#subliminalbo's os

[classicsubliminalbo]

Dirty Work

Originally published Jun 2, 2018

It was half-passed midnight and Andrea was ten minutes into a promising night's sleep when the phone rang. She answered with a curt, "What?"

"We got a job," Tyler said on the other end of the line. "It's a weird one." "Jesus, Tyler, I've got a midterm in nine hours." "We've all got shit on our plate, okay, Andrea? But it's a weird one. And weird ones..." "'Weird ones pay more,'" Andrea repeated. "Fine, whatever, pick me up." "Already outside."

Andrea met Tyler in the small parking lot across from her apartment. He was driving that same old shitty mint green Crown Vic he'd been threatening to trade in for a Tesla since they started the job. At least Tyler had a car, a thought that helped Andrea retain some humility every time she settled in the passenger's seat. The ignition stuttered when Tyler turned the key, and he shot Andrea an optimistic glance before the engine roared to life.

At a stoplight he asked, "What do you think about Vietnam?" "The war?" Andrea replied. "No, for spring break. I know it's a little esoteric but everyone does Orlando or Cancun." "That's because they're on this continent, Tyler." "Right," he said, driving through the light. "I think if you asked daddy he'd buy you a fucking beach." "You don't have to insult me," Tyler frowned. Andrea smirked and added, "What are you even doing still driving a beater?" "Honestly?" he asked. "College girls don't want to date a guy with a nice car. It's intimidating." "I wouldn't fuck a guy in this car. It smells like cheese."

Tyler continued on to Romero's main business strip, finally pulling over to the shoulder in front of Argento's Pizzeria. "Here we are," he said. "Argento's?" Andrea asked skeptically, studying the restaurant through her window. The lights were on but the neon open sign was switched off. Argento's Pizzeria and Italian was a staple of Carpenter State student life. Most students on a budget were regulars at Pizza Joe's, but Argento's was where you took a girl if you wanted a second date. It was never closed before two.

"I told you it's a weird one," Tyler said. "A couple of hours ago this girl goes batshit crazy, starts writhing on top of the table, really making love to this plate of spaghetti." "Gross." "Yeah. Junior can't get her to leave and she's making a scene so he does the logical thing and closes up, feeds her all the pasta she wants till she passes out." "Why doesn't he call the cops?" Tyler shrugged. "Bad for business, I guess. People round here know about us, Andrea. They know our deal with Pierce."

Their deal with Pierce. Most of the time he had them tailing his daughter, Monica, taking her into Dr. Fielding when she got too crazy. But things could get weird around Carpenter State and whenever the dean found himself or a friend in trouble, he called upon his team of fixers to clean it up. It was shit work, but it payed well. Most students wanted internships to build their resumes for life outside of college, but Andrea and Tyler's work with the dean was strictly off the books. That wasn't as big of a deal to Andrea who had the ambition of a hibernating bear. Tyler was the rising star of the pair, a journalism major with lofty goals and the family connections to achieve them. Growing up rich taught Tyler a lot about climbing ladders, and though he couldn't put "fixer" on his resume, Dean Pierce did promise to write any recommendation letter Tyler would ask for and had managed to secure him the position of head editor at The Daily Gremlin, Carpenter State's official student paper. Tyler found that controlling the news media around campus made his secret job a little easier.

"This place always gave me the creeps," Andrea commented as they waited for Junior at the door. "Why?" Tyler asked. "Who opens a pizza joint in a church?"

They heard the lock click, and the wide doors swing open. "Thank Christ you're finally here," Junior Argento breathed. "Where is she, Junior?" Andrea asked.

He nodded toward the back and the pair followed him into the kitchens. There they found the girl, Amy Teller, lying on the floor at the base of an industrial sink. Her boyfriend Jay was sitting next to her distracting himself with his phone. When he saw the two new faces he hopped up and eagerly asked them if they were cops.

Junior slapped Jay and sternly shouted, "No cops!" "We're the next best thing," Tyler winked.

Jay introduced himself and when Andrea asked, he explained what had happened.

"I swear it's those goons from Carmella's again," Junior grumbled. "They're trying to run me out of business!" "Tyler, come look at this," Andrea said as she examined Amy. "What is it?" Jay asked, taking a respite from his cuticle.

Tyler knelt down next to Andrea. She lifted up Amy's eyelid to reveal a solid crimson eye underneath. "You have any idea what that is?" she whispered. "I'll call Dr. Fielding," Tyler whispered back.

Amy jolted to life, startling the pair to their feet. "More!" she cried, grabbing hold of Andrea's arm. "So good...I need more!" "Baby!" Jay cried back. "It's gonna be okay, baby!"

Andrea placed a calming hand on Jay's shoulder. "We're taking her to the Psychology building. You should come with us."

Amy continued writhing in Tyler's backseat as they drove her down the road to meet with Dr. Fielding. Jay held her in his arms, trying to bring her back down, lull her back to sleep. Andrea and Tyler could only share uncomfortable glances at each other as Jay whispered hopefully in his girlfriend's ear. "Why the psychology building?" Jay finally asked.

"Dr. Fielding knows a lot about behavioral science," Andrea replied. "We just want to rule out a psychotic episode." "Jesus Christ," Jay cried.

