The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The girl stood there. She could feel the sun on her face. She stood quite still, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. She wore a simple skirt, reaching down to just above her knees, and a college sweater, initials in large letters prominent on its left breast. It hugged her figure, taut over her chest, but the neckline was not particularly low. She wore tennis shoes. There seemed nothing, so far, to set her apart from the thousands of girls like her that attended college across the country. But some things about her appearance were unusual. She was pretty. Her silky blonde hair hung to her shoulders. Her figure, though covered in modest clothing, was well proportioned, if not quite cheerleader thin. Her features were pretty, perhaps even beautiful. It was difficult to tell exactly how attractive she was, as a large blindfold covered her eyes. Though her arms were unrestrained, she made no effort to take it off.

There was a man standing next to her. Of moderate height, thin, perhaps in his late 40’s. His hair was streaked with grey but showed no signs of baldness. Though he was dressed casually his stance betrayed a certain nervousness. He looked pensively into the distance.

The man and the girl stood together, although it would be difficult to believe that they were a couple. Neither of them spoke. The ground around them was broken, appearing to consist of rocks. They ranged in size from a pebble to larger than a man’s closed fist. They were mostly white, and the heat of the sun reflected off them uncomfortably. The rocks stretched out, away from the where the man and girl stood. The expanse was more or less flat, or at least as flat as jumbled rocks could be. Too flat, it looked suspiciously man-made. The man had had to help the girl to get this far. Blindfolded as she was, she had needed his hand on her arm to steady her as they walked across the uneven terrain. She could smell the sea and hear the waves. Perhaps they were on some earthworks near a harbour? She didn’t let the thought trouble her for long.

The man’s face broke into a thin smile as he saw two figures walking towards them, picking their way carefully across the sharp rocks. Unlike him they wore suits. One of them, shorter than his companion, carried a briefcase. The man greeted the new arrivals. The words were business-like, the handshakes perfunctory.

“So”, asked the shorter of the two new arrivals, “she ready?” Greetings done, his taller companion seemed disinterested in the conversation. He kept looking around, scanning the area. It was a measured surveillance, his face impassive. An observer, looking closely, might have noticed a slight bulge under the left side of his jacket.

“Of course,” replied the man standing by the girl.

“Ok then, show me.”

The casually dressed man turned to the girl. “There’s a man standing to your left.”

The two new arrivals stood in front of the girl. She may have known that one, at least stood there from the sound of his voice. Regardless she turned slightly to her left. “Hello,” she said, “I’m pleased to meet you.” Her voice was bright, her welcome sounded sincere.

“And one to the right.”

Again the girl turned in the stated direction. “Hello,” she said, “I hope we can get to know each other better.” She might have been welcoming newcomers to a neighbourhood, or greeting a classmate.

“And remember to smile,” the man standing next to her said.

The girl’s face broke into a smile. Her teeth flashed, white, even. The smile may have been given on command, but it looked genuine.

“Hmm, ok,” the short man said. He offered the briefcase he carried to the man standing across from him. “Here’s the cash. Same as always. Half now, half when we know she’ll perform.”

The casually dressed man nodded as he took the briefcase.

The man who had given it to him signalled to his taller companion. In turn, he dropped his scanning of the surrounds and took the girl by the arm. As the two suited men walked off the girl offered no resistance as she was led into whatever future they had planned for her.

The casually dressed man walked back the he had come.

Janice looked nervously around the lecture theatre. She had started hearing rumours around the campus. That girls had been reported missing. People drop out of college all the time. But too many recently had simply vanished. And they were all young, attractive, women. Janice hadn’t known any of them, but she could imagine how frantic their families must be. The college authorities had put out a warning, for girls to be careful, not to be alone on the campus at night. Apparently there’d been a fight about that. The college had resisted doing anything. They still wouldn’t officially acknowledge that there was a problem. Publicly the signs were simply part of their normal care for the students. The girls, rumour had the college saying, might have disappeared from anywhere. That was if there was a problem at all, and they weren’t simply off enjoying themselves somewhere, free from family and study for the first time in their lives.

The police, however, had insisted. Some of the girls’ families had made enough of a commotion that something had to be done. Janice had seen the uniforms around the campus. And so the college authorities, resisting anything that might be taken as an admission of fault, had reluctantly agreed to warning notices going up.

While Janice didn’t know any of the girls a friend had told her that one of them had been in this class. Janice was sure she could remember the girl, a pretty blonde who had always sat to the side of the lecture theatre. Janice kept giving glances in that direction, the seat the girl always occupied now empty. Janice realised that it must have been empty for weeks. The girl had disappeared some time ago. Janice hadn’t noticed, hadn’t thought anything about it. Was it that easy for someone to just vanish? Simply disappear and those around her not realise? Janice shivered.

At the entry of her lecturer, Professor Copeland, Janice forced the uncomfortable thoughts out of her head. She should, she told herself, pay attention. Psychology might not be one of her better subjects, but she did like Professor Copeland’s lectures.

“Today,” Professor Copeland began, “we’re going to talk about the links about actions and desires.”

Janice’s hand moved across the page of her notebook as she desperately tried to transcribe all his words.

“We are, to a great extent, defined by our actions, by what we do. The mind, given enough time, will accommodate itself to the actions of the body. A dissonance there produces stress, and minimising stress is a primal need. The mind will, given choice, direct the body to escape a stressful situation. But if it cannot, then the mind will change to accommodate the physical facts if it faces no other choice. A mind that wants to stay sane, that is.”

Professor Copeland waited for the few chuckles to die out. Janice’s eyes flicked to her pen. She’d forgotten to bring her spare and she hoped it didn’t run out.

“This can be summarised quite simply. Put yourself through the motions and soon will come the corresponding emotions.”

Janice thought she knew enough about stress. Later that night she was still hard at work in the college library, trying to finish an essay. She had to agree with Professor Copeland. If she could, she’d direct her body to put down her pen and walk away from her work. She didn’t want to do that though. She was certainly putting herself through the motions of working. Did that mean the corresponding emotions would come? What emotions corresponded? Agitation? Nervousness? Irritated at letting herself be distracted Janice pushed the thoughts away and got back to work.

Essay finished, Janice peered nervously into the dark outside the library. Was there someone out there, kidnapping the girls, perhaps killing them? Janice shivered. She’d heard they’d all been pretty. Perhaps that was just the rumour mill exaggerating, but if someone was going to take the risk of grabbing all those girls, wouldn’t he go for the pretty ones? Janice looked at her reflection in the glass of the door. She knew other people considered her pretty, with her wavy, almost curly, red hair, upturned nose and nicely shaped face. She looked off to her left, through the door, trying to see her car. She’d tried to park it as close to the library as she could, knowing that she would probably be working late tonight. She thought that she could see it from here, but she wasn’t sure. There were lights, she told herself, it wasn’t as if she’d be walking in the dark. And once she got to her car, she’d be safe.

Hugging her books tightly to her chest, Janice summoned up her courage and pushed the door open. Nervously she peered left and right, then hurried towards her car.

