The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Crandell had moved on to the next article in the magazine, this one about the author’s float trip along the Black River up north of town. Crandell’s activities had taken him up to that neck of the woods more than once over the years, and he idly wondered if the piece’s author (one ‘Kevin J. Murrey’) had known about all the dirt that was being done all around him as he had paddled along in his little raft and slept in his little riverside B&Bs...

Highly unlikely, but at least it was a lot better written than the slop about the totem poles.

The hospital intercom squawked itself to life, and his eyes shifted in the general direction of the nearest wall speaker.

“Dr. White, Dr. James White, please call extension 23.”

He became slightly less tense. Every move deliberate, he closed his magazine and positioned it back on the low table in the center of the waiting room. On top of the other magazines, beside the tray of cafeteria food that the two women had abandoned when they had made their abrupt departure..

As he did this and then absently pushed the stack into a neatly aligned pile with his fingertips, he studied the tray. Two limp cafeteria sandwiches, two apples, a can of pop and a Styrofoam cup of tea. A lingering wisp of steam rose off the surface of the last of these items, and a paper napkin lay on the floor where it had been dropped.

He got up. For a moment he was mildly tempted to pick up the napkin and put it back on the tray, but he stifled the impulse. He straightened his coat and left the alcove. A sign overhead said EXIT in glowing green, and so he followed it towards the stairs, his footsteps unhurried. He had had enough of elevators for one day.

After a single casual glance, he did not look back.

Only now did he start to think.

-What the hell just happened here?—

First of all, he had learned a few definite things, at least as definite as things ever got in his business. The possibility that this was all some bizarre set-up on that fucker Raul’s part could never be discounted...

Miss Mainspring was named ‘Nina’. The blonde in the green dress was (evidently) Raul’s ‘Suzanna.’ She and Nina and the target were all on a first-name basis, everybody knew ‘Tom Woodhue’, everybody was here because of said Mr. Woodhue. They had reasons for avoiding Woodhue’s family. Richard and Beverly.

Beyond that...

None of it made any sense.

As he yanked open the door to the stairwell, he reviewed the mental picture he now had of Suzanna, having finally gotten a better look at the woman. Fine blonde hair, naturally straight but arranged in a kind of faux-windblown look around her shoulders. Taller than Nina, not as tall as the target. Full-figured (the most of the three women.). A light tan that looked natural, something of an accomplishment in this city, but not totally impossible if a person worked at it diligently enough. As already noted, a short green dress. One of those stupid little I’m-so-fucking-innocent numbers, but it had suited her body well.

No purse or handbag; that was one of the things that didn’t fit. A woman usually had something, and with a dress like that, usually the wearer had something that matched.

Then there were the eyes. Cold, hard blue eyes that matched his brief glimpses of her personality, but was totally at odds with the rest of her body and her wardrobe. Eyes that weren’t all that different than the ones that Crandell saw every morning in his mirror.

Why was the woman with those eyes the one who was also wearing that dress and fetching the grub from the cafeteria, while Nina lounged around with her magazine? Lovely Nina, who clearly would never be the one in charge of an operation, or would probably blow it if she was...

An actress, playing a role?

But for whose benefit?

Nina’s? The brunette had been surprised and annoyed when the blonde had left for the bathroom. (Or wherever it was she had actually gone. If Suzanna was really sick, then Crandell was a ring-tailed lemur.)

His soles echoed against the stairs.

Or had it been for his benefit? Yes, that seemed more likely. Something about him or his appearance had spooked her. It happened sometimes, despite his best efforts. It might prove to be a problem, but not an insurmountable one in the end.

And she had taken the painting with her when she left, which merely confirmed the thing’s importance.

So what were the two of them doing right now?

It was possible they were trying to sic the hospital security on him; that was why he had listened to the intercom message.

But the message hadn’t been one of the coded calls for security that the hospital used. (Jolene had briefed him on those at one point...) And even if it had been, unless the two women tried to trump up some kind of quick harassment or assault frame, the worst the uniformed monkeys could do if they caught up with him would be to escort him from the building. He should know that better than anyone.