Dr. Fielding was waiting in her pajamas outside the psychology building. She told them that she'd spoken to Dean Pierce and asked them to wait outside of her office while she worked with Amy and Jay. Andrea felt an eerie feeling of déjà vu sitting there, but she pushed through it while she discussed strategies with Tyler.

"It's not just going to sweep under the rug," she said as she rubbed her eyes. "A lot of witnesses." "It's midterm season, maybe school got the best of her?" Tyler suggested. Andrea shook her head. "Nah, Pierce'll never go for that. Too much heat on the school. Next we'll have parents asking what Pierce's doing for our mental health, he'd have to call a special investigation to save face." "What do you think then?" Tyler asked.

Tyler had the future, but Andrea was the real brains of the operation. This was where she was invaluable.

"What if...a new drug is going around campus, making students loopy." "I could print that," Tyler nodded. "No. We leak it to local news. Start a real hysteria, 'the new designer drug and why you're eleven year old is using it.' That way people aren't talking about Argento's, they're talking about the drug." "That's really smart, Andrea."

"I know," Andrea said. Sometimes it scared her how good she was at this job. "You ever think this is fucked up?" "All the time," Tyler replied.

Before they could continue discussing the ethics of their job, Dr. Fielding's office door opened and a surprisingly content-looking Jay stepped out. Fielding followed behind him and whispered in his ear. "Yes, Dr. Fielding," he said. Andrea and Tyler exchanged nervous glances as Jay shuffled blissfully away.

"I eased Jay's concerns," Dr. Fielding clarified. "But it's going to take a little bit more than hypnotherapy to bring Amy back." Dr. Fielding shook her head then added, "Of course you two don't have to worry about that. It's awfully late now, you'd best get along."

"Thank you," Andrea said, inching toward her seat. "Oh!" Dr. Fielding chirped. "There's just one more thing before you leave." "Yes?" Tyler asked. Dr. Fielding smiled, and somehow Andrea knew she had seen that smile before. 

"No!" Andrea cried, trying to leap out of her chair. But Dr. Fielding said, "Sleep," and Andrea was powerless to disobey the doctor's command. 

Andrea's body plopped lifelessly down in the chair as her chin hit her chest. Her heartbeat slowed, but she was still alive. Conscious even, but unable to think without a command. Andrea heard Dr. Fielding's voice echo clearly in her mind. "You both did a wonderful job tonight," she said.

"Thank you, Dr. Fielding," Andrea and Tyler said in unison.

"Pierce will get you your money but you understand by now that he needs you insurance you won't go telling your friends about the job. It's all very confidential." "Yes, Dr. Fielding, we understand." Dr. Fielding turned to Tyler and said, "Tyler, affirm your loyalty." "I am a loyal student of Carpenter State University. I swear to proudly serve Dean Pierce and protect the legacy of this institution." "Andrea, affirm your loyalty." "I am a loyal student of Carpenter State University. I swear to proudly serve Dean Pierce and protect the legacy of this institution."

"Very good," Dr. Fielding smiled. "Now, I want you two to take all of those doubts you have, all of those nagging ethics and questions that you have and lock them away someplace in your head that you'll never find. When you wake up, you'll understand what you've done tonight, and you'll be proud." "Yes, Dr. Fielding. We are proud to serve."

Andrea didn't remember leaving Dr. Fielding's office. She awoke the next morning in her own bed with a foggy head and an email granting her a makeup on the midterm, another benefit of working for the dean. Andrea smiled, happy that she could play a part in protecting her school.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Rapture Part 1: Monica's Induction

Originally published Sep 7, 2015

Monica met the strange man that night at the club. He wasn't dressed like anyone else in the crowd and Monica could tell that he didn't belong there, no matter how hard he tried to play the part. He betrayed his cover in the way he wore his shirt buttoned up to the top of the collar, like his propriety would be in danger if he showed even a bit of his neck. She might have even taken him for Amish if he wasn't clean shaven. Normally Monica would laugh at someone so out of place, but there was something else about the young man that simply drew her in. All she could remember now were the shimmer of his eyes as they made contact. The following compulsion that carried her unconsciously from the bar to the man's booth.

She wasn't stupid, and Monica knew even as she stumbled over that this man was playing some serious mind games with her. But she was already pretty drunk, and her friends were boring her. At least this mystery mind-fucker seemed interesting.

"Who are you?" Monica asked, tough she was still caught in her daze. It was an exciting feeling, like nothing else she'd ever experienced. How was he doing this to her?

The man introduced himself as Todd, a missionary. She laughed and asked what kind of mission would bring him to the club scene, to which Todd replied, "Why go on vacation when I find plenty of lost souls here, in my own backyard?" At this point, Monica felt like she was starting to understand Todd's shtick. There were a lot of girls who would fall over themselves to get with a humanitarian-type like Todd, but Monica wasn't that kind of girl. Anyway, he was definitely overdoing the nice guy act. He was playing it way to puritan to be anywhere near appealing.