Soon her it was in sight. With each step her car grew larger and larger in her vision. It wasn’t much to look at, an old 60’s dodge, specks of rust showing through some of the paint. It had been all her parents could afford. But to Janice, right now, it represented safety, a link with home. She sighed with relief as she reached it. Quickly she retrieved her keys from her purse and opened the door. She tossed her books across to the passenger side and got in. She placed the key in the ignition and turned it.

To her horror all she heard was the whirr of the starter motor.

“Oh, no, oh, no, come on.” Janice’s voice was brittle, fear beginning to grow. She could imagine someone in the dark, watching her. She tried turning the key again. And again the only response was grinding whirr.

“Oh god, no.” A tear streaked across her face. Janice didn’t know what she was going to do. If she sat there trying to start the car she’d probably flood it. She’d learnt that much from her father. But she couldn’t bear to think about heading back out into the night on foot.

Panic had almost overtaken her when she saw the headlights of a car, approaching from her left. She didn’t know whether to ask for help or sink down and try to avoid being noticed. She gripped the wheel, paralysed with fright as the car pulled in beside her.

It was with an audible gasp that she released her hold on the wheel. It was a campus security car. They’d be able to help her. Two men, in the uniform of campus security, got out of the car. One leant up against their vehicle; the other strolled over to Janice’s window.

He pushed his cap up as he bent over, “Everything all right miss?” Janice could smell his last meal on his breath, wondered whether some of it was caught in his thick moustache, but she didn’t care. He could have smelt like garbage and she’d have welcomed him with open arms.

“Oh, uh, my car won’t start”

“Hmm,” the guard said, standing up and regarding the hood of Janice’s car, “not what you need. Wanna try it again?”

“Ok,” said Janice, her confidence returning. She tried starting her car, but stubbornly it refused to start.

“Yeah, I see,” said the guard. “Could be a few things, flat battery, alternator gone. Are the lights working?”

Janice flicked the lights on. The twin beams streamed out into the darkness, one catching the tail of the guards’ car before spilling out across the campus.

“Not that then,” the guard at Janice’s window scratched at his forehead, pushing his cap back. “Wanna pop the hood and let me take a look?”

Janice pulled on the lever. She couldn’t see what the guard was doing, the great sheet of Detroit metal blocking her view. She could hear him poking around and muttering. She could see the other guard, still leaning against his car, a bored look on his face.

Just before Janice lost patience she heard the moustachioed guard cry “Ah hah! That could be it, you wanna come take a look?”

Janice debated for a moment whether she should. But she needed her car. If there was something wrong with it she needed to know what it was. And be able to explain it to her father, if she was going to have to ring him and get him to wire her the money for repairs.

“Now you see this bit here,” the guard pointed his torch into the engine well. The shadows cast by its light played across the engine, casting strange shapes. Janice could hear the other guard coming up behind her. Perhaps his boredom had made him curious, she thought, as she leant forward, trying to see what the helpful guard was showing her.

Janice felt an arm snake around her waist, pulling her back into the other guard. Her breath came out in an “oomf!” from the force of the contact. Her hands flailed in front of her as she tried to keep her balance, tried to find something to hold onto. A scream started to rise in her throat, but was cut off as something was roughly placed across her face. It seemed to be cloth, held there by the other hand of the guard who had assaulted her from behind. The cloth was thick, perhaps folded over and layered, and moist. Taken by surprise, Janice breathed in, a strange smell invading her nostrils. Desperately she pulled at the man’s arm, trying to free her mouth, to breathe, to call for help. She could see blackness starting to creep in at the edge of her vision. She pulled feebly at the arm still holding the cloth across her mouth, her strength slipping away. She tried not to breathe as she desperately sought for some leverage on her attacker. Failing she tried to wriggle free, but his arm around her waist held her tight. Pain rose in her chest as she held her breath. She couldn’t breathe, she mustn’t breathe. She kicked back at the man’s leg, but her dizziness from lack of oxygen and whatever was in that first, treacherous, breath, sent her aim astray. Her lungs screamed for air. She couldn’t take it any longer, she had to breathe, she couldn’t stop herself. She sucked air through the cloth, tasting the strange fumes of whatever chemical it held. Janice sagged in her attacker’s arms, and lost consciousness.

“And this is number nine.” Carol watched as her boss, Bill Wainwright, pinned a picture of a girl alongside a line of photos. “Janice Thornton, reported missing two days ago by her flatmate, when she didn’t come home from college.”

The face in the photo looked out at Carol. It was a pretty face, like all the others lined up next to it. Carol looked at it and thought sadly, what happened to you?

“Anything missing from her room?”

“Nope,” replied Wainwright, “clothes, toiletries, the lot, all still there.”

“How was she supposed to get between the college and her home?”

“She had a car, and before you ask, no sign of it either.”

“OK, if she ran away she’d have probably taken some of her things,” said Carol, waving at the board where the photos were pinned, “but how do we know the others didn’t just decide to drop out?”

“For some, we don’t,” her boss shrugged, the rumples in his shirt moving across his ample belly. Too many late night stakeouts, too many coffees and takeout meals. “But most of them are like Janice, nothing missing. Read the files.” He pointed at a loosely stacked pile of yellow folders perched on a cabinet.

“I will, I will,” Carol hurriedly replied. Cautiously she eyed the space between her and the files. The only clear space in Wainwright’s office was his desk. Everywhere else was cluttered, files piled on boxes and cabinets. Reluctantly she weighed her chances of getting the files without something falling on her. She wasn’t looking forward to it. She knew that she had a reputation for cutting corners. Paperwork never appealed to her. “But are we supposed to do about it?”

“Well, there’re no bodies, so it isn’t murder. Not yet anyway. And the local detectives have asked for our assistance.” Bill kept his voice determinedly neutral.

‘Asked for our assistance’. Like hell, thought Carol. Totally out of ideas more like it.

“But what are we supposed to do?” Their division was undercover operations. “How am I supposed to get into anything when we’ve no idea who’s behind it?”

She saw her boss smile. “Well, Detective Taylor, you’re going back to college.”

“What?” Despite the scepticism in her voice Carol knew she could do it. At 25 she was older than most college students. But she looked younger than her years. With her long, light brown, hair and youthful features she could easily pass for 20. She also knew that she was attractive, just like the girls whose photos looked down at her from Bill’s pinboard. “Am I supposed to be bait?” she added suspiciously

“No, how dumb do you think I am?” Bill sounded irritated. “But we need to know if anybody on campus knows anything. And you know what students are like these days. They clam up as soon as they smell the police.” Carol had to admit the truth of that.

“And,” Bill continued, warming to his task, “who else do you suggest I send? Maybe Tom? Or George?”

Carol had to suppress a laugh as she thought of her colleagues trying to act the part of college students. Most of their operations needed a harder edge. There was no way most of the team could ever hope to fit in on a well-to-do college campus. And, apart from her, the one or two who could were deep in their own operations.

“Ok,” she said at last, “ok. But I don’t want to end up on that wall.” She pointed at the row of photos.

“All the disappearances happened at night. It’s in the files.” Bill waved in the direction of the folders. “Just don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine.”