They had gone somewhere with the painting. He had made Suzanna nervous, so she had taken the painting and scarpered, taking Nina with her.

Crandell was becoming very interested in that painting.

The two of them left Woodhue’s room, and found that the trio waiting outside the door had changed; the woman Woodhue had named as ‘Erika Johanson’ had been replaced by a very thin Anglo with long (but clean) hair, holding a shiny helium balloon on a string. The three individuals broke off from their talking to face Louis and Dunmayer. Louis gave his throat an official clearing and spoke.

“We’re done with Mr. Woodhue for now. Thank you all for your patience.”

The bearded man (Woodhue’s brother or some other close relative, judging from the facial similarity...) spoke.

“No problem. Is everything all right... officer?”

“I believe so. But just for our records...” Louis let his hand find the appropriate pocket and extract the notebook and pen once again. “May I please get all of your names and numbers? We may need to get in touch with you at a later date.”

He wrote down the results. Richard Woodhue, (yes, brother.) Beverly Woodhue, sister-in-law. Monty Kelsay, co-worker. Finished with this, he looked around.

“And Miss.... I believe Mr. Woodhue said her name was Miss Johanson?”

The three civilians exchanged glances before Mrs. Woodhue shrugged and spoke.

“She said she had to go to the bathroom.”

“I see.”

An automatic scribble, a note in his own personal shorthand to shoot Miss Johanson’s name through the system. It was probably nothing, but if the woman had some reason to make herself disappear when policemen came around...

“That will be all for now. Thank you for your time.”

They made their various good-byes and departed. Louis and Dunmayer were silent as they trudged down the hall back towards the elevator. Louis felt his hand reaching into his cigarette pocket, the motion a part of the continual dance. He removed the hand and locked it into place. At least wait until they were out in the parking lot...

The next elevator car arrived. A short rather greasy-looking individual with a mass of (dirty) black hair lurked in one corner, and no words were spoken until he left them upon reaching the third floor. Only then did Louis turn and study his partner. She was staring at the doors and chewing at her bottom lip, the latter always a bad sign in Louis’s experience.

“No conspiracy theories this time?” Dunmayer gave a little jump and came back from wherever she had been. She faced him.

“Sorry. It’s just... it’s damn strange, but that Woodhue guy...”

“What about him? I suppose you’re going to tell me he was hiding something.”

“Of course he was hiding something.” She made an annoyed, flicking gesture. “Because they always fucking are, even the ones who didn’t do whatever we’re checking out. But that’s not what I was thinking about. He reminded me of something... and I can’t put my finger on it...” She shook her head, and narrowed her gray eyes.

“You seen him around before somewhere? You saw his record; clean except for a couple of parking tickets. And seeing what the man does for a living, I’m surprised he doesn’t have more.”

“No. No. It’s not him. I see it now. He reminds of someone. Someone I knew... a long time ago.” The gray eyes went atypically hazy for a moment, then snapped back into focus, fully open. Their owner made the same gesture of dismissal again, more emphatic this time. “But that’s over and done with. Now, we’ve got work to do.”

“We could wait until morning. Until we’re sure.” Louis kept his voice mild. “Jablonski and the others, they still have to finish their tests.”

“Do you think it was an accident?”

Louis sighed. He actively considered lying for a moment, if only to buy himself a few hours of relative peace, but finally pushed the idea aside.

“No.” He dispatched a hand in search of an antacid, and after an expedition it found one, although the package was nearly empty. Just one more thing for The List, along with Miss Johanson, and picking up Maria’s dress after work, and all the rest. “My gut tells me that when Jablonski dumps this mess back on our desk, the sheet on the top of the pile will say someone tried to kill that man.”

“You place far too much reliance on your gut.”

“You say that, even though it agrees with you?”

A sour look.

“Yes.”

They exited out into the lobby.

-Ah, Dunmayer... Dunmayer with all of those whirling steel bearings in your head... someday you’re going to have to learn to ease off, give up a little of that control...—

As they left the building, he lit a cigarette, and Dunmayer extracted her cellphone. (Everyone has their vices...) She speed-dialed a number and spoke.

