Enter Evil

by Linda Ladd

  One suggestion he had learned for hypnotizing a willing subject was to play music with a beat that mirrored the human heartbeat, like a song that repeated the same refrain over and over. He wasn’t sure exactly what to use this first time, actually was experimenting when he chose Enya. A song called “The Orinoco Flow.” The music played softly, and it was one of Blossom’s favorite songs. Blossom relaxed some more. He could actually see her going under.

  “Blossom, you are now so relaxed that you feel light. You feel light enough to float up, way, way up, above the clouds. You’re completely safe here. I won’t let anybody hurt you. Let your mind wander. Think about your favorite place in the whole wide world. Think about being there when you were so happy and laughing. You told me about that pretty lake in your neighborhood. Let yourself go there, float on a rubber raft in that soft green water, float through all those reflections of trees with dark green leaves. Now you can hear waves breaking on the shore with soft, soothing ripples. You can hear the branches rustling above you, and the soft breeze feels so good against your bare skin. It feels like a soft caress. It makes you relax and feel wonderful and secure, safe and happy and content.”

  Tee stopped there and watched her naked chest rising and falling. Her breathing was deep now, slow. He became intrigued by her pink nipples. Man, she was built, even more than Lotus had been. She was just lying there, unmoving, maybe even unconscious. By God, he’d done it. And on the first try, too. But why wouldn’t he? He’d studied the how-to technique long enough. He’d practiced it in a recorder, rehearsed this first time for hours.

  “Blossom, can you hear my voice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me where you are, Blossom.”

  “I’m down at the lake.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “I’m on a raft and I’m floating on the soft green, beautiful water.”

  “Is there anybody with you?”

  “No, just me and the birds singing up in the tree branches. One robin.”

  “Have you been there before?”

  “No. My father never would let me get in the water.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Did it make you angry with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he love you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why not? Didn’t he ever tell you?”

  “Uh uh.”

  Tee had looked into her files but the doctors had made little progress with the root of her depression and suicidal fantasies. Looking down over her nude body, he saw that her nipples were growing hard now and it occurred to him what her inner demons just might be. He reached out a fingertip and placed it on one nipple. He rubbed around in circles.

  “Did your father ever touch you like this?”

  “Yes.”

  Aha. She had a pervert for a father. No wonder she was so promiscuous. He’d read that about sexually abused women, that some of them really got it on when they grew up, with just about everybody, too.

  “Did he ever hurt you?”

  “No, he never hurt me.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He caressed me and said he wanted to give me good feelings and make me feel good.”

  Very interesting. He had to say he’d never heard stuff like this before. “And how did you like it?”

  “I liked it. I thought he did it because he loved me.”

  “Did he make you do stuff to him?”

  “No, he made my half sister do that.”

  “You mean Lotus?”

  “Yes.”

  Okay, now he was gonna get into why Lotus had committed suicide so precipitously. “He made Lotus touch him?”

  “Yes. He didn’t love her like he loved me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he hurt her. I could hear her crying and screaming when he took her down into the cellar.”

  “Is that where he took you?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t beat me or hurt me. Just her.”

  Frowning, Tee stared down at the motionless girl. This was very strange but pretty fascinating, too. He thought about things for a moment.

  “Where was your mother?”

  “She died. He killed her.”

  Now that drew Tee’s heart to a standstill. “He killed her?”

  “Yes, but nobody knows but me and Lotus.”

  “How did he kill her?”

  “He knocked her down and she hit her head on the garden wall.”

  “And that killed her.”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw this?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened next?”

  “He dragged her out into the woods.”

  “Did you and Lotus go, too?”

  “Yeah, he made us carry lanterns and hold them for him while he dug a hole to put her in.”

  Whoa. This guy was a lunatic but a man after Tee’s own heart.

  “What did other people say?”

  “They didn’t know. He told them she had gone off with another man and left him with the children.”

  “Nobody ever came around asking questions?”

  “No.”

  “Is that when he started taking you and your sister to the cellar?”

  “No, he didn’t have to hide it anymore. He just came to our room and made one of us watch.”

  Man, this guy was a sicko, all right. No wonder his daughters turned out to be basket cases.

  “Where is your father now?”

  “Dead.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He took me out in a rowboat with him. He stopped in the deepest part, and then he said to me, ‘I love you, daughter.’”

  “What happened next?”

  “He took a chain and wrapped it around his body, then he tied it to a big concrete block, and then he picked it up and jumped in the water with it.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I looked down in the water, and I could see the top of his head going down, down, down into the darkness. Then I rowed the boat back to shore.”

  “Have you ever told anybody about this before?”

  “No. But Lotus knew about it.”

  “What about Yang Wei? Did he know about it?”

  “No. Yang Wei was taken from home when he was pretty young and put into a training academy for Olympic basketball because he was so tall. Lotus, too, but later.”