Janice licked at her lips, desperately trying to give them some moisture. She could feel the cracks in them growing, the pain a constant companion. She looked around the small room. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d done that since she’d woken up. Nothing changed. She knew it was a hopeless wish, crazy, but she had to believe that something would happen. Something that could save her.

She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d been, been, kidnapped. She’d cried, before, but now there wasn’t enough left in her for tears. There were no windows in the room. Well, cabin, she supposed. She was on a boat, or a ship. She had no idea how large it was. Distantly she could hear the thrum of the engine.

Without windows, or a porthole, the only illumination came from a bare light bulb. It didn’t tell her the time, or how many days it had been. Occasionally it flickered on and off, the rapid strobing stopping her from sleeping, but mostly it was on. Sometimes she wanted to take it out, no matter how much it burnt her hands, so she perhaps sleep better, but it was protected by a wire frame. So she had to endure its light.

Janice knew it couldn’t have been that long since it had happened. With nothing to drink how long could you survive? Janice thought it was only two or three days at most. With no view outside and only the erratic light bulb she had lost proper track of time. She had slept, fitfully, a couple of times, but she didn’t know for how long, fear or the flickering light waking her up.

Janice heard the thud as the small view slot on the door of her cell was thrown back. That meant the man was here again.

“Hello Janice,” he said, his tone friendly. It might have been a casual meeting between two friends. Janice could feel anger rising in her again, a resentment that no longer burnt quite as fiercely as the thirst weakened her. She no longer had the strength to shout and curse as she had done. At first. However long ago that was. Then she’d tried reason. And when that failed begging and pleading. Nothing had worked. The man had been immovable. He’d stayed reasonable, his friendly attitude had made her scream, for the first few hours. Now she could barely raise a whisper from her parched throat.

“Would you like something to drink? I have some water here.” It was always the same. She could have something to drink, if only she would say the words he wanted her to say.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice cracking with thirst. “You know I do.” She’d had nothing to drink, nothing to eat, since she’d woken here. He’d offered her water, but she hadn’t been willing to pay his price. Now though, her thirst was constantly tearing at her. Was it that bad, what he wanted?, a little voice asked her. Sure, it wasn’t good, but it was only words. She could say it without meaning it.

“Well,” the man’s tone was casual, as if he didn’t care what decision Janice made, “you know what you have to do. How about it?”

“I” Pain now accompanied any effort at speaking.

The man waited for a few moments, to see if Janice would continue. When she didn’t he asked softly, “Yes Janice?”

“I … I,” Janice swallowed, a hard painful, motion with her mouth and throat so dry. Could she say it? She put her head in her hands, telling herself that words didn’t matter. “I’m going…”

“That’s it Janice. Just say it, and you can have some water.”

Janice felt her whole body shudder. No-one could blame her. It was only words. It wasn’t worth dying not to say them. And she knew that she would die, without water. The man would let her die, he’d told her, in his calm, reasonable voice. Janice believed him. The thought of dying scared her so much.

“I’m going to be a prostitute.” Janice was almost choking on the dry heavy sobs that escaped her body.

She heard the man crouch down, the panel at the bottom of the door opening. A small glass, half full of water, was pushed through and the panel quickly slid shut.

Janice threw herself across the cabin. Then she pulled herself up short. She didn’t dare risk knocking over the glass, spilling its precious contents.

“Don’t drink it so fast, you’ll make yourself sick.” Janice knew that the man was right, but she had a hard time slowing down her gulps.

“More, please,” she begged.

“If I give you more now you will make yourself sick,” the man chided. “I’ll be back in a little while with some more. I’ll give it to you as long as you’re co-operative.”

The edge, at least, taken off her thirst, Janice could think again. Had it made any difference to her, uttering those words? She didn’t feel any different. There was no urge to sell herself on some street corner. If saying those words was what it took to get the man to give her the water that she needed to survive, well, she could do that.

Carol forced herself to pay attention to the lecture. She knew that she might be on the campus for some time. None of the teaching staff knew who she really was, so if she didn’t want to draw undue attention to herself then she actually had to do the work. She sighed. Essays and lectures, she thought, were something she’d happily waved goodbye to years ago. Now she was back again. At least Professor Copeland was an interesting speaker. If she was going to have to do the work she’d insisted to Wainwright that she go into classes that were of at least some use to her. Psychology was near the top of her list. She’d done some when she was in college, but a refresher never hurt.

Carefully she looked around the lecture theatre. Despite having to do it, learning wasn’t why she was really here. She needed to start hunting for any leads. As a supposed new transfer, and with the warning signs up around campus, at least she had the openings for conversation. She could play the worried girl from out of town, asking what the signs were all about, what it meant for her. Carol was sure that she could find some people who would be happy to talk, and that might lead to people who could at least tell her more about the missing girls than the detectives working the case had managed to find. The families had all said how good the girls were, how they would never get into trouble. Carol knew from experience that families rarely knew everything their children got up to on campus. Had these girls done something to draw attention to themselves?

As she filed out of the lecture theatre with the students she saw a group of three of them looking at one of the signs, two boys and girl. The boys were laughing, but the girl wasn’t joining in. Her mouth was a thin line and she stared angrily at her companions.

Catching sight of the girl’s look one of the boys stopped, “Hey, sorry, Tracy,” He elbowed his friend, “It was just a joke.”

“Not funny John,” Tracy snapped.

Carol decided to seize her chance. She walked over to the group and asked, trying to sound innocent, “What’s the matter?”

“Laurel and Hardy here,” Tracy indicated John and the other boy, “were trying to make a joke out of the girls who have gone missing.”

Carol let a look of mild disapproval show on her face.

“Yeah, well,” said John, defensively “it’s true though.”

“That’s why it’s not funny,” muttered Tracy.

“What’s true?” ask Carol.

The second boy interjected “Two of the girls who have gone missing were in that class.” He jerked his thumb back at the lecture theatre from which Carol had just emerged. Her undercover training made a look of shock easy to adopt, but it wasn’t news to Carol. She’d read the files Wainwright had given her, when he wasn’t around, so she knew what classes the girls had been taking. That two had come from Copeland’s psychology class was just another reason to take it. Maybe it was coincidence, but it was worth checking.

“So we were telling Tracy she’d better watch out or she’d be next,” said John.

Tracy didn’t say anything. Her earlier anger was gone. She was trying to mask her feelings, but Carol had been in the police long enough to know fear when she could smell it.

“Did, did you know any of them,” Carol tried her best little-girl-lost voice.

“Well, I sort of knew one,” said Tracy, “Janice, the last one. Not well, but…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh,” said Carol, her sympathy genuine, “that must have been hard.”

“Well,” Tracy quickly replied, “I didn’t know her well, just enough, you know, to say hello.”

The group fell silent, as other students hurried past on their way to class. Carol had to shuffle over to edge of the corridor as a particularly loud group of males, probably on sports scholarships by the looks of them, pushed past.

“Hey, look,” she added, “I’m new in, just transferred. I’ve, um, seen these posters. Can you tell the story? I’ve heard bits and pieces, but what should I know?”

