The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter XXIII: Armageddon

“Where are you taking us?” Dr. Trace quivers.

“Matt Lewis. Do you know where he’s being held?”

“I don’t—I don’t have access to him.”

“Sure you do.” Tracy juts the rifle into his back. “Are you telling me you don’t make house calls?”

“I don’t know where he is. And even if I did, why would I share it with you.”

Tracy smacks him with the butt of her gun. He rubs the back of his head as he smarts, groaning from the pain.

“Alright, alright.” He acquiesces. “I’ll have to let them know we’re coming by.”

Dr. Trace’s eyes widen with terror as she thrusts the butt of the gun into his face. The calm appearance on his assailant’s face only reinforces his fear. His hands tremble uncontrollably.

“You love your wife?” Tracy glances at the wedding band on his ring finger.

The doctor nods.

“How many years?”

“Eighteen, twenty, give or take.”

“Kids?”

“One—she’s a master’s student in grad school, far away. She doesn’t visit often.”

“Then I trust you won’t do anything stupid, would you?”

The doctor shakes his head.

“Good man. Get in touch with whoever you have to.” Tracy hands him the walkie-talkie. Be extra convincing.”

His lips tremble as he grasps it in his hands, struggling to get a handle on the uncontrollable shakiness in his hands. It’s hard for him not to imagine his wife and daughter husbandless and fatherless, no body to bury, no emotional goodbye, not even an urn. Just a nagging emptiness and a mountain of unanswered questions. But eventually they’d recover and get on with their lives, not stopping to wonder why his corpse wasn’t recovered, as though he’d vanished in thin air. No way would his former employer let slip the awful truth of what happened to him—they’d crumble under the weight of it.

His wife surely would, at least.

The squawk of static pierces his ears. After some back and forth with the jailers he’s able to impress them with his earnestness. They don’t question the need for him to visit the prisoner—and why should they? Gauging the mental stability of inmates—however temporary—is one of his primary duties, the better to torture them. It’s a sick juxtaposition, that is how life goes inside one of the most sensitive sites in the country.

The trio proceeds through the hallway without fanfare, Tracy nudges him every so often just to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas. She glances at Jill lagging alongside them, quiet as a school mouse. Every so often she glances downward, a look of shyness in her eyes. Once and awhile she cocks her head, as though taking in the corridor for the first time.

Her quietude bothers Tracy, yet she leaves her to her own devices, save for a side glance every few seconds. The doctor waves at a pair of barrel-chested men as the party comes up to the solid steel door. A look of confusion crosses their faces as they stare at Jill’s half-clad form. By way of explanation Dr. Trace tells them she and Tracy are part of an assessment team examining Mr. Lewis. Why they don’t have any clothes on is a mystery to them, yet they appear unconcerned. Nor do they raise eyebrows at Dr. Trace’s nervous behavior.

The doctor flashes his ID. The guards barely notice Tracy as she escorts him through the door. Their complacency gnaws at her. There isn’t any way that they could not have seen her. Are they being genuine, or are they playing along with the game?

Her eyes flit around the maze of makeshift cells making up the narrow space that is Divinex’s “jail”—a row of low tech, windowless cells with rusty prison bars and stiff beds. A guard looks on as Matt’s cell clangs open. His face is bruised, yet he appears to be in good spirits—at least as good as a prisoner on death watch could be.

“What happened to your eye?” Tracy asks as they embrace.

“The officers beat me up. Nothing I haven’t been through before.”

The chatter of radio traffic fills the room as they linger for what feels like several seconds, neither willing to part with the other. The emotional reunion surprises the both of them. Yet powerful as it might be, it is short lived as the guard levels his weapon at Tracy. The familiar click of the rifle catches her off guard as she gazes at her reporter-friend, who is just as taken back by it as she seems to be.

“Don’t move!” He barks. “Hands on your head!”

The officer moves in swiftly, disarming her as he pulls her out of the chamber. She and Matt exchange nervous glances, completely convinced that this is the last they’ll ever see each other again. As the click of handcuffs reverberates through her ears she whispers a tearful goodbye to him, knowing full well the consequences of her failure.

They watch helplessly as he escorts her through the corridor, pistol cocked at her head.