“Brian Toberlin, please. Selena Dunmayer.... Hi, it’s me... listen, I’m going to be running a little late again tonight. How about we just meet at your place later, instead of... Yeah. Around seven?... OK. Talk to you later.” A pause, not a listening pause. “Brian. I love you. I just wanted you to know...” She flushed a little at whatever she heard. “...OK. Seven. Bye.” She disconnected, and silently dared Louis to make a comment.

Louis studied his cigarette smoke.

“You’re going to act?” Suzanna felt her fingers start fiddling at the edge of her dress; she couldn’t seem to control them anymore at moments like this. “What are you going to do, Nina?”

Nina looked down at her like a entomologist studying a moose fly pinned to a card.

“Well, the first thing that we are going to do is test the painting.”

Suzanna shifted her eyes away.

“Tom wouldn’t like that.”

Nina’s voice and texture were both very... careful, like a woman trying to walk along a narrow beam over a pit of crocodiles.

“He told me not to do anything he wouldn’t do. And yes, he wouldn’t use it... Really use it. At least not unless he really had to. Don’t you agree?”

The appropriate bird stirred and reluctantly issued a reply.

“Yes. That’s what I’m—”

“But he would test it. On someone who hasn’t been previously seen it. He’s going to need to know if it works.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re going to test it.”

“On him?” Suzanna dragged herself back to her feet, and reluctantly nodded her head in the direction of the sleeping man. (His texture was quite placid and soothing; Suzanna liked him already.)

“Well, I suppose—” Nina spoke with equally reluctance. They looked at the man for a very long time. They looked at the painting. (Not at it directly, of course...) Finally Nina spoke, her brow furrowed, the words coming with some difficulty.

“I can’t... do it. I literally can’t bring myself to do it.”

Suzanna tried to move her feet, her hands. To take the painting, walk over to the man. The birds started flying like drunks, crashing into each other. Her body was suddenly turned into a statue, until she stopped struggling against the bands that had locked themselves around her limbs, around her lungs...

She could lift her hands and wiggle her fingers in relief. She could breath again.

“Me neither.”

They exchanged a rather wan glance.

“Well. I guess we’ve learned something already.”

“Yes.”

“But what about...” Nina pointed, the rest of her fingers still holding the painting.

A wispy-looking woman in a matching blue blouse and skirt was coming along the hallway towards them, pretty in an overly-fragile way. Her texture was very similar; it brought to mind fine bone china, paper-thin, carefully arranged in a sitting room that somehow was dusted just a little too often. (Not totally unsimilar to Nina’s, actually...) Her hair was blonder than Suzanna’s, a platinum helmet that was almost white.

Suzanna glanced around. Apart from the sleeper, there was no one else immediately in sight. Fortunately for whatever reason this floor of the hospital appeared to be much less busy than the one the Master was currently on.

“Excuse me?” Nina spoke brightly, and the woman looked at them with a little start.

“Yes?” Suspicion, which Suzanna supposed was entirely understandable.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but we’ve been assigned to look into options for some new decor for the hospital—” Nina released her grip with one hand long enough to give it a general sort of wave- “...and we were wondering if you’d just give us your quick first impression of this painting.” Nina flipped the spiral up so the woman could see it.

“Ugh.” The woman squinted at the painting. “I’m sorry, but that’s... that’s just...”

She was looking at the center of the painting.

At that last little hook twisting in on itself.

She tipped her head, and her voice trailed off.

Nina silently started moving the painting back and forth, back and forth, just a little, and the woman was swaying in time to the movement, already swaying, and Suzanna was swaying as well and she couldn’t seem to stop.

And as she looked at the woman’s glazing blue eyes, at her dissolving texture, her sex began to throb again, low and deep and powerful. She licked at her lips, suddenly bone dry.

In a few short seconds the throb had swallowed the lower half of her body, and the birds were all falling, falling, falling into it, and a voice filled the empty spaces they left behind in the sky...

-Go to her. Whisper in her ear. You know the words. You know all the words. Convert her. Do it now. Make her the Master’s next slavegirl. You want it. She wants it. The Master wants it. You know what you have to do.—

“No. Nina. Help. Stop it.”