John and his friend shifted nervously. Perhaps Carol’s appearance of worry had made them see how callous they’d been. Or perhaps, thought Carol, that was just wishful thinking.

Tracy looked at her. “Yeah, ok. Let’s get a coffee. I’m Tracy by the way.”

“Carol,” Carol smiled back. It looked like her plan was working.

Janice quickly fell into the habit saying what the man wanted to get something to drink. But it wasn’t long, a few hours at most, before her satisfied thirst gave way to hunger.

“Please, I’m hungry.” Janice sat on her bunk, one hand on the wall, holding herself up. She could feel a slight rocking to and fro, as the ship made its way to wherever it was going.

“I can give you something to eat. But I need something more from you first.”

“What?,” wailed Janice. She was so hungry. “I’ve said what you wanted me to say. Look, I’ll say it again. I’m going to be a prostitute.” The words rolled off her tongue now, easily. “Please, I’m hungry.”

“Not that easy.” The rebuke in the man’s voice was clear. “That was for a drink. You need to say something more for food.”

“What, what do I need to say?” Janice couldn’t keep the fear she felt from showing in her voice.

“I want to be a prostitute.”

Janice put her head in hands. She knew that they were only words. But they were wrong. She didn’t want to say them.

“I’ll come back,” she heard the man say, “when you’ve had some time to think.”

“No, I…” Janice let the words die. She could see her free hand reaching futilely towards the door. She knew the man wouldn’t come back until he was ready, even if he could hear her plea. Would she say the words? She could feel a cramp growing in her stomach, hunger pains coming more and more frequently. She’d said some words, just words, to stop herself dying of thirst. She knew that, in the end, she’d say some more words to be able to eat.

Carol had to admit that Wainwright had been correct. The students had obviously held back when talking to the police. She’d been able to find a lot more information about the missing girls. Well, most of them. Tracy and her friends had been a real find. Through them Carol had been able to talk to people who had known most of the girls. It had taken weeks. She couldn’t afford to seem too eager or she’d raise suspicions. But slowly she’d managed it. In halls, and lecture theatres and coffee shops she’d managed to piece together a good picture of each of the victims.

She sighed as went over her notes. It wasn’t easy, keeping up with the work a good student had to do while collecting all the information. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to keep the sleep at bay. She was happy with what she’d learnt about seven of the missing girls. She’d also discovered a lot about another one as well, enough to raise questions as to whether she was part of this at all. Most of the girls appeared to have been decent enough students. Pretty, but she’d known that from the photos. Interestingly none of them were social leaders, no home-coming queens, though they were all attractive enough. Some were described as quiet, others shy, or even impressionable. Those that were socially popular were followers, not the centre of attention, not leaders. Well, that was seven of them anyway. The other girl Carol had learnt about, Susan Halsey, was a hell raiser. Carol wondered if she was a victim. Her grades had been poor, she’d argued with her flat mate, something the other girl hadn’t told the police, and unlike the others some of her personal possessions were missing. Susan looked like someone who had upped and run. That left one girl, the fourth victim, Holly Campbell. Carol hadn’t been able to find anyone who knew her well enough to be sure yet.

With a quick motion Carol pushed herself away from her desk. Even if she completed her picture of the girls, so what? Nothing in what she’d found had given any clue as to how they’d been taken, or why, let alone by who or where they were now. She was starting to fear that this all a waste of time. If she didn’t find something soon then she’d tell Wainwright that it was time to give up.

Janice was used to saying what the man wanted now. If she wanted food or water she did what she was told. A little while after she’d first given in she’d rebelled, refusing the demands conveyed in his oh so reasonable voice. He’d simply refused to give her anything until her resistance cracked. Not that he gave her very much. From the thirst and hunger she still felt Janice thought he fed her maybe twice a day. But Janice was sure the timings were erratic, probably designed to destroy her sense of time. The flickering light bulb still interfered with her sleep, waking her after what she was sure was only a few hours.

He kept changing the words. Janice wasn’t surprised, she was expecting it now, things that were harder and harder to say. Things that she would never have said before, might never have said, even to get that first drink, when the choice was between that and dying.

“I’ll let a man do whatever he wants to my body.”

“I’m happy to be used.”

“I’m happy to be a prostitute.”

“I’ll do as I’m told.”

At first the man had been satisfied with her simply saying the words. But eventually even that wasn’t enough. He wanted Janice to sound as if she meant them, to sound as if she was happy to say them. At first that had been hard. She’d choked, and cried, but threat was always there. Sometimes spoken, sometimes left unsaid.

“Do as I say Janice, or you don’t get this meal.”

Janice knew that she would give in, every time. Even if she refused for a little while. If the choice was between dying and saying what he wanted then she would say the words. They came so easily now. They slipped off her tongue, traitor words, sounding even to her ears as if she meant them.

There came a time, Janice couldn’t remember when, that the man didn’t have to ask for the words. She’d say them as soon as she heard him pull back the little panel that let him see into her cabin.

The words never left her, even when the man wasn’t there. They ran around her head, as she lay alone on her bunk. They were becoming part of her.

Then the man said something new. It wasn’t a demand. But it scared Janice, made her curl up on her bunk. She’d said the words, was waiting for him to open the lower slot, push through her meagre food and water.

“You should think Janice, about the actions that go with what you are saying. Use your imagination. You’re an intelligent girl. Just let the images into your mind. How did someone put it? Put yourself through the motions and soon will come the corresponding emotions.”

Janice wanted to scream “No!” but she couldn’t find the strength. She sat on her bunk, arms wrapped tightly around her, staring at the door. She couldn’t, could she? It had been words, only words, he didn’t mean it. Part of her knew that this was what he’d meant all along, had always known it. But Janice had tried to deny it, pretend it was only words.

Images seeped into her mind. The harder she tried not to think of it the harder it became not to. The images were vague. She knew that prostitutes were paid for sex. Intellectually she knew what sex was, but Janice was a virgin. Still, the impression grew on her, no matter how hard she tried to stop it, of something, hard, down there, entering her.

It was some time before she noticed that her food had been pushed through the slot and that the man was gone. Reluctantly Janice reached for it, to eat, to stay alive. A tear ran down her face, as she hoped the food would push the images out of her mind, at least for a little while.

Carol smiled to herself. If she was right she might finally be on to something useful. A couple of weeks ago she’d picked up a rumour, that someone knew something about one of the disappearances. That someone had actually seen something, when the last girl, Janice Thornton, had disappeared. It had taken her days to track it back though the gossip and chinese whispers of campus life. Eventually she’d tracked it to a boy called Ben, a biology major.

Impatiently Carol waited outside the lecture theatre. She knew what he looked like. She’d slipped into the records office and taken a look at his photo. This was one of his classes. She hoped he wasn’t one of those students who skipped classes. But his grades had been high, so Carol thought her chances were pretty good.

As the students trooped out at the end of the hour Carol thought her luck was out. She scanned each face as it passed, but none was the one for which she was looking. She was sure that there were only two exits from the room and she could see both of them from where she stood. Had she been wrong? Or was Ben less diligent then she had thought?