When Todd mentioned Rapture, Monica thought he was talking about another club. The last place she expected to end up that night was an abandoned church, but there she was, sitting in the front row of a dark sanctuary wondering how she had gotten there and why her head was pounding so hard. Monica's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness before a faint light at the altar began to glow. She looked up to see Todd's face flickering from the candlelight.

"I hope you'll forgive the lighting, dear," Todd said. "The power isn't on yet, but what do you think?" "W-where am I?" Monica stammered, not out of fear, but because she had genuinely forgotten how to talk in her haze. "My church," Todd smiled. "Rapture."

Monica had never felt this depleted in her life. She had so many questions for Todd, and there was a voice in the back of her mind telling her to run, but seeing the reflection of the candlelight in Todd's eyes was disarming. She felt paralyzed there on the bench, waiting for Todd to answer the questions she hadn't asked.

"We're going to build a congregation together, Monica." They were? Monica didn't even know Todd's last name, let alone the doctrine of his church. Why was he offering her such an important place in his church? "Todd," Monica tried to protest, but she couldn't find it in her heart to deny him. But why? Why was she feeling this desire to make him happy? She was too deep now to realize that Todd had been conditioning her all night. "Why...why do I feel so...strange...what are you...what are you doing to me...?"

Todd leaned down in front of her, and with a gentle "shush," he placed a single finger on her lips. His touch was electric, and it sent a shock through Monica's body that made her fall limp. Monica didn't know how much time passed as she lay there, but when Todd commanded her to awaken, her eyes snapped open, now shining as bright as her master's.

"You belong to me now, Monica," Todd said. "Do you understand?" "Yes," Monica replied on queue. "I belong to you." "You will be my loyal and obedient wife, and together we will deliver this world from its vices." "Yes, my lord. If it is your will, I must obey you."

[classicsubliminalbo]

Lucy Succumbs

Originally published Mar 27, 2015

It was too late for Lucy. All the fight she had inside had drained away the second she turned to face the intoxicating light. She didn't know what it was before her, she didn't ask, couldn't ask, couldn't think. Everything she knew washed away as new thoughts and ideas wormed their way inside her brain like a parasite claiming its new host. Her mouth hung open in a fossilized look of shock. Her facial muscles would relax into something more neutral, devoid of emotion, as her mind melded with the Monolith.

"Yes," she spoke to the voices swimming in her head. They told her that her conversion was complete, that she was free of her human concerns. There was no more Lucy, only a puppet for the Monolith. Her thoughts were now commands which she would obey without question. "Yes," she repeated. "I will find more."

[classicsubliminalbo]

Candice Swanepoel: Mindless Maid

Originally published May 23, 2014

A bad guy with a maid fetish, Candice thought, how cliche. If Candice had a nickel for every time someone had tried to brainwash her, she'd have four nickels. And while that wasn't really a lot of nickels—maybe in 1884 dollars—it's still a lot more brainwashings than most women should expect to endure in a lifetime. She was starting to feel like the 21st century's Patty Hearst. To be honest, it had all kind of been exciting to Candice at one time. Maybe the first couple of times. But now it was the same old routine. She wanted a guy who could really shake things up! Her captor today was not that guy.

Jacob Rothschild. He was one of those twenty-something millionaires you read about in Forbes. You know, the kind of guy who developed an app in his college dorm room and made such an obscene amount of money that he never had to work again. Sure, Jacob had the whole trust fund baby look, and Candice doubted that he'd ever had to pay for anything himself, least of all his two years of Ivy League education. He dressed like an accountant on casual Friday and spoke so fast some of his words slurred together. Candice had to admit, though, she found Jacob kind of cute. He had that whole dorky look going for him.

Now, bound to an armchair in Jacob's penthouse living room, Candice was rethinking her opinion of the guy. Those stupid clothes, that stupid face, and that stupid French maid lingerie he was holding up in front of her, smiling like an idiot because he thought she'd be impressed. Standing quietly behind Jacob were Candice's friends Rosie and Behati, already dressed in their maid outfits, eyes blank, smiles empty. Just last night they'd been out celebrating Rosie's birthday, and now here they were, in some nerd's house getting their mindless French maid on.

"Well?" Jacob asked.

"Well what?" Candice responded.

"What do you think? Aren't you going to cry over your friends? Beg me not to do this?"

Candice shrugged. "I don't know. Don't you think this is well-tread territory already?"

"What do you mean?" Jacob frowned.

Candice straightened up, like she was about to give the young man a lesson. "The whole mind controlled slave, maid-girl thing. I don't know, don't you have anything better? Like, what do you plan to do with me after I'm enslaved with my friends?"

"I don't know," Jacob shrugged. "I guess I'd have you clean my house," he looked around the room. "It's not really dirty…I mean, I've got a real made to do that for me but…"

"Jake," Candice shook her head. "You've got three beautiful supermodels under your control. You can do anything with us. Please tell me you're not going to make me clean your house. God, at least Patty Hearst got to rob a fucking bank."

"Do you…do you want me to make you rob a bank…?"

"No! I just mean…Ugh, come on. Are you even going to have sex with me?"

"No!" Jacob raised his hands in defense. "God, no. I'm not a…I'm not that kind of guy, okay?"

Candice rolled her eyes. "So it's just a PG fetish then, huh?"

