She paused at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting as a tram passed.

Marion tugged at the sleeve of her overalls. “No, it’s not. I’m scared what he’ll do, I think he’s got a gun.”

Jack rolled her eyes, she started crossing the street towards the next block. Spence & Son Auto Repairs stood on the middle of the next block. One of the male mechanics, standing just outside the doors, saw them coming and waved, smiling. Jack laughed.

“See, Petey either didn’t say a word or he’s disappeared off to the hospital with his tail between his legs. Oh, I hope they had to call him a meat wagon.”

Marion sucked on her lips. Maybe so. It still felt like a fool’s errand, but Jack wanted her auto mechanic’s toolkit out from under a bench in the garage, it belonged to her and she needed it to help find new work. Marion suspected it used to belong to a family member as well, but she didn’t know for sure.

So much she didn’t really know about Jack. Never had the chance to find out.

They reached the entrance to the garage, the big double doors slid back all the way, a couple of cars standing idle on top of rails inside. The mechanic grinned at them, enjoying a cigarette.

“Long lunch today, you two.”

Marion thought she saw something in his eyes. She didn’t care for it.

Jack just grinned back. “Petey around?”

The mechanic nodded towards the office up in the back, overlooking the garage. “Hasn’t come out all day. You can see the lads knocked off for a beer, about to go myself once I’m done with this, you two dolls want to come?”

Much to Marion’s annoyance, Jack laughed.

“No.”

The mechanic shrugged amiably and took a long drag on his cigarette.

Marion grabbed Jack’s arm and hissed low, out of ear shot. “Honey, can we get your damn toolkit and go, please? Now?”

Jack raised her eyebrows at Marion, whispered back. “Of course, kitten.”

Jack hurried inside and reached beneath a green workbench, she pulled out a long metal toolbox. She smiled at Marion. “I’m sorry, but it used to be my Da.”

The office door slammed open.

Petey Spence stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes looked even more bloodshot than this morning. It occurred to Marion that Mr. Spence kept a bottle of scotch in his desk.

“We’re leaving Petey. We quit, the both of us,” said Jack.

Petey came down the stairs, his right arm held down straight, just behind him. Marion tugged at Jack’s sleeve.

“Let’s go. Please, Jack. Please.”

Petey’s right arm came up, the little black revolver looked exactly the way that Marion remembered it.

Nan?

The two women stood still. Petey started to speak, calling them names. Telling them what he thought they were.

Nan!?

Jack pushed Marion behind her as Petey reached the bottom of the stairs. The revolver shook a little in his hands. Marion could hear the male mechanic calling for Petey to calm down.

Flatlining . . . Nurse . . .

Petey blinked, his eyes tearing up, he shook his head. Marion realized he didn’t want to shoot Jack. He wanted to shoot her.

Clear.

She grabbed Jack’s waist and shoved her to one side, the move catching Jack by surprise, she dropped her toolkit, it clattered onto the floor.

Clear.

The end of the revolver pointed at her, a dark and empty void. She thought about Gracie and Rose. And yet-to-be Jack. Saw the flash, but didn’t hear the sound clearly. Everything seemed to be filtered through a muffle or as if she heard the sound from deep beneath the surface of a vast lake. The heat burned her skin.

I’m sorry. Last time.

Marion spun, screaming in pain, she could feel the blood flowing down from the top of the left side of her head where the bullet grazed her. She fell on the hard concrete floor. Jack grabbed Petey’s hand, thrusting it up, the muzzle point flashed again. She couldn’t hear anything apart from ringing. Petey’s hand twisted as he wrestled with Jack, the gun going off again.

Clear.

Petey’s jaw dropped open. Jack let him go, and he fell back, sprawling against the workbench. Blood stained his white shirt, spreading across his stomach, the gun dropped out of his hand onto the concrete. Petey locked eyes with Marion, just for a moment, before his eyes started to glaze.

I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing more we can do.

The male mechanic ran up, his hand clutched over his mouth. Jack looked dazed. Petey’s head fell to one side, he lay still.

Time of death . . .

Daivya held up the picture for closer inspection.

Two women looked out at her from the picture, she turned it on its back a second. Momma and Aunt Jack, April, 1959, photo by Jack.

Marion wore a nice, prim dress, every inch the proper fifties mother. She could see the resemblance between Marion and Jill. She guessed that whenever Marion’s hair had come unpinned, it had never quite sat still either.

The other woman in the picture, tall and broad-shouldered with a short, black haircut, wearing what looked like denim, grinned broadly at the photographer. That would be Aunt Jack.

A widow and her spinster friend leaning together against their garden wall being photographed by their son.

Jill had filled Daivya in on the family history. Her grandfather, Sam, died during the war, Marion already pregnant with Jill’s own father, an unexpected late addition to the family. Aunt Jack moved in with her then, and helped raise her own namesake, as well as Marion’s teenage daughters, Gracie and Rose.

The two of them lived together for over fifty years before Jack passed on.

Jill told lovely stories about fishing for socks off the end of their bed while Aunt Jack pretended to be the ship’s ancient skipper and her Nan tried to sleep a little longer. Apparently, Jill’s family never mentioned the obvious about them, you just got left to work that one out for yourself.

They looked like soul-mates in the picture.

Daivya peered out the back window of the room, looking down from the second floor. The garden looked a bit overgrown, but Daivya could imagine getting it into shape.

Quite a nice little house, Daivya thought, solid red brick. We could put a big screen television in one room and I’d never have to go in there or hear about it ever again. About an hour to the campus, but that could be manageable. Decent neighborhood, nice trees lining the streets.

She remembered a colleague saying the schools were good. Now, there’s a thought.

She called to Jill, thinking maybe the old house shouldn’t be sold after all.

Two weeks after the funeral of Marion McCall.

The stars sparkled over the park, the university hospital building rising up along one side.

Nurse Atkins heard a slight murmuring coming from one of her rooms, so far a quiet night shift, but you never knew what could start happening. She walked in softly, not wanting to unnecessarily disturb a patient who didn’t have much time left. The room dark. The old woman lay sound asleep, her chest rising and falling, the oxygen mask over her face. Nurse Atkins looked round, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. How odd. Must have been her imagination. She turned to leave, for a moment, at the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a serene blonde woman with deep blue eyes sitting beside the bed.

Nurse Atkins shook her head and hurried out to make herself a stiff coffee.