As she was about to give up her quarry emerged. He was slightly built, with hair just too long to be called neat. Nervously he looked around the corridor. Carol could tell it wasn’t the normal behaviour of a shy student. Ben was afraid of something. Really afraid. She’d have to be careful.

Cautiously she approached him. She clutched her books across her chest, trying to look as much the nervous student as he did. “Umm, Ben, Ben O’Rourke?”

The boy stopped, looked at her suspiciously, “Yeah? What do you want?”

“I’m a friend of Janice Thornton.” A lie, but Carol knew how to lie believably.

“So what?” Ben snapped, his voice tinged with fear. He tried to push past Carol.

She grabbed him by the arm “Please, I’ve heard you know something. About what happened to her.”

Ben stopped, looked at her. Carol could see the calculation behind his look, weighing up whether to take a risk. She forced a look of desperation on to her face. “Please, we just want to know.”

Ben looked up and door the corridor. “Ok, ok, but not here.”

“C’mon, please” Carol pleaded.

“No,” Ben’s voice was firm, “I’ll meet you tonight, in the library.” He stopped for a moment, thinking, “8pm. I’ll tell you what happened. I’ll show you. But make sure no-one’s around. And I mean no-one.” With that he broke free of the grip she still held on his arm and walked away.

Carol debated following him but experience told her that it would do no good. He’d talk when he was ready. If he didn’t tell her what she wanted to know tonight, then she could get Wainwright to pull him in and start grilling him. She hoped for Ben’s sake he told her what he knew.

Carol sucked in her breath as she realised what she had agreed to. Tonight. Night time was when all the girls had disappeared. She’d avoided being on the campus at night. She’d promised Wainwright she’d be careful. Well, she would be careful. The area around the library was well lit. If she stayed in the light she’d be able to see anyone coming. And avoid them if they looked like trouble.

A little before eight Carol eased her car into a parking spot. It was as near to the library as she could manage. It wasn’t as close as she would have liked, but there were no parks any closer. She looked at her watch. There were still a few minutes before she was supposed to meet Ben. She debated whether to wait in her car, see if she could spot him heading to the library. She shook her head, angry at her own nervousness. Ben might already be in the library for all she knew. The area between her and the library was well lit. It was all paving and grass, no handy bushes a lurking assailant could hide in. And anyway she was a trained police officer, not some delicate co-ed. She could handle herself if there was trouble.

Soon after leaving her car Carol stopped. She could see two figures approaching her. She squinted into the darkness. They were probably men, judging by their size, but apart from that she could tell little. They hadn’t reached the lights around the library. Carol hesitated, considering her chances of making it back to her car, or even the library if she ran for it. As she debated the men stepped into the illuminated circle cast by one of the lights. Carol relaxed, as she saw that it was only two of the security guards who worked on the campus. She clutched her bag to her chest, trying to look like a student heading for some late night studying, as she hurried towards the library.

The guards sauntered in her direction, their path intersecting with Carol’s about half way between her car and the library.

“Evening Miss,” said one, dipping his cap in her direction. “Everything ok?” His smile raised the edges of the thick moustache that hid his upper lip. His companion, clean shaven, simply favoured her with a bored look.

“Yes, yes thank you,” said Carol as she determinedly headed between the two guards.

Carol pulled up with a jerk as the moustachioed guard grabbed her left arm. “You sure? You seem in an awful hurry.”

Carol swung around to face the man. “Yes, I’m fine, now if you’d please just let me go.”

Carol felt two arms snaking around her, one reaching around her waist to hold her to her assailant, the other reaching up to her mouth. The other guard, she realised, her thoughts becoming frantic. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, that he seemed to be holding something. A piece of cloth, folded over, glistened with moisture in the artificial light. Dimly she could smell something, the scent of chloroform. Desperately she pushed his arm away from her face.

Awareness dawned on her, warring with horror. This was how the girls had been taken. Like her, they’d never have suspected security guards. Mentally she kicked herself for being so trusting.

The man was still struggling to get the drug-socked cloth over her mouth. Carol raised one foot and brought it down hard behind her. She was rewarded by a yelp of pain as her heel connected with his foot. The man’s grip around her waist loosened. Carol twisted, trying to break free. The first guard, who still held her left arm, was tugged around and collided with his fellow. The hold on her waist disappeared.

“Help!” she yelled as she aimed a punch at the guard who still held her arm. He jerked to the side and her swing flew past his ear.

“Help!” Carol yelled again as the two swung around in a crazy dance. The guard seemed intent on keeping her off-balance. Carol aimed another swing at him, allowing for the movement. She missed again. He’d brought them to halt as she threw the punch. This time his hand shot up and grabbed her other arm.

“Hel…” Carol’s cry was cut off as the other guard, forgotten in her duel with the first, clamped both hands over her mouth, pressing the drug-soaked cloth against it. Caught by surprise Carol gasped. She could feel the fumes invade her lungs. With one last despairing effort she flung herself back against the man holding the cloth. It wasn’t enough. Caught between the two men, her strength waning by the moment from the effects of the drug, she couldn’t break free. Carol felt herself slump as her consciousness dissolved into blackness.

Carol awoke, the glare from a bright light adding to the headache pounding at her temples. She blinked and sat up. A bare light bulb shone down from the ceiling, the source of the pain in her eyes. She raised a hand to protect them from the light. Quickly she checked herself. Everything seemed ok. She was sure that she’d have bruises on her arms from where the guard had held her but other than that she couldn’t find anything wrong. She still had her clothes on. But her bag and books weren’t here. Nor was her watch, so she had no way of telling how long she’d been out.

Carol looked around the room that she found herself in. It was small, about ten feet by eight. She was sitting on a bunk that was attached to the wall. There were no windows, only a door in the wall across the room from her. Carol realised that the walls, even the floor and ceiling of her room, were metal. Where was she? Standing up, she looked around the room again. She could hear a vibration, feel it through floor, it sounded like the distant throb of machinery. She looked at the door. It was metal, like the rest of the room, and looked heavy.

Carol took a step back in surprise as a small panel in the door, a little above her eye level, was flung back. She could see a man outside, but she couldn’t make out his features.

“Hello Carol.” Carol felt her brow furrow in surprise. She knew that voice. It wasn’t the guard.

“Professor Copeland!” her voice rose in surprise. She paused. Carol was too much of a realist to think that this was some sort of miraculous rescue. “You’re not going to let me out, are you?” she added.

“No, I’m not.” She could just see him smiling, through the gap in the door, in the way she’d seen him smile in class when a student answered a difficult question. The light outside seemed dimmer than the light in her room.

“No teary pleas?” he ventured at length. “Well, we’ll see. You must have questions. Let’s get them out of the way. Yes, you’ve been kidnapped. No I’m not just going to let you go. No, you’re not going to die. Well, not unless you choose to.” Carol frowned, wondering what he meant by that.

“You’re probably wondering where you are,” the professor continued, “we’re on a boat, bound for Mexico. There are a lot of men there that will pay handsomely for the company of a nice American girl like you. Some visiting businessmen, some locals. Their money is all good.”