The grief is momentary as they regroup, Jill leading the way as she holds on tightly to the doctor, taking her comrade’s place as team leader and hostage taker. They wander through the labyrinthine complex for several minutes desperately looking for a way out. Matt’s visibly agitated demeanor does not make the tension any more bearable.

Footsteps reverberate in the distance as they push onwards. Jill steals a sideways glance at the increasingly nervous journalist. The paranoia only seems to grow as the steps grow closer. She finds it difficult to maintain confidence in him, even as their situation becomes more precarious with each passing minute.

“She’s fine.” She reassures him. .“We’ll get her back soon.”

“Don’t lie to me. She’s gone.”

Jill softens her stare and gazes at him warmly.

“Even if it was a lie it’d still not change the fact that our asses are smoked if we don’t find a way out of here.”

“And what if the same thing that happened to you happens to her? You don’t think that’s important?”

“Could you at least keep your voice down?” Jill grows irritated with him. “They can hear us.”

“I made a promise to protect her, Ms. St. John.” Matt’s intense stare bores into her eyes.

“The same oath I promised myself when you disappeared. That may not mean anything to you, but in my line of work it’s the last sacred thing we have.”

“Halt!” A voice cries.

Jill spins around to notice Frank grasping a piece of his own. Tracy squirms as the arresting officer grips her in his hands, maintaining his control over her as she struggles to break free. Nervous tension fills the air as everyone eyes each other suspiciously, wondering who would be the first to open fire. Jill’s hostage could not be more scared.

“Hand him over.” Frank motions toward the doctor.

“Not until I have assurances that she hasn’t been harmed.”

“She’s fine, as you can see. Aren’t you, my dear?”

Tracy shakes her head violently. Her eyes are wide with fright. The guard grins evilly.

“You can have your precious doctor back.” Jill bares her teeth. “Just let her go.”

“The reporter too.” Frank nods towards Matt.

“No. He stays.”

“Those are my terms. No reporter, no doctor, no deal.”

“Why don’t you take me instead?” Jill switches tack. “What worth is he to you anyway? He’s just a civilian. He doesn’t know anything.”

Matt chafes at the remark, yet he doesn’t venture to say anything. But he plays it cool. He peers at the arrogant faces of Frank and his henchman, clearly relishing their dominance. Tracy’s anguished face tells him everything he needs to know about their intentions. He can only imagine what fate is in store for him.

“The time for deal making is over.” Frank insists. “Hand them over.”

Jill complies and releases them with a sigh. Matt glances over his shoulder as the guard takes possession of him, switching places with his boss. As Tracy squirms in Frank’s arm the ex-assassin observes the handover coldly. Yet Frank appears unable—or unwilling—to let go of her comrade. His behavior puzzles Jill.

“I thought we had a deal.” Jill purses her lip.

“We did.” Frank cocks his gun.

The complex reverberates with the sound of bullets as the combatants square off. In the ensuing chaos Matt takes the initiative, throwing himself on top of Tracy as muzzles flash. All in all, the shootout is over in less than a minute, yet as the smoke clears Frank can make out the crumpled body of his ex-lover, bloody and riddled with bullets.

Surprisingly, Dr. Trace manages to run away before the first shots are fired. Yet no one notices. One thing is clear: Jill St. John, AKA 023980, is dead. Tracy and Matt barely have time to mourn before they are frog marched through the corridor, dazed, confused, and afraid of what’s coming next.

“Kill him and dispose of his body.” Frank points his gun at Matt as the guard escorts him to certain death.

Tracy steals a glance at Jill’s crumpled body as she’s carted off. She manages to get a glimpse at the look of resignation on Matt’s face as well. She didn’t even get the chance to thank him yet, and already he’s being taken to whatever dungeon they’re taking him to be summarily executed. The thought causes her to shudder.

Her journey continues a half-a mile longer, walking past unmarked doors and windows giving her a peek inside infirmaries, lounges, morgues, the entire inner workings of the corrupt empire she worked so hard to destroy. She sheds a tear as she passes by, not so much for anyone else but herself. The end of the road is near, but for how long?

At last they come to a steel door flanked by guards. She doesn’t pay attention to the exchange of words between Frank and his hired goons. But as the door widens to reveal a row of pods alongside each other, tubes running down their backs and sides, her knees buckle. She can only imagine what they are possibly for.

She spies Rose standing off to the side, half dressed in a negligee and panties. Her wild eyes bore into Tracy’s, seeming to gaze into her soul. Yet she doesn’t appear angry—to the contrary, she smiles warmly, as if seeing a long lost relative for the first time in years.