Nina’s voice came from somewhere very far away.

“I- I can’t. She wants it. I want it. The Master—”

In a last desperate effort, the birds tried to give way to the Ninabird, let it back into the sky.

It was gone. It had been down below, further down, and it had been swallowed up first of all, for all its vast bulk swallowed up in a single gulp.

And so the sky was empty.

Quite empty.

The words, the Words, filled Suzanna’s mouth and her fingers rose up to stroke and touch and to-

“NO!”

Nina stared at the swaying blonde woman over the top of the painting. The machinery in her head hammered and throbbed, the various parts glowing bright red as they surged against each other. She had never been this aroused, except for those moments when the Master was physically coming coming coming deep inside her body, her moments of ultimate fulfillment.

Words spit themselves out of the machinery, shaped flames:

-GO TO HER WHISPER IN HER EAR YOU /KNOW/ THE WORDS YOU KNOW /ALL/ THE WORDS CONVERT HER DO IT NOW MAKE HER THE MASTER’S NEXT SLAVEGIRL YOU WANT IT SHE WANTSITTHEMASTERWANTSIT-

-YOU KNOW WHAT Y-

And from somewhere inside the control room, at the very last second, there was a wail, panicky and enraged.

“NO!”

-The Master doesn’t want it! DON’T DO ANYTHING HE WOULDN’T DO!!!—

Nina wrenched the painting away, and the machinery slowly, slowly began to wind down, settle back into its old grooves.

Only it hadn’t. Something was there that hadn’t been there before. A new maddening flicker of emphasis in the gears. Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk. Nina stared at it with morbid fascination, and then she knew exactly what it was.

She spared a quick glance towards the sleeping man. She must have said something aloud; he had cracked an eye and was studying her.

She looked at Suzanna. Her fellow slavegirl stood motionless, her frozen fingers outstretched. The flicker crawled amongst the machinery, repelled and attracted all at once.

And finally, she looked at the other women. The blonde’s expression was coming back into focus, her slim hand touching her forehead with confusion.

Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk

-Oh God.—

The compulsion was still here. To lift the painting, to-

-DON’T DO ANYTHING I WOULDN’T DO-

A voice, the same hateful voice, whispered among the machinery: It hadn’t technically been an order the Master gave you. He wouldn’t mind. He’d be happy with you. He’d-

Again she pushed it away. No, it hadn’t been a literal order, but the Master had been serious, and it was still all that was holding the wolves at bay...

For how long?

Not long at all, the voice gloated.

And so there was only one thing they could do now.

Still holding the painting in one hand, Nina grabbed Suzanna’s arm with the other. She pulled in the direction of the elevators, and Suzanna followed without resistance. Nina hissed as soon as they were out of the immediate range of the other two.

“Suzanna! Snap out of it! Now!” Part of her clenched up at the thought that came to her at this point, but she pushed it forward nonetheless. “That other one of you! Bring her back!”

“I can’t.” Suzanna’s voice was distant and hazy, but at least she replied. “She’s gone right now. I don’t know when I can get her back. If I can get her back..”

Nina ground her teeth.

“Focus, damnit. We have to concentrate.”

“I know what we can do!”

“What?”

Suzanna spoke as if she come up with some scintillatingly brilliant idea which had previously eluded all of the greatest minds of the past century.

“Let’s find a pretty girl and enslave her! For the Master.”

“No. NO!” Nina hissed between her teeth.

“We have to.” Suzanna sounded puzzled at Nina’s resistance. “We know what we have to do. And it’s not as if the Master ordered us not to.”

Once again they had reached the elevators. (Nina was rapidly growing to hate those matched sets of green metal doors.) They were also back in range of this floor’s nurse’s station, so Nina forced herself to release her grip on Suzanna’s arm.

-We have to.—

-Don’t do what I wouldn’t do.—

Nina closed her eyes.

Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk.

Their would-be test subject wandered past, ignoring them, still looking a little dazed.

“As I said a moment ago, he did order me... All right. Yes. But we’re going to...” Nina jabbed the down button, an act that required every ounce of concentration she could muster. “...we’re going to help the Ma- Tom when we do it. Not just please him.”