So that was the source of the vibration! The engines of the boat, or ship, or whatever it was. Carol wondered how large it was. How long had she been out? How far from shore were they? Too far, she feared, to be able to swim for it. Mentally she remonstrated with herself. She wouldn’t let herself be defeated so easily. Her first objective had to be to get out of this cell. Then she’d see what she could manage after that.

If Copeland had any inkling of her thoughts he gave no sign. “But this is a slow boat,” he continued, apologetically, “and it will take us some weeks to get there. You’ll need to eat, and drink. I’ve got something for you here now. Would you like it?”

Carol hesitated. Maybe he’d drug her again. She considered refusing. There wasn’t much point though. If he wanted to drug her he could, trapped in this small room as she was. Or maybe cabin was a better word, not that it was exactly her idea of accommodation for a luxury cruise. And there was no point in starving herself to death. Was that what he’d meant, when he’d said something about her choosing to die?

“Yes, yes I would.” Her voice was low, cautious, but Copeland would probably expect that.

“Well then, I need you to do something first. I want you to say something.”

“What?” asked Carol, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

“It’s very simple, just say ‘I’m going to be a prostitute’” Copeland’s voice was even, as if he was explaining a simple principle to a reluctant student.

Carol could feel rebellion running through her. She wasn’t going to let Copeland turn her into a whore. She didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by playing his twisted games. But she could see the rules here.

“What if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t get the water.” He replied, evenly.

Carol shrugged. She’d expected an answer like that. They were only words.

“I’m going to be a prostitute.”

“Clever girl,” the congratulatory tone made Carol want to throw something at the door. “The others all refused. Oh they all came around in the end, but they wasted a lot of time and energy before they did. Much easier to just agree, isn’t it?”

Carol glared at the door. She heard a noise from lower down, towards the floor. She could see another panel, one that she hadn’t noticed earlier, open and a hand pushed through a half full glass of water.

“I’ll be back later.”

Cautiously Carol approached the glass. She was thirsty. She wasn’t surprised. She had probably been out for hours and the chloroform had probably contributed to the dryness in her mouth. She picked up the glass and paused. What if it was drugged? It hardly mattered. Copeland could easily drug her if he wanted to. She could refuse to drink. But if she was going to get out of this she would need her strength. She swallowed the water. Something about the situation didn’t make sense. She now knew how the girls had disappeared. She guessed that the erstwhile security guards answered to Copeland. Whether they were actual guards or imposters didn’t matter. She had some idea why she and the other girls had been kidnapped. What exactly Copeland was up to putting her through that little performance to get a drink wasn’t clear. He could make her say things like that all he liked. Carol wasn’t about to start turning tricks for him. With a touch of fear she realised that she would probably learn a lot more about his plans before she got out of here. But something about this still didn’t make sense.

She tried the door. As she’d feared it was heavy and refused to budge. She guessed it was locked from the outside. Difficult to keep her a prisoner if it wasn’t. Reluctantly she returned to the bunk. The mattress was old and warn and the blanket thin. She wondered how many of the other girls had set here, thinking the same thoughts.

Without her watch Carol wasn’t sure how long she sat there. The light didn’t help. Sometimes it went off, but that didn’t last very long. Sometimes it flickered. Carol could feel her headache. Which had started to recede, began to get worse.

She looked to the door as the upper panel was pushed open again.

“You’re probably feeling hungry,” Carol could hear concern in Copeland’s voice. It was probably fake, but she had to grant him his acting skills. “I have some more water here, and something to eat, would you like it?”

“Yes, you piece of shit.” Carol spat.

“Oh, defiance, not unexpected. Anyway,” he paused, “all you need to do is say what you said before and add ‘I want to be a prostitute’.”

Carol could see it now. The flickering light, with no means of telling the time, was meant to disorient her. Control of her means of survival to bring her to heel. Horrified awareness filled her voice as her previous assurance melted. “You’re trying to brainwash me.”

“Oh you are a clever girl. Yes, I am. A simple but effective technique, even if the subject realises what’s happening.”

Carol sat there, stunned. A little while ago she’d be sure that words wouldn’t matter. She’d studied enough psychology to know what Copeland had in store for her. Tired, disoriented, repeating the words over and over again. Probably he’d change the script, dragging her further in. Carol regarded herself as strong willed, but she knew that no-one can last forever. Eventually she would break. If she was lucky then the best she could hope for was appear to co-operate, hope he let her out before her will was broken.

“If it makes you happy,” she replied, then she added brightly “I’m going to be a prostitute, I want to be a prostitute.”

Carol could see Copeland regarding her, through the small slot in the door. She wished that she could see more of him, see what passed across his features. She knew it as a vain hope. This set up was designed to help her captor, not her.

After a moment the lower panel was opened and a simple meal pushed through. Carol ate, then sat on the bunk, restless. She was still convinced that there was something she was missing. She paced her cell, trying to see if there was some exit she had missed. There was a simple toilet, but there was no way she could fit. Even if she had been prepared to take such a route. She could still feel the hum of the engines even, now she concentrated on it, a slight rocking motion as the boat moved in the water.

She tried the door again, pressing both hands against it, more out of the need to do something than any real hope of achieving anything. The door didn’t respond, but she thought she could hear movement in the corridor outside. The sound stopped and Carol waited for the panel to be pushed aside, waited to see what Copeland would ask of her next.

To her surprise it stayed motionless. She thought she could hear a voice, it could be Copeland’s, but she couldn’t make out what it was saying. Holding her breath she pushed an ear to the door.

“That’s it Janice, good girl, I think you’re almost ready. We’ll be there in about a week, maybe a little more depending on the weather.”

Janice, thought Carol, Janice Thornton. So she wasn’t alone here. But Janice had disappeared weeks ago. If Copeland had been putting her through the same treatment he had started on Carol then she dreaded to think what state the poor girl was in by now. But what had Copeland meant by “there in about a week”? Hadn’t he said the trip to Mexico would take weeks? Carol sagged. She wanted to hit herself. How could Copeland afford to disappear for the weeks he said their trip to Mexico would take? He still had his teaching at the college, had been teaching ever since Janice disappeared. They might be on a boat, Carol could hear the engine, feel some rolling motion. But that was side to side, there was no sense of forward movement at all. If this was a boat, then it was probably tied up somewhere. And that meant all she had to do was get out of this cell. After that escape should be easy.

As she expected Copeland increased his demands on her. Over the next few days the script she had to follow to get fed changed, becoming worse and worse. He’d make her repeat the words over and over.

“I’m happy to be a prostitute.”

“I love it when men use me.”

“I want to be used sexually.”

Despite her knowledge of what he was doing Carol could feel the words starting to affect her. She knew she had to get out of here soon. She remembered what Copeland had said to Janice, about it only being a week for her. She had to get out of here before that time was up. She couldn’t hear what Janice said when Copeland spoke to her, muffled as it was by so much metal, but from what she heard Copeland say Janice must be pretty far gone.