"Look," Jacob held Rosie's hand and pulled her next to himself. "It's not that bad, is it, Rosie?"

"No, master," Rosie smiled. "Serving you is the greatest pleasure I've ever experienced."

"And are you bored?"

"Every second is more exciting than the last," she droned.

"Of course she says that," Candice frowned. "She's completely mindless."

"I think the point master is trying to make," Behati spoke up in her dull, slave voice. "Is that you won't care once you've joined us. The pleasure of being master's maid is quite wonderful."

"Ugh," Candice groaned. "Fine, hypnotize me or do whatever you do. But you don't get to watch me change. If you don't have the decency to fuck me when I'm under, then you don't get to see me naked either."

"Okay," Jacob smiled, pulling out his phone. "It's a new app I developed, you can say this is something like a trial run." He reached out with the phone and held the screen to Candice's face. She frowned again.

"Oh come on, I was under Obedience By Victoria's control for months, like your…like your stupid app…stu…pid…can…con…trol…meeee…"

Hours later, Candice returned from her master's bedroom. "I've finished dusting your bedroom, master," she smiled.

"That's a good girl," Jacob said. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Oh yes, master," she giggled. "I'm sorry that I ever doubted you."

"You're so sweet now," Jacob smiled, though he had to admit, he kind of missed the bitey Candice who'd mocked him in his living room.

"Do you have any more commands for me, master?"

"Commands?"

"I cleaned your room as you ordered, I live to serve you, master."

"Oh," Jacob frowned. "You were saying something about robbing a bank?"

[classicsubliminalbo]

Shanina Shaik Mind Controlled

Originally published Apr 3, 2014

Gabrielle decided to take up boxing as an exercise, but her instructor had other things in mind. Oblivious to the fact that anything is wrong, Gabrielle obeys her master's every command. He orders her to find more girls for his gym, and she happily complies.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Album Covers (2015-2020)

Originally published Jul 28, 2020

In 2018, Deviantart rolled out "Eclipse" for beta testing. Eclipse was the first update to Deviantart in four years and the first major UI update in almost a decade. It was awful, and everyone who had access (the beta version was only available to paying subscribers) immediately switched back to the old UI. In late 2019, Eclipse was made available to all users with the option to toggle back to the old site. It was still awful, and everyone immediately switched back to the old UI. But in 2020, Eclipsed launched for real and Deviantart officially killed the old UI.

The biggest loss for me were these custom gallery images that ran down the left side of my page. Deviantart has added some minor customization options to Eclipse in the years sense, but it's never been the same.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Ghosts of Romero: Chapter 1

Originally published Mar 5, 2018

Romero, Washington 1920

The annual Carpenter State Donor Gala may have been Charlie Friedkin’s scene in a former life, but he’d left academia behind for more worldly pursuits. He was just a raven-haired boy when the war took him to Europe. As a scholar, Charlie wrote papers on the psychology of colonialism. He quickly discovered that no amount of research conducted from the safety of Alabaster’s personal library could match the profit of first-hand experience. When the war ended, Charlie settled in Paris where he began to study post-war philosophy.

Standing in the Carpenter State ballroom that night, amid dozens of wealthy donors dressed to the nines in their tuxedos and ballgowns, Charlie marveled at just how far he’d strayed from that life. He was a tweed jacket among tuxedos. His hair was longer, slicked back haphazardly, and his five o’clock shadow just a little too shadowy. But though Charlie still knew how to charm a room.

In the old days, Alabaster could reel in the richest families from up and down the coast with the simple promise of a five-star meal. Now he didn’t waste money covering every surface in Carpenter State’s gold and purple, and Charlie noted the changes that Alabaster had put into the room itself. The ballroom was in the Carpenter mansion, the oldest building on campus and a place Alabaster and Charlie had once called home. But the gloomy, gray vaulted ceiling had a fresh coat of white paint, and two large, golden chandeliers now bathed Alabaster’s donors in a warm glow. Prohibition promised the largest turnout in Carpenter State’s brief history as even the rich enjoyed the simple indulgence of contraband alcohol.

But the pageantry of Alabaster’s galas could only hold people for so long. The melancholy whine of violins from the live band set a strangely somber tone, and Alabaster himself was a poor conversationalist. That was usually where Charlie came in, holding the donors’ attention captive while Alabaster fine tuned his speech, a yearly call to pledge. Though Charlie wasn’t an official guest that year, he settled into his role as the Romero elite—old money families, fledging businessmen, and scholars—gathered around to hear stories of the western front. Maybe it was the ragged satchel, draped across his shoulder, which completed his whole outsider ensemble. They saw Charlie as both a curiosity and perhaps a portrait of the real man they had always wanted to be. Charlie didn’t shy away from difficult topics like socialism and women’s rights. He found amusement in their eagerness to affirm their progressive ideologies, despite barring their wives from the conversation and segregating them to their own table.

But Charlie wasn’t at the gala that night to entertain Alabaster’s guests. He never cared much for their kind. Charlie was only there for one person. A woman. A particularly bored young woman, sitting alone at her own table. A flicker of light caught the corner of Charlie’s eye, and he glanced over to see the young woman dipping her invitation into the flame of a candle in the middle of the table. Charlie smiled and excused himself from his conversation.