“Erika? Are we going to finally enslave Erika?”

Nina glanced around, but no one appeared to be overhearing them. The doors slid open.

“No. Not Erika. Not today. Not right now.” Nina pulled her into the (mercifully empty) elevator and the doors closed behind them. “I have a better plan.”

-Not a good plan.— She admitted internally. -Just a better plan. We no longer have time to come up with a good plan...—

She jammed the button for the fourth floor, and the car descended into the depths.

Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk.

They had made most of the trip from Harrison in total silence, fighting their way through the last of the rush hour traffic, both women wrapped in their thoughts. Kristen huddled in her corner of the truck cab. Holli had always made her a little nervous under the best of circumstances, even before...

Before the cave

Before the throne

Before

Kristen’s head gave a little jerk. She knew what she had to do, but again and again the fear surged inside her, waves of it coming and going, lurking down in some deep pit before crashing back up into the light.

Not with Holli. Kristen could tell, stealing the occasional glance from the corner of her eye; the tall blonde woman drove with her knuckles wrapped tight, her mouth screwed down into a thin line. A cold fiery rage burned in the back of her eyes, burned with unwavering intensity.

Kristen took a long slow breath and forced herself to relax. To close her eyes and to consider. It was hard. When she closed her eyes, shapes seemed to squirm there, black on black, and they were so distracting...

Did they have to be? Don’t be distracted by them, use them...

Something pinged inside Kristen’s mind. Not a big thing, and not something she could immediate identify, but very definite.

She watched the blackness squirm, then popped her eyes open. They were nearly to the hospital. If she didn’t do something...

“Holli?”

“What?“ The other woman didn’t even glance in her direction.

Kristen took a careful breath, forced herself to speak calmly.

“If we just go charging in there... now... they’ll stop us. He’ll go on living.”

“He dies. Tonight. We are not waiting until they release him.”

Kristen felt her hands clench, forced them flat again. It wasn’t just Holli’s voice that was saying this.

“Yes. Yes. Tonight.” Speaking soothingly to forces within and outside... “But we still need to wait a couple of hours. There are going to be too many people there now. People visiting him.” Visiting him of their own free will, going down into that Cave voluntarily; Kristen would never in a million years understand how some peoples’ minds worked... “If we wait just a couple of hours... My sister Karen, she works over at Pathfinder, and she’s been griping to me for months now. Ever since the HMOs took over, they’ve been slashing staff everywhere. Particularly during the night shift. If we wait until most of the visitors clear out and then we sneak in, it will be so much easier. He might even be asleep. Just a couple of hours!”

Holli finally did look in her direction, her expression unchanged.

Or was it?

“If I could get my hands on a fucking bazooka, I’d shoot it into the fucking building. I don’t care about anything else. They aren’t going to stop us.”

Kristen’s anger finally flared all the way up and she turned fully in her seat, let the blackness spill out of her.

“You want to spend the rest of your life locked in some rotten jail cell, with that bastard still alive out there somewhere, taking more women down into that Goddamn cave? You won’t even be able to fuck Gary again, as bad as I imagine that was. Is that what you want, Holli? Huh?” She was vaguely aware that she was yelling now.

They happened to be stopped at a traffic light, so Holli faced her, on the surface her gaze still unflinching. But under the surface... She said nothing for a moment. Finally...

“All right. Fine. A couple of hours.” She turned back to driving. “But we go find out which room he’s in now, when we can ask.”

“Yes.” Forced calmness again, but the waters swirled under the calm surface. “That’s a good idea.”

A short time later, they pulled into the hospital parking lot. It took a few moments of cruising to find a place to park the truck. They both got out.

“This won’t take long. Why don’t you wait here?”

Kristen started to comply, then felt something tighten inside her, another quarter-turn on an object that had suddenly started moving.

“No.”

Holli again studied her for a long moment and then shrugged, trying to dislodge something invisible from her broad shoulders.