The lack of sleep didn’t help. It seemed that whenever Carol dozed off the light would flicker, faster and faster, until she woke up. She could feel her sense of time going, her resistance weakening. Sometimes she was in a daze, simply repeating the words that Copeland gave her. After she’d eaten she’d try to force herself awake, try to push the words out of her mind.

She kept to her plan. If Copeland was intending to withhold food and water as a punishment, then she would give him no reason to stop feeding her. The lights were bad enough, she knew that hunger and thirst could push her over the edge.

When she listened at the door most of the time, if she heard anything, it was Copeland talking to Janice. Occasionally he’d talk to another man. Carol learnt to recognise two other voices, one that of the moustachioed guard.

Carol thought that it was three or four days since she had first heard Copeland talking to Janice. She realised that her estimate could be wildly wrong. However long it had been, she finally heard something that she thought she could use. It was faint, the men must be some way down whatever corridor lay outside her door. They probably thought they were well out of range of her hearing, not realising that she had her ear pressed against the door.

“That new one,” Carol recognised the voice as that of the moustachioed guard, “is coming along well boss.”

“A bit too well.” Copeland sounded suspicious.

“Huh?”

“All the other girls refused to co-operate. That meant they were hungry and thirsty when I started the program.”

“So?” the guards lacking of understanding was clear.

“She jumped straight in. Mentally she was in a much stronger position than they were.”

“Sorry boss, I don’t get it. She’s saying what you want, so she’ll end up same as them.”

“Not necessarily.” Carol could almost hear Copeland’s lips pursing, “She’s playing along, rather than doing it out of need. I need to break her down. Starving her would be counter-productive. Hmm, that’s it. No sleep. I want you to use the light. I want her kept awake. Give her a day or two of that and we’ll see her break.”

“Umm, you know that if we flick the lights too much too quick they can go.”

Copeland made an exasperated noise. “Well if the bulb breaks, it’ll be dark. She’ll go to sleep. Make sure she is, switch it, and wake her up again.”

“Ok.”

Carol settled down on the floor. She knew that the lack of sleep was already getting to her. A day or two without any and Copeland might just break her. But she could see a chance as well. If the bulb broke then the guard would come into her room. That meant he’d have to open the door. Shielding her eyes she looked at the light. Was there some way she could help the process along? She could see the bulb sitting in its socket. Could she squeeze her fingers through the wire frame so that she could break it, or even loosen it enough that it wouldn’t work? She decided to wait awhile. If the bulb went immediately then the guard was bound to be suspicious.

A couple of hours later, or at least what Carol thought was a couple of hours later, she could feel her head pounding. The guard had obviously taken Copeland’s instructions to heart. The light was bright, and flashed almost constantly. Even when she turned her head away, and covered it with the thin blanket, the strobing effect refused to let her sleep. The light seemed to bounce off the metal walls.

Realising her physical state would only get worse, Carol decided it was time to try her plan. She hoped that the guard wouldn’t choose now to check on her. Cautiously she got up, shielding her eyes with one hand. She pushed the fingers of the other hand through a gap in the wire mesh. Heat from the light seared through her finger tips before she reached the bulb. She tried again, but the pain was too much. Reluctantly she returned to her bunk, sitting on the rough blanket.

She turned her head, looked at the blanket. Getting to her feet she ripped it off the bed. It was thin, but not too thin. It might be enough. Holding the blanket in front of her, to protect both her eyes and her hands, she returned to the light.

She pushed parts of the blanket through gaps on the wire mesh. She could just get some contact with the light. Pain flared through her fingers, but it was bearable. She could try to break the glass, but that might look suspicious. Carol decided to try loosening it. The guard should think that the bulb had blown, he wouldn’t know any different until he was in the cell. And then Carol would have her chance.

Lances were being stuck in her fingers, pain from the heat of the light. She was sure she would have burns to show for this. Grimly she got as much of a hold on the bulb as she could and turned. Soon she could feel movement. She could smell something acrid, as the heat started to burn the blanket. Carol heard a slight click as the bulb lost its connection and then darkness enveloped her. Hurriedly she put the blanket back on the bunk. She had no idea how long it would take for the guard to notice. She’d have to look as if she was asleep. She lay in the darkness sucking her injured fingers.

Carol soon realised that there was one possible flaw in her plan. She was tired, her fingers hurt. Mentally she was weary form the ordeal of the last few days. Her cell was finally dark. Pretending to be asleep, there was the dangerous possibility that her act might turn all too real and the guard would enter her room to find her actually asleep. She stopped sucking her injured fingers, pressed the edges of her fingernails against them in the hope that the pain would keep her awake.

Just as she was sure that the pain wouldn’t be enough and that she’d slip into unconsciousness she heard the upper panel in the door slide aside.

“Damn,” she heard the guard mutter. Carol tensed, waiting for him to open the door. Despair washed over her as she heard him walk away. What was he doing?

To her relief she soon heard him return. A click, as if of a key in a lock, was soon followed by the sound of the door moving. Carol lay as still as she could, her eyes narrowed in the darkness. She could just see, in the slight gap between her eyelids, the beam of a torch.

The guard stood in the doorway for a few moments. Carol thought he was looking at her. She made herself breathe, evenly, as good an impression of sleep as she could manage. Soon the guard cautiously advanced into her cell. She could hear him grumbling as he examined the light. He fumbled for a few moments, but with only one hand free he couldn’t seem to open the padlock that held the wire cage shut.

He looked around, obviously wondering what to do. Then he put his torch on the toilet, near Carol’s bunk, angled up to shine on the light in the ceiling. She could see that it looked heavy. Then he returned to his work. His back wasn’t quite to her. That would have blocked the beam from his torch. But Carol knew it was now or never. Ignoring the tiredness in limbs, the pain in her fingers, she flung herself off the bunk, towards the torch. A fluid roll found her on her feet, torch in hand, as the guard started to turn towards her. Carol could see surprise on his features as the light of the torch swung across the room.

Instinctively she raised the torch and brought it down on his head. The man tried to raise his arms to ward off the blow, but in the dark he misjudged her swing. A satisfying crack as it connected with his skull was followed by his unconscious body slumping to the floor.

Carol quickly searched his body. She wanted out of the cell before he awoke, but she needed his keys. She found nothing. Fear starting to rise in her, she swung the torch’s beam around the room. She had to suppress a hysterical laugh when it fell on the wire cage of the room’s light. There, still connected to the padlock by its key, was a ring, other keys dangling from it. Hurriedly Carol retrieved it and left her cell. She closed the door behind her. Tucking the torch under one arm she fumbled with the lock.

As the she found the key to her cell and locked the door she finally allowed herself relax. Now all she had to do was free Janice and get them both out of there. Swinging the torch around the corridor she quickly located the other cell. It seemed that hers and Janice’s were the only ones.

It didn’t take Carol long to find the proper key and open the door to Janice’s cell. She shut off the torch as light from the room spilled into the corridor.