“You shouldn’t play with fire,” he said as he approached the young woman. “It’s arrogance to believe you can control a flame. What set the homo sapiens apart from the Neanderthals was their perceived mastery of the elements. Arrogance begat man.”

“I thought war might change you,” the girl said, defiantly dropping the burning scrap of paper down onto the tabletop. “But you’re still insufferable.” “Christ, Mina!” Charlie gasped, dousing the fire with a glass of water. “You’re gonna start a fire!” “Good,” she replied with an audacious smile. “Maybe a tragic fire would put this town on the map.” “Carpenter State hasn’t already?”

Mina’s smile faded. She brought the damp card up to her pursed lips and blew charred flecks of paper in Charlie’s direction. “Please,” she begged. “Save that prattle for Alabaster.”

“Fair enough,” Charlie replied. He offered his hand to the woman and asked, “Dance?”

She glanced at the crowd of donors—ambling around the ballroom floor, wasting air with their faux intellectualism. “Someone has to,” she shrugged.

Charlie slid the satchel from his shoulder and took Mina’s hand. He led her onto the floor, placed his free hand on her back, and they began to dance. “It’s been far too long, Wilhelmina,” Charlie whispered.

“Four years is hardly a lifetime,” she was quick to refute. “It felt like two lifetimes.” “Don’t you know this is black tie formal?” “It’s not the quality of a man’s dress, but the content of his heart…” “You can’t even afford a donation,” she growled. Charlie pulled Mina closer, her breast pressing against his. “I have more to offer than money,” he whispered. “I hope it’s not philosophy, because that bit about arrogance was painful.” “I haven’t even gotten started on the human condition.” Mina faked a yawn, “I’m losing interest in this conversation.” “Maybe we can find something else to talk about…”

“Charles Friedkin!” the voice cut between the couple like a cleaver. They drifted apart to a more socially acceptable distance, and Charlie turned to see his old friend, Alabaster Carpenter.

Of the three, Charlie had aged the most in the four years since they’d all been together. Alabaster was still covering his boyish looks with a mustache, but his facial hair still managed to call attention to the rest of his features. Young, unburdened, despite the many losses he’d faced throughout his short life. The death of Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter when Alabaster was a young boy left himself and Wilhelmina as wards of the Friedkins. Alabaster and Charlie were raised as brothers. Despite Carpenter State being Alabaster’s namesake, Charlie was as much of an influence in its founding. They were only kids then, with nothing to guide them but an insatiable appetite for knowledge and a vast inheritance to fund it.

“Al—” Charlie stammered. “I have to admit, this is…this is quite the surprise, Charles.” Alabaster examined Charlie through pursed lips. “I thought you were in Russia.” “France,” Charlie corrected. “I know I should have written more but…”

Alabaster held up a hand. “Nonsense,” he said. “You’re a busy man. And surely, I would have been too busy to read them,” he punctuated this thought with an arrogant laugh.

“You’ve done well, Al,” Charlie offered a friendly smile. “The last time I saw this place it was just a couple of dusty buildings surrounded by pine trees.”

“The state has been very generous,” Alabaster nodded. “We’ve added a center for fine arts, just broke ground on our medical research building last August, on top of all the money we’ve put into renovating the mansion—”

“That’s great, Al,” Charlie cut in. “I actually didn’t come back to talk about the facilities.” “Of course,” Alabaster mumbled. “But my attention is divided, our reunion deserves a more focused atmosphere.”

“Sure,” Charlie nodded. “Go on.” As Alabaster faded into the crowd Charlie turned his attention back to Mina. “Busy as ever, isn’t he?” “He’s worse,” Mina scoffed. “Carpenter’s a public school now, subsidized by the state.” “I noticed,” Charlie replied curiously. “Yeah, well, Alabaster thinks he’s some kind of public figure now. Like he’s gonna run for office.”

The familiar clanking of metal on glass quieted the ballroom, and all of its occupants turned their attention to the front of the room where Alabaster stood by his young wife, holding up a wine glass.

Mina leaned in toward Charlie and whispered, “Water. Alabaster’s too much of a prude to drink anything else.”

Charlie smiled, and Alabaster began his speech.

“When the Carpenters settled in Romero, my father’s dream was to build a school. An institution for higher learning, the fosterage of presidents, scientists, poets. My father died long before his vision could even break ground. But ten years ago, I made the dream a reality. I was young. The same age of many our first alumni. I was naïve and, admittedly, overwhelmed. It was only with the help of the great state of Washington and all of you, the donors, the life blood that keeps the heart of Carpenter State beating, that I was able to build this institution into what it is today. So tonight, on this tenth anniversary, I sincerely wish to thank all of you for your support.

“Tonight, I humbly ask…”

Charlie felt Mina tug at the fabric of his coat. When he turned his head from Alabaster, she motioned with her eyes toward the door. She led Charlie through the crowd, letting him retrieve his satchel from Mina’s table before she pulled him through the large double doors of the ballroom. Fresh air.