“Suit yourself.” She extracted a fannypack from the truck, put it on, locked the truck doors and clumped off across the lot, with Kristen coming along close behind. They passed through the doors into the lobby. A large metal bird sculpture leered at them from overhead. Kristen only glanced at it, but it still reminded her of one of the villains from some old flick she had rented from Martinelli’s a couple weeks back. It suddenly seemed very important to remember which one. At The Earth’s Core? No... Beasts of Dr. Fang? Yeah... that was it... that scene in the arboretum towards the end, where the Winged Thing suddenly comes swooping down from ceiling, down from the shadows... Now, she suddenly and vividly realized that she had watched the movie before, as a kid. She and Karen had watched it one night without telling their folks, and that scene had given Kristen nightmares for a week.

She had forgotten, even after re-watching it...

They threaded their way through the crowd and started to get in the line that led to the reception desk, when a figure in the vicinity of the elevators waved at them and came over. A tallish man with a healthy shock of light-brown hair. Small rimless glasses. Wearing slacks and a rather flappy leather jacket. It took Kristen a long moment to sort faces and finally recognize who it was. Jim Harbine. From the Harrison records and IT department.

“Hey, guys. Here to see Tom? C’mon. I already got his room number from that old bat at the reception desk.”

Just then one of the sets of elevator doors slid open, disgorging a Hispanic man in a trench-coat and an intense-looking woman wearing a business suit. The duo stalked past them and the resulting empty hole resembled the gaping mouth of a cave.

The Cave.

Another something, the same something, gave a final little ping inside Karen. She smiled, or at least once again moved her mouth into the proper shape.

“Of course. Lead the way.”

She followed Jim into the blackness, not looking to see if Holli was following.

An elderly woman sporting a pinched face and a severe black dress met Erika in the doorway of the bathroom, but after they had done the shuffling back-and-forth dance that always occurs in such situations, the room revealed itself to be otherwise unoccupied. Erika selected one of the stalls in the middle of the row and used it in the usual fashion, her fingers oddly clumsy and fumbling for a second as she pulled down her panties. Then, still sitting on the toilet, she felt moisture on her face and realized that she was crying again.

-Pregnant women and their wacky hormones, ha ha-

When she had finally finished discharging all of her fluids and doing the reassembly ritual, she abandoned the stall and moved to stand in front of one of the sinks. She washed her hands. She extracted a Kleenex from the small handbag she carried slung over one shoulder and used the tissue to mop up the waterworks damage on her face, finishing up by giving her nose a healthy blow. The shattered remnants went into a nearby garbage can, a neat little hook-shot. (At least those years of basketball back in high school hadn’t been totally wasted...) As she did all of these things, a redheaded stranger looked back at her from the mirror, a woman with abrupt new lines of strain showing around the edges of her blue-green eyes. Erika straightened up, placed her hands against her sides, curling one set of fingers around the bag’s familiar shape. The stranger mimicked her.

“So. What do we do now, girl? Any thoughts?”

Run away?

Even now, the thought had a definite appeal and she allowed a moment of fantasy to creep in. She let her eyes slip closed as the scenario unspooled for the mental cameras.

Leave the bathroom. Go straight back down to the parking lot, get in the van, back to the house to get Willikins and then drive away. Where to?

Go back to live with her parents... and Gwen... at the lodge?

Ugh. No. Absolutely not.

Instead, call Pat in the morning and cash in what little was left of her portfolio from the old days. Yes. Take the money, such as it was, go find some jerkwater little town somewhere. Hell. Maybe go all the way, live in Polktown, and every weekend hike up that long hill and visit Fiona. Watch her smoke her damn stinky cigarettes. And...

The hands of the woman in the mirror moved to the attached stomach and began sliding against it, back and forth.

-And the rest of the week, raise Mr. Woodhue’s baby all alone. The Stigma of Unwed Motherhood, the poor kid growing up never knowing his wonderful marvelous father. Wouldn’t Fiona laugh at that. That would just make my big sister’s day. Someone else in the family who had finally messed their life almost as badly as she had.—

A long pause.

-Why do I think that even Fiona’s laughter might be so much easier to deal with than whatever truly lies ahead?—

The stranger finally spoke.