Tracy glances at the pistol strapped to her thigh. She doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh out loud.

A sweet smell hangs in the room. Cardamom, sandalwood, it’s hard to say. Yet it is hard to escape the foreboding undertone of the chamber —the dim lightning, the loud humming of fans and equipment, the dystopian sci-fi atmosphere.

Rose receives her with open arms, kissing her cheeks affectionately in a sisterly embrace. Tracy tries to wriggle free, yet Rose’s grip is firm. She could feel the assistant’s breath on her ear.

“Welcome home.” Rose whispers. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time.”

“I don’t care.” Tracy pulls away. “I want to go home.”

“How could you say such a thing?” Rose is taken aback. “Don’t you realize you’re one of us now?”

“I was never one of your kind to begin with.” Tracy rebukes her.

“Enough girl talk.” Frank intervenes. “Is it hot?”

“Yes, Master.” Rose speaks affirmatively. “I checked the machine a few minutes ago.”

“Good. Would you please help Ms. Elgin out of her underwear so we can proceed?”

The resulting groping is the most intimate and degrading Tracy has ever experienced outside of an airport. Yet she doesn’t remain angry for long, even when Rose confiscates her earrings. She attributes it to the intoxicating smell circulating throughout the room. Rose stares at the gems for several seconds, completely entranced by their hypnotic beauty.

She reluctantly hands them over to Frank. The pod hisses as she opens the hatch, revealing a gooey bath of transparent ooze.

“Get in.” Frank barks at her.

“No.” Tracy is adamant.

“I said, get in.”

“What about the baby?” She glances at him. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

Rose raises an eyebrow. It’s the first she’s ever heard of such a thing inside these four walls. She’s never known anyone to get pregnant around here, and those who do are rarely heard from again. Besides, Frank would never get serious with one of his slaves. Would he?

“Is this true, Master?” She cocks her head.

“It’s none of your concern slave.”

“He’s lying.” Tracy butts in. “I know because he and I...”

Rose cocks her pistol.

“Go on.” Her voice is icy.

“He insisted on wearing a condom, but I refused.”

“How far along are you?”

“Hard to say.” Tracy shakes her head. “In any case, anything that comes out of this man’s mouth is a lie.”

“Don’t believe her!” Frank shouts. “She’s stalling for time!”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Rose gazes into Tracy’s eyes.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot her!”

Tracy freezes as Rose points the pistol at her. She feels her heart beating inside her chest. She whispers a silent prayer to the gods. Tracy closes her eyes.

Well, this is it. Goodbye world, you’ve been kind.

Thirty seconds pass, sixty, a hundred and twenty. Nothing. Tracy steals a peek at her would be killer. She swears she spies a tear rolling down Rose’s cheek, though she can’t be too sure.

“What are you waiting for!?” Frank screams. “Shoot!”

“Do you love me?” Rose’s lips quiver.

“Huh?” Tracy asks.

“Do you love me?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“There’s a secret passageway behind me that leads to the outside world.” Rose chokes on her words. “I want you to run—and don’t look back.”

“Why don’t you come with us? You can start over. Open a bed and breakfirst or something. I don’t care. Anything but the life you have now.”

“Not my cup of tea.” Rose smiles wanly. “Besides, I never wanted to be an old maid anyway. Oh! I almost forgot.”

Tracy tears up as Rose presses the earrings into her hands.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“All I ask is that you tell the outside world what you saw. Now go before I get all misty and sentimental.”

Without thinking, Tracy makes her move, clasping her jewelry as she jogs down through the winding corridor with the same determination she once shared on the track. Sweat rolls down her cheek. Her ears prick at the sound of gunfire, yet she doesn’t stop. Not for anything.

She climbs up a towering ladder for what seems like hours. Her feet ache. At several points she almost loses her footing. Yet miraculously she survives without so much of a scratch. At last she emerges, tired and happy to be alive.

She spies Matt several yards away, clutching his side as he catches his breath. As she nears closer towards him his head appears bloodied. Yet he doesn’t complain.

“What happened to you?”

“Just a few cracked ribs. Nothing special.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Me too. But I managed to get past the guards and find my way out. It wasn’t easy, though.”

Tracy bites her lip, as if in thought.