“I can only take so much of my brother’s speeches,” Mina groaned. “Yeah?” Charlie asked. “What?” she echoed. “I dunno. He’s sincere,” he shrugged. “I know it’s painfully dull, but that’s academia. I never believed in groveling for money. That’s why I knew I couldn’t stay. But Alabaster…he’s sincere.” “Charlie…” Mina clutched his arm and looked up at him with her sympathetic eyes. “You’re so dumb.”

Charlie offered Mina a cigarette, and they continued to stroll aimlessly down the dirt walkways of the Carpenter State campus.

“I never knew anything but luxury here,” he told her. “It wasn’t until the war that I saw poverty, depression. Concepts that I’d only read about in books. I thought I understood these things, I thought that I was an empathetic person. But there I was, staring into the eyes of a young Parisian girl whose father had died on the front, and whose mother had taken her life shortly after, and I lost a part of myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of coming back to this place.”

“Not even for me?” Mina asked. Charlie released a heavy sigh. “The real tragedy is that the one person I wanted was in the one place I could never go.” “Everybody has to go home, Charlie, or else they lose perspective.” “And if you stay, you’ll never find one.” Mina dropped her head. “I was gone for a while.” “Where did you go?” “Alabaster’s idea of perspective was in a convent.” “What?”

“Shortly after you left, I told Alabaster that I wanted to teach. Women’s studies, maybe. But he wouldn’t admit a woman into his college, even if that woman was his sister. But he offered me the next best thing—an education with the nuns. He sent me away to a place where I would be neither seen nor heard. He wanted to tame me, to make me docile. But I just came home angry.”

They continued deep into the woods, settling down in a clearing by a pond. The moonlight reflected on the surface made the water appear crystal blue. Charlie shook his head. “You have so much more to offer, Mina.”

“No,” Mina shook her head. “This is Alabaster’s world, and I’m just the image of what a Carpenter sister should be.” “I know you don’t believe that.” “You’re different, Charlie,” Mina placed her hand on the man’s cheek, sliding her fingertips down his stubble. “Something in your eyes. I think it’s loneliness.”

Charlie took her wrist, placing a soft kiss on the palm of her hand. “I need to show you something,” he whispered. He let go of her hand and he reached into the satchel by his side, revealing a leather-bound tome. Any trace of lettering had long been weathered away from the maroon cover, warped by years of exposure. Charlie placed the book in Mina’s lap.

“Charlie,” Mina blushed. “What is this?” “I’ll show you,” he said with a curious little smile, and he placed her hands palm-down over the book’s leather face.

The light vapor that escaped Mina’s lips dissipated as, for just a second, her breathing ceased. Her eyes widened, and slowly she began to mouth unspoken words in a language that she couldn’t comprehend.

The water on the pond rippled away from the couple, as if pushed by an invisible force.

“You can hear it,” Charlie said with a wild smile. “Can’t you?”

Mina’s breath caught up to her as Charlie pulled her hands to his chest. “It’s alive,” she whispered.

“In all my travels, my studies, I’ve never stumbled upon anything else like it. But I don’t have the resources to study it.”

“And you want my brother to fund you,” she said.

“Yes,” Charlie replied. “I’ve identified three different languages in the book. Latin, German, old English—and those are just the ones I recognize. It’s epistolary, some kind of collection of texts from numerous backgrounds. I believe this book holds many secrets, perhaps an answer to the war. To the human condition.”

“Charlie, this is…you’re talking about superstition. Alabaster would never…” “He has to understand. You felt it. It called to you, just like it called to me.” “Yes,” Mina whispered. “But how could we get Alabaster to understand?” “We make him understand. I didn’t come across the world just to hear no. This could be the most important research in the history of American academia. It could define Carpenter State.”

“Yeah,” Mina said, her eyes drifting away from Charlie’s. She hugged herself tightly, closing her body off. “That’s why you’re here. To seduce my brother into funding your research.”

Charlie shook his head. “Mina, it’s important.”

“More important than your promise? I waited for you, Charlie! I said that I would marry you when you got back but—but some kid with sad eyes in Paris...”

“I was afraid that you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Do you think Alabaster sent me away just because I wanted to go school? Without you I had no one to protect me, no one who would challenge him. When he found my notes to you, he—” “I didn’t know,” Charlie whispered. “I didn’t know.” “What are we doing here?” she demanded. “Making up for lost time,” he replied. Charlie leaned in slowly, his lips threatening a kiss.

Mina’s hand clapped across Charlie’s face, wrenching his head violently to the side.

“How many French girls did you fuck, Charlie?” His silence was met with another strike to the face. “You abandoned me. And you use your big ideals to justify it. I would have been your girl in Paris, if you had only reached out to me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s not good enough,” Mina shook her head. Clutching the book in her hands, she rose to her feet and added a pointed, “Fuck you, Charlie Friedkin. Fuck you and your goddamn book!”

Mina held the book above her head and slammed it down into the ground between them. The soil shook, the trees rattled, and a mile away in the Carpenter State ballroom where guests were beginning to thin out, the remaining donors were showered in glass as the looming windows shattered. For a moment Charlie could see nothing but black, hear nothing but the maddening screams of war. He felt as if he had been transported back to the western front. Maybe Carpenter State was all a dream, the dying thoughts of a man bleeding out on the battlefield. One more memory with Mina.