“You ran away from everything once in your life already.”

Her sliding hands dug into the fabric of her jacket.

-I did not run away. Just the opposite. I...—

She let the thought trail away. It didn’t matter what a person called it.

She couldn’t do it again, for a whole galaxy of reasons.

Erika Imogene Johanson opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror.

She left the bathroom, the pneumatics of the door sighing as they wheezed themselves shut behind her.

“So. How was your day?” Holli gave a violent start, and tried to wrap her mind around the question, around the man asking it. Jim. Right. She had always liked Jim well enough; not nearly as stuck up as some of the other damn droids over there in the Offices. Maybe because he and his pal Monty actually got their hands dirty, working on the company’s computer system. Too thin and scrawny to be good looking, but at least his hair was OK, just a couple of shades more brown than her own. Of course Monty was even worse in term of lack of meat, and if Gary hadn’t been around, Jim just might have been her fall-back choice for-

“Oh, you know.” Holli jumped again; it was Kristen who had replied, fortunately covering up Holli’s slowly-crawling thoughts. “Busy busy.” Her voice was so... normal, which sent Holli off another train of thought. What had happened? As it had several times before, her rage had easily carried her across town to the hospital, dragging trampy little Kristen in her wake. But now that they were actually here, here on the threshold of that ghastly space, the Door and beyond it the Room looming closer and closer every second, everything was slipping away from her, and it was Kristen who was suddenly- “Say... We didn’t actually hear.” Kristen’s eyes stabbed in Holli’s direction for a moment before returning to Jim. “He is going to be OK, isn’t he? Tom?”

Jim replied.

“Sounds like it, thank God. I think I heard someone say he banged his head pretty good, but he’s just in overnight for observation. Of course, nowadays, he was probably lucky they didn’t kick him out onto the street five minutes after they got the bleeding stopped.”

“Well. That’s good. That he’s going to be all right, I mean.” Kristen smiled. It was the same slightly off-kilter smile she had used on Holli when she had...

Had...

Holli grabbed at a pocket of her overalls, touched the thing that was still stashed there. She wasn’t sure how she felt, seeing that Kristen’s smile wasn’t quite correct. Concern that they would be found out even before getting to the room? A weird little push of fugitive glee?

Jim maybe picked up on that wrongness, too. A little. In any event, the rest of the elevator ride was made in silence.

The doors opened out onto a hallway, filled with the usual people and smells of hospitals. Holli remembered them both well, from those long visits to Black River General waiting for her mother to finally screw up her nerve and die already, and let Holli get on with her life. (Her father had of course died without even the slightest participation on Holli’s part.)

There was a nurse’s station nearby, and from one of the occupants they got directions to the Room, which unfortunately was just down the hall.

As they walked towards the Door, they were joined from somewhere by an unfamiliar redhead. Sorta skinny, no real boobs and a couple of inches taller than Holli. Pretty enough, and there was nothing obviously wrong with her. If anything, Holli’s immediate thoughts were ones of approval; no over-done make-up or jewelry, functional jacket and jeans.

But somehow there was a bad vibe around her, as if her soul... or something... was fresh from running naked through the pens at a skunk farm.

Then they all clustered around the Door.

The symbols.

She had forgotten about them, but they were there, carved around the edges of the door frame and glowing evilly. Seeming to be totally unaware of that glow, the redhead smiled at the other three and spoke:

“Hi! You all here to see Tom?”

“Yup.” Jim offered a hand, and she shook it. “Jim Harbine. And this is Kristen Moresen and Holli Ogden.”

“Hi. Jim. Kristen. Holli. Erika Johanson. I’m a friend of Tom’s. ”

-Of course.— The thought prickled sourly at Holli’s mind. -That’s what wrong with her. She belongs to Him. Well, after tonight, that will change.—

‘Erika’ was still talking. “Jim. You work in Harrison’s IT department, right? I’ve heard your name.”

Jim smiled, a surprised thing but unlike Kristen’s, evidently genuine.

“Well, I can see why Tom’s been keeping you a secret all these years. I’d have to snatch you away myself, but Nancy would probably pitch a fit.”