“Matt?”

“Yes?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“How?”

“Long story.”

“I can hear the details later. Do you mind taking me to the hospital? I’m bleeding mighty fierce.”

“Sure.” Tracy smiles. “Anything for a friend.”

Epilogue:

Clouds of gray tower in the sky as Matt and Tracy visit the grave site; yet the pair remain oblivious to the drizzle of rain bouncing off their umbrellas. They don’t mind the bitter cold, the way others might. They welcome it, actually. The way a Goth might listen to The Cure.

What a difference six months makes.

In the end the world did learn about the evil underground lair that Divinex—and ergo Frank Ennis—had constructed with government money under the nose of Boston’s public. Within days Divinex’s shares plummeted from a comfortable seventy dollars a share to little more than penny stock. Their credit rating was immediately downgraded to junk status. Defense stocks took a hit across the board as a result—unprecedented in the annals of Wall Street. Journalists and pundits alike were predicting the end of the military-industrial -complex, just as the crisis in 2008 left many wondering if Wall Street would revert to the boutique banks and investment clubs of old.

The truth is never that simple though. After several years of kickbacks and contracts, Divinex still had its defenders in D.C. and The Pentagon. Like clockwork, a handful of Senators and Congressmen rushed to its aid, claiming it needed to be bailed out on national security grounds. But they were few and far between—and with the images of Frank’s victims fresh in the public’s mind, it was doubtful that Divinex and companies like it would have the same free reign that they once did.

The era of obfuscation and lax oversight was over, while the era of regulation and radical transparency was over, and the couple responsible for ushering it in largely went unnoticed. Using his connections to the press in New York and Washington, Matt disseminated the pilfered documents Tracy’s boyfriend obtained from Divinex without her identity ever being compromised. He instantly became a rock star, compared to Jack Anderson, Seymour Hersh and Woodward and Bernstein at their height. Yet he shied away from interviews, preferring to let the facts speak for themselves.

He resigned from the paper two weeks ago, In the time since, he and Tracy have become engaged. But neither of them are ready to walk down the aisle. The last few months had been hellish to say the least, and six months on, emotions are still raw.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tracy marvels at the granite tombstone emblazoned with Jill’s name.

“The roses are a nice touch.” Matt murmurs.

“Thank you. I picked them out myself.”

“To think, we’d never have met if it wasn’t for her.”

“You got that right.” She embraces him.

Tracy feels a small kick in her belly. The pregnancy had proceeded as normally as one could hope, yet she insisted on keeping the gender a surprise. Matt couldn’t understand the impulse, but it wasn’t his decision to make. And so he largely went along with it.

“Do you feel that?” Tracy guides his hand towards her stomach.

“Have you settled on a name?”

“Not yet. I do like the name Jillian though. Jillian Rose Elgin. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“But what if it’s a boy?”

Tracy cradles her chin, as if in thought.

“You have a point there.”

Matt sighs.

“I guess this is not the way you planned it, isn’t it?”

“Plans change.” Tracy smiles wanly. “If it weren’t for Jeremy’s death, I’d...”

The honking of a car horn interrupts her train of thought as she gazes over the pastoral scene. Even in a big city like Boston, the town’s secrets never ceased to amaze her. She stares at the pastoral scene as if in a trance, struggling to remember what she was about to say.

“It doesn’t matter.” Matt interrupts. “I’m just glad I met you.”

Tracy smiles.

“I’m out of a job.” Matt shoves his hands into his coat pocket. “And you’re out of a job. Where does that leave us?”

“It doesn’t leave us anywhere, Matt.”

“Well I’m not going to leave you here while you and your child fend for yourselves.”

“That’s sweet. But where would we go?”

“We’ll take a drive cross country. Visit Route 66, the PCH, just keep the pedal to the metal ‘till we can’t drive anymore. That place becomes our home.”

“But what if they come after us?” Tracy lowers her voice. “Divinex is more than just Frank Ennis.”

“They won’t. Not after the coverage they’ve been getting in print and on TV. This scandal has set them back a decade. I’d be surprised if they had many friends in high places after this.”

“I sure hope so.”

As they walk towards their convertible, Tracy steals a glance at Jill’s grave once more. A fog descends upon the ground, and for a moment she swears she sees Jill waving back at her in the ether. But it could just as well her imagination.

She’ll never be too sure.