When the world returned to Charlie, it was still night in the Romero woods. Needles danced down from the trees, landing like drops of snow in his hair. “Jesus,” he whispered. The book was planted firmly on the ground in front of him, but when he reached out for it, the searing leather made him recoil. It felt as if the book was a pan resting above a fire. “Jesus,” he repeated. When Charlie scanned the area around him, he found Mina lying motionless on the ground. “Mina!” Charlie gasped, scrambling to her side. “Wake up, Mina!” She didn’t respond. “Jesus, Mina!”

[classicsubliminalbo]

Internal Affairs

Originally published Oct 20, 2016 This series is being revised

“Believe me, Barbara,” Mayor Spinelli said. “Captain Wexler is an arrogant piece of shit, and the sexual harassment claims are a real headache for the department, but as long as he produces these kinds of results, my hands are tied.”

“All you have to do is lean on Chief Riggins a little,” Barbara protested. “Put his feet to the fire until he acts, then let Riggins take the blame when the voters react.”

Spinelli shook his head. “Look at Wexler’s numbers, Barbara. Every district in the city saw an increase in crime last year but his. People feel safer there, property values are going up, when was the last time you saw a woman walking the streets? Wexler gets results, and Riggins doesn’t have the spine to fight that. You know he’s got ambitions for my seat.”

“Mr. Mayor,”

“Please, Barbara. Tom.”

“Tommy,” Barbara said, her typically tough tone loosening for the mayor’s pleasure. “We came up together. You know what it’s like working in internal affairs.”

“I do,” he nodded empathetically. “Do you know what I learned in internal affairs, Barb? I learned to see the losing battles before they’re even fought. And sometimes that means giving up, even if your side is the righteous one. The fact is, Wexler’s on the shortlist for Deputy Chief of Police. He has a lot of friends in the department.”

“And you can’t afford to lose the department’s endorsement,” Barbara scoffed. Tom didn’t argue. “Politics doesn’t suit you, Tom. Leaders have to make tough decisions.” She slid out of her seat, gave Tom a curt nod, and turned toward the door.

“Barbara,” Tom after her. She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “If you can find something substantial, something for the five o’clock news, then I’d have no choice but to act.”

“Fine,” she nodded.

It wasn’t quite the budge she had hoped for, but it gave Barbara enough hope as she left Mayor Spinelli’s office. Captain Wexler’s file had been on Barbara Keyes’ desk in internal affairs for months now. The file was filled with accusations ranging from sexual harassment and excessive use of force. It went back as far as his early years in the cruiser, when he’d beaten up a suspect in his own home. Brutality wasn’t a popular issue in those days, and the department was happy to brush it under the rug. Wexler was relegated to a desk, where a chain of promotions awaited him. Now he was running his own district in the city, and women were coming forward with stories.

If it were up to Barbara, Wexler would have been bounced off the force after the first accusation. But so far, all of Wexler’s accusers had gone back on their stories. It was a disturbing trend that had rumors being whispered around the unit. Everyone knew that Wexler was dirty, but how could he dodge internal affairs for so long? How could he get four separate women to rescind their statements? Barbara reasoned that Wexler had paid them off, but even for a captain, bribing four people wouldn’t be cheap. A guy like Wexler had to be into something, and it was lucrative.

Barbara left the mayor’s office with a confident stride. Mayor Spinelli wasn’t going to take any action on Wexler today, but he’d committed to doing something if she found hard evidence. That might have been distressing to Barbara a week ago when her only evidence were the rescinded claims that had landed Wexler’s file on her desk in the first place, but now she had a source. Someone within the department had come forward. She’d found the letter, handwritten, sitting in her mailbox in IAD that morning, and it promised the bombshell that she’d been looking for since the investigation started.

Her source brought her to a dive motel on the wrong end of town. In the Uber ride over, she was texted a room number. “Ma’am,” her driver said. “Are you sure this is where you wanted to go?”

“I’m a cop,” Barbara said. “Don’t worry about me.”

The driver had reason to worry. The motel was sandwiched between two condemned buildings, an epidemic in River City. A skinny woman on the sidewalk dressed in nothing but a bikini and heels looked her over with a scrutinizing gaze. Everyone could make her for a cop, and they didn’t even care to run. This was their territory. Barbara ignored the prying eyes and entered the dirty motel, moving passed the desk and to the second floor. Room 202.

She knocked on the door, waited, and then it opened. On the other side she found an unexpectedly pleasant face, a young woman with softer eyes than the ones she’d seen outside of the motel. And Barbara knew her. The young woman’s name was Lydia Dunn, a cop who’d been assigned to work undercover on the streets. Dunn had failed to turn up the name of the man behind the booming sex trade in the city, and she’d been dismissed from the case months ago. Barbara was shocked to find her haunting a place like this.

“Please,” Lydia said. “Come in, and be quiet…they could be listening.”

Barbara nodded, and she followed the young detective into the room.

That evening, Tom waited impatiently at the diner for his date to arrive. Tom was mayor now, but he couldn’t risk meeting his girlfriend at one of the popular restaurants downtown, it could jeopardize her career. Instead, the two would meet for dinner at a small diner at the edge of the city, just off of the freeway. If it was a good night, they’d get a room at the Super 8 down the road.