Erika’s smile maybe gave out for a second, and she looked at the other two before replying.

“Yes, I suppose she would.”

“So.” Jim swept his gaze across the three of them. “Are we ready to face the invalid?”

-No. Nononono.—

“Yes.”

The Door was mostly closed, and Jim knocked against it with his knuckles, starting to push it open. Above the creak of the hinges, there was a voice.

“Come in.”

The Room lay beyond, once again crowded with people, familiar faces, and up against one of the walls, instead of a throne there was a bed.

And sitting in the bed...

Holli’s mouth made a noise, and Kristen’s did too, as they lurked at the back of the room. Holli heard it, although no one seemed to. It was a bit-off scream. A sound of pure rage and fear and hatred.

“Hi, Jim. Holli and Kristen. Thanks for coming by.”

He was just as bad as she remembered. Worse. The stink coming off him... A skunk farm would be a county’s worth of roses by comparison.

“No problem, Tom. But you really need to take better care of yourself. We can’t be doing this every day.”

-Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL.—

“You’ve met Erika, I guess.”

-You know what you have to do!—

“Yes. We just now got acquainted. I was telling her that you’ve been holding out on me.”

Her body kept trying to surge forward, push all of these fucking morons aside, wrap its hands around His neck, and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze-

“That’s me. Mr. Selfish. Erika, you haven’t met... um... let’s see- Monty?”

-and bite at Him, rip off His face, wallow in His black corroded blood-

“Hi.”

-I know what I have to do. I know what I have to do. I know-

“Hi.”

The final bond snapped and she started forward.

“And I think you’ve met everyone, haven’t you, Tom and Beverly?”

A hand slid in and grabbed the back of her denim overalls, hooking down into the gap between the shoulder-straps, a leash being neatly clipped on a dog-collar.

“Yeah, think so. That day we came around to check out Harrison with Justin.”

Kristen. Kristen was holding her back.

“Oh, right, before I forget, Tom. Mr. Harrison asked me say he hopes you’re feeling OK, and not to worry about work, and of course to take a couple of days off. He would have come by himself, but...”

A small snarl came to Holli’s lips and she tried to pull free. It should have been easy, but it was like being chained to a brick wall.

“Yeah, I know. They’ve got that big meeting with the Allied Associates people tonight. Thank him for me tomorrow, would you, Jim?”

She surged again and helplessly slammed back

“Not now.“

It took a moment, but then the words penetrated. It wasn’t part of the general conversation, but Kristen, softly hissing the words out of one corner of her smiling mouth.

“Oh, before I forget; try not to get to rowdy. I’ve got a roommate on the other side of the curtain, and I think he’s trying to get some sleep.”

Holli growled again.

Then as the conversation in the room continued, she slowly, slowly forced herself to relax. Something resembling a smile crept onto her mouth and hovered there.

Kristen’s hand never released its grip.

Kay was typing in the usual unending list of reports on one of the computer terminals at the nurse’s station when a woman’s voice spoke to her.

“Excuse me?”

She turned and slapped her usual professional smile on her face.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

It was two women actually. A ditzy-looking blonde and a short brunette with her hair pulled back in a bun. The latter woman looked vaguely familiar; Kay had seen her in the hall at some point earlier in the day. She held something in her hands, and the expression on her face as she spoke again...

“Are you the nurse in charge of room 423? Mr. Woodhue’s room?”

A prickle of unease crept down Kay’s spine.

-A real problem patient-

“Yes. Is something wrong?”

The woman smiled.

“Yes. But we’re going to try and fix it. Right now.”

Tom groped for the control box with his free hand and thumbed the button that lowered his bed back more towards level. The conversation went on with him and around him. He relaxed a little. For a few minutes. As much as he could relax his mind any more. He glanced at the balloon that Monty had brought him, floating now in one corner of the room, then his gaze drifted to where Erika was laughing at some joke from Richard. Tom smiled. After all the turmoil and confusions of the day, it was very nice to be reminded for a few minutes that he actually did have family and real friends, and that they cared enough about him to rally round him at his time of need.

Maybe all of this really would work out in the end.