“Hello?” A young woman’s voice, nervous. Carol immediately recognised the owner from the photo on Wainwright’s notice board. Janice Thornton. The girl looked in much better condition than Carol had expected. She’d thought that Copeland’s little setup would leave its victims haggard. She certainly expected that if she could see herself now the lack of sleep would be obvious. Add to that the lack of food the other girls had suffered and Carol thought result would resemble the bums she saw on the street—painfully thin, black rings around the eyes, obviously weak. Janice didn’t look like that. Sure, she as a little thinner than in her picture, but if anything that made her look better than before. She sat on her bunk, hands folded in her lap, looking a picture of health.

“We’ve got to get out here.” Carol said urgently.

“N...No, I...I can’t do that,” Janice replied, her eyes widening in fear, “He, he wouldn’t like that.”

Carol felt her shoulders slump. Physically Janice might be fine, but mentally was an entirely different matter. She remembered hearing Copeland tell the other girl that her trip would be over soon. She should have expected that Janice’s resistance would be gone. Carol hadn’t been prepared for this, but now she’d have to deal with it.

Carol nervously looked around, then entered Janice’s cell. “I’m a police officer, come on.” She pulled Janice to her feet. Janice didn’t offer any resistance, but she didn’t seem ready to move under her own volition either. “But, but,” the red-headed girl’s confusion as obvious, “we’re at sea. Where are we going? I can’t.”

Carol pulled the other girl along. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. Janice was reluctant, but she let herself be led.

Carol soon realised that she had no idea where to go. They might be deep within the bowels of some massive ship for all she knew. She decided that away from the cells and up was the best she could do.

To her relief it wasn’t long before her plan bore fruit. She could see a watertight door ahead, daylight coming in through the small porthole set into it.

Cautiously Carol opened the door. She didn’t know who else might be on board. Her eyes blinked, momentarily blinded by the sunlight after the darkness inside the ship. Hearing nothing she peered around the door. Then she pulled the still weakly protesting Janice outside with her.

“Look,” Carol said, “we’re not at sea.” She pointed at the land in front of them, a jumble of small stones. Carol recognised some of the earth works from the harbour. All they had to do was get away from this boat before Copeland returned and they were safe. She could see a gangplank leading down to the shore.

“Come on,” she said to Janice.

This time he girl didn’t respond to her tug. “I…I can’t. I’m supposed to stay here until, until; he says. I... no.”

Carol sighed, and pulled harder on Janice’s arm. The other girl stumbled into her. The red head’s resistance momentarily gone, she let Carol lead her off the boat. At the foot of the gangplank Carol desperately scanned their surroundings, hoping Copeland wasn’t about. She saw no-one.

The walk across the jagged landscape seemed interminable. Keeping her own balance was hard enough, but Carol had to support Janice as well. She was half carrying, half dragging the other girl. Janice let Carol lead her, but would occasionally protest. Carol realised how much Copeland had got to Janice. She was only glad that she had gotten out before she was in the same state.

A movement across the expanse of rocks caught Carol’s eye. She wasn’t sure whether it was Copeland, or the other guard or someone else, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance. She pulled Janice with her as she lay down on the rocks. The sharp points pressed into her and she knew they were terribly exposed, but it was the best that she could do.

After what Carol judged to be long enough she cautiously got to her feet. Whoever it had been, she couldn’t see them anymore. She looked back at the boat. She could see that it was a tug boat or something like that. She couldn’t see any movement on it. She pulled Janice to her feet and set off once more, towards the buildings she could see in the distance.

Afterwards Carol didn’t know how long that journey took, between the terrain and Janice’s lack of co-operation it felt like hours. The other girl was a dead weight, often looking back the way they came. Sometimes she half-heartedly tugged in that direction. Having to drag Janice, Carol often stumbled and fell, cutting herself on the rocks even through her jeans. She could feel Janice shaking, see the fear in her eyes. She could feel her own fear, knotted in her stomach. She knew that Janice would be no use if it came to a fight, and Carol knew that she herself was nowhere near fully fit. She’d taken the first guard by surprise. She didn’t expect to get that lucky again.

Reaching the warehouses, she cautiously looked around. They seemed empty. She needed an office and a phone. She pulled Janice inside one of the buildings as a car pulled up. Carol still wasn’t prepared to take chances. Peering through a crack in the door she saw a man she didn’t recognise get out of a pick-up truck and head into another of the buildings. Satisfied for the moment she examined the building in which she’d taken refuge.

It was a large warehouse. At the other end was door, that looked like it might lead to another, smaller space. Carol’s heart leapt. Maybe it was an office. Taking Janice’s arm she pulled the other girl with her towards it.

Carol almost cried from relief when she saw a desk with a phone on it. She pushed Janice into a beaten up swivel chair. Hurriedly she picked up the receiver and dialled Wainwright’s number.

“Pick up, pick up,” she muttered. Her knees almost buckled as she heard the receiver on the other end being lifted. She held herself up by her free hand.

“Wainwright” she heard her boss say.

“Bill, it’s me”

“Carol?” Carol could hear the surprise in his voice. “Where the hell are you?”

“In a warehouse, down by the docks. I’ve got Janice with me. Get a squad car down here to pick us up. And get another over to the college and arrest Professor Copeland. He’s the one we’re after.”

Wainwright didn’t question her. They had worked together long enough for him to trust her, whatever she said. “Right.”

The noise of the siren of the squad car was the most welcome sound Carol had ever heard. Safe in the backseat she finally allowed herself to sleep.

It was the next day before Wainwright would let her come into the office.

“I told you not to take any chances.” Carol could see the anger mixed with relief on her boss’ face.

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t, would we have found out anything?” Her voice sounded confident, but Carol knew how close it had been.

Wainwright pursed his lips, looking at her. “No, I suppose not,” he said at length, “but it was still stupid.”

“Have we got him?”

“Yeah, he tried to play ignorant at first, but as soon as we told him you were police he started to sing like a bird. According to him it was all the fault of the wise guys he sold the girls to.”

“So we can get them back?” Carol looked up, hopeful.

Wainwright’s lips were set. “Maybe, probably, if they haven’t sold them on. Copeland’s story’ll be enough for a warrant, and if they’re where he says, we’ll get them out. We got Janice back. It’s a start.”

“How’s Janice?” She hadn’t seen the other girl since they’d separated at the police station. Carol could still remember the fear in the other girl’s eyes as a doctor had taken her away.

Wainwright shrugged. “Physically she’s fine. But the shrinks say that Copeland did a real number on her. Apparently she’s still more worried about what he’s going to say about her getting out than about anything else. Looks like she’ll be in therapy for a while.” He stopped, then looked at Carol, “what about you? It sounds like Copeland had a nasty setup. I still want you to see one of the shrinks.”

Carol shook her head. “I’ll be fine. He didn’t have me for anywhere near as long. I just want to see him go down for a long, long, time.”

Wainwright snorted, “Oh, he’ll do that. Between what he’s telling us and your testimony he’ll be lucky if he ever gets out.”

Carol smiled. She wanted to see Copeland locked up. She hadn’t told Wainwright that she’d woken up this morning to the words running around her head. She didn’t want to see a shrink. She wasn’t like that. Copeland would get what was coming to him and she’d deal with her own problems. She was sure she’d get over it.

Pretty sure.

Probably.

Maybe.