Punctuality was one of her stronger qualities, but tonight she was uncharacteristically late. Tom was frustrated, it had been a rough day and he always looked forward to these little meetings for decompression. He picked up his phone and dialed her number. “I know you’re mad at me, Barbara, but I thought we had an understanding. We weren’t going to let our business effect our relationship. I’ll wait here all night if I have to.”

She never called back, and at half-passed midnight, Tom left the diner.

Barbara was still in room 202 around that time. Sitting on the couch half naked, her eyes glued to the television, her legs spread open to allow Lydia’s mouth easier access. Her mouth was dry from hours of hanging open, and a thin crust of dry saliva coated her chin. The television’s subliminals had done their job, she was completely under. But her body continued to react to Lydia’s stimulation, her chest heaving with each wave of pleasure.

When Barbara followed Lydia into room 202, she was so confident in her own ability as a detective that she hadn’t considered the setup. First Lydia convinced her that she’d been working the prostitution case long after she’d been removed from it. Barbara gave Lydia the obligatory position-of-authority scolding that she felt entitled to, but she was too eager to get the dirt on Wexler that she agreed to let Lydia go with just the warning. Now it was time for the real story: Lydia told Barbara that Captain Wexler had taken control of prostitution in River City, and she had video to prove it.

Barbara crossed her legs as she settled down on the couch, and she waited for Lydia to connect her laptop to the television. The video, when it came up on screen, looked like it had been ripped from a VHS cassette. The image was fuzzy and the lines were shaky. The distorted sound played soft notes of an unrecognizable song. So far Lydia’s evidence was just a black screen with the title card “PLEASE WAIT” in bright pink letters. Lydia settled down on the couch next to Barbara, and she said, “It takes a couple of minutes.”

Barbara frowned and asked, “Can’t you fast-forward it?”

“No,” Lydia said. “We have to watch the full video.”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, but the odd music was soothing Barbara’s impatience. The sound flowed through her, numbing her senses. And slowly, Barbara began to sink into the couch.

Sometime later she heard the distant voice of Lydia say, “You’re a very beautiful woman, Miss Keyes.”

Barbara replied quietly, “Detective Keyes,”

Lydia smiled. “Ranks don’t matter in this room, Miss Keyes. We’re all beneath him.” “Him?”

“Master,” Lydia had begun to unbutton Barbara’s blouse, exposing the lace bra beneath her gray, pinstriped pantsuit. “Fancy,” Lydia marveled.

“I’m meeting someone tonight,” Barbara said, her mind floating like she were in a dream.

“He must be special, but Master can fix that.”

“Master,” Barbara repeated. She didn’t know why.

The PLEASE WAIT screen had flashed away, and now Barbara was watching a barrage of scenes. Bright colors flashed between brief shots of orgies, occasionally she would catch a word hidden on screen, but nothing lasted long enough for her to read. Barbara waited patiently for the evidence that she’d been promised as Lydia placed kisses down her exposed stomach, her mind slipping deeper into its prison.

When Captain Wexler arrived in the early hours of the morning, he was happy to find Detective Keyes suggestable and compliant. First she told him about the file she’d built on him, then she gave up Mayor Spinelli as an accomplice in her plan to kick him off the force. That didn’t worry Wexler so much once he learned about their affair. If the public thought Spinelli was giving Barbara special treatment as his girlfriend, any decision he made with the police department would be scrutinized, including Wexler’s suspension.

“How does it feel, detective?” Wexler asked her. “You came so close, just to fall under my power like young Lydia.”

“It’s…” Barbara started, stumbling for just a moment in resistance. “It’s unimaginable. My true place is by your side, Master. Please use me like the rest of your slaves.”

Wexler took her, pulling her into a kiss, and he leaned out satisfied. “You’re mine now. I don’t want any more investigations in district. If any claims about me cross your desk, I want you to burn them. Tom can have you, but you’re going to get him off my trail.”

“Yes, Master.”

“That’s a good girl,” Wexler smiled.

The next day, Barbara invited Tom over to her home. It was the first time he’d been over since his election. “I did a lot of thinking last night,” Barbara said. “I just needed the time to myself.”

“Okay,” Tom replied. “But I need you to be open with me, Barbara. We need to communicate.”

“I agree,” she nodded. “And that’s why…I think we should go public with our relationship. No more sneaking around.”

“Barbara,” Tom protested. “Once everyone knows, any involvement I have with your department will be open to attack. I’ll lose all leverage with IAD. I won’t be able to move on Wexler…”

“I know, Tom. Wexler’s a dead end. And I’m tired of putting my career over our happiness.”

Tom nodded, but he wasn’t confident. He was torn between questioning Barbara’s sudden change of heart and his own dreams of eating downtown with the woman he loved. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

Barbara watched from the screen door as Tom left for work, and a content smile crossed her face. She held it just long enough for his car to turn the corner, and her expression sunk back into neutrality, her eyes cold and distant. She reached for her phone and hit the speed dial. “It’s done, Master. Tom won’t be a problem anymore.”