  Tee felt a sense of power that he’d never experienced before. None of the doctors had wormed this story out of this girl, but he had. On the first attempt, too. He decided to use a different technique he’d read about on one of his favorite Internet sites. “Okay, then, Blossom, I want you to pretend you have a big red trunk and it’s hidden down in the cellar of your house where nobody ever, ever goes. I want you to put all this stuff you’ve told me about your father inside it, then slam the door and fasten all the padlocks. There’s about…” Tee shrugged and then said, “Twenty of them. Lock it up good and tight, and then run away, far, far away where you’ll never have to see it or think about it again.”

  Blossom did not respond.

  “Have you done that, Blossom?”

  “Yes. I am still running.”

  Tee laughed. This was awesome, man. He was having so much fun. “You can stop running now.”

  Now for some of those posthypnotic suggestions he’d read about. It would be very interesting to see if that could work.

  “Now, Blossom, I want to tell you some things and I want you to listen very, very carefully.”

  “Okay.”

  “Whenever you hear my voice, you’ll feel safe and happy and want to please me. You’ll know that if you do, it’ll make you feel good all over.” Tee stopped and grinned. “It’ll make you want to have sex with me. Any time I say that I want it.”

  “Okay.”

  Wow. He wondered just
how much he could get away with. He had read a long document on posthypnotic suggestions just the other day, and he decided to try out a more specific one. “There’s some words I’m going to tell you, Blossom. A secret phrase, and when I say it, only me, my voice, you will become so turned on that you will have to have sex with me, you will have to have it, understand? You’ll crave it, want it, will do anything to get it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  So far, so good. He thought about a word, and he thought about how much sex he was gonna get any time he wanted it. But the word couldn’t be something that he used often. Or that anyone else used often. It had to be something he rarely said, if ever, then he thought of a song by that favorite hard rock band of his, the one out of Germany. They were unknown to most people, but he really dug them.

  Smiling, he said, “The words are ‘Enter Evil.’ When I say ‘Enter Evil,’ you will do what I told you to do.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay was right. And it was never too soon to try it out.

  “I’m going to wake you up now, Blossom. When I do, you won’t remember anything that happened during this session or anything that we talked about. Do you understand? And you will not remember what will happen when I say ‘Enter Evil,’ but you will do what I asked you to do, willingly and at once, but you won’t remember the words I said or why you are doing it.”

  “Okay.”

  “All right, then I’m going to count backward from five and when I reach one, you will open your eyes and you will feel better than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.” He got all that right off a legitimate psychiatrist’s Internet site, or at least, he hoped it was the real thing.

  “Five…four…three…two…one…”

  Tee held his breath, halfway afraid she wouldn’t come out of it and then there would be hell to pay with the doctors. But she did. She opened her eyes and said, “When are you going to hypnotize me?”

  Holy crap, this was way fun. “Enter Evil.”

  Blossom looked at him. “What?”

  Uh oh. “Enter Evil.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Well, shit. He’d done something wrong. “It’s just the name of a song I know.”

  Blossom frowned and pulled the sheet up over her. “I’m cold.”

  “That’s the truth. Wanna have sex? That’ll warm you up.”

  “Sure.”

  Pulling his shirt off, Tee got under the covers with her. Okay, back to the drawing board. Good thing Blossom was usually willing to have sex anyway, or he’d be really disappointed that his very first attempt at posthypnotic suggestion did not work so good.

  FOURTEEN

  Khur-Vay’s Studio and Gift Shop was located on the Branson strip, along with just about everything else in town. So, of course, there was a horrendous line of traffic backed up while tourists gawked at the theater marquees and other shops lining the street, especially the ones that carried all those fascinating hillbilly Tshirts, I Heart Branson coffee mugs, and Dolly Parton wigs. We parked about a block down from the studio, and then walked the distance and stood staring at the rather large sign hanging inside the window.

  I said, “It says ‘Belly dancing lessons. No Men Allowed.’”

  Black said, “I’m not sure that’s legal.”

  “It’s printed in two feet tall, bold black letters, Black, so Khur-Vay’s obviously serious about the subject. Looks like I’m going to have to handle this little gal on my own.”

  “I’m not sure they can keep men out of a public establishment.”

  “You just want to see some belly dancers.”

  “I do find belly dancing erotic, at times.”

  “How about I take a lesson or two to spice up our love life?”

  “You won’t get an argument out of me on that count, not after what I watched you do on my boat the other day.” Black smiled, showing some deep dimples and that he was just kidding.

  “Well, now I’m offended.”

  “See if they offer pole dancing while you’re in there,” Black suggested.

  “I don’t do poles, not for you, not for anybody,” I said, but he was still teasing me and I knew it.

  Black checked the time once again by his elegant, chic, and yes, gaudy Rolex, then glanced across the busy street where traffic inched along like snails to the backyard mud puddle. “All right, if that’s the way it has to be, I’ll see if there’s a driving range around here and hit a few balls while you’re inside.”

  “You play golf?” I was surprised, I admit it. Wouldn’t of thought he’d like it.

  “I don’t usually have time, but I give it a try when I can.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know you played golf.”

  “I’ve got a few secrets left. Not as many as you do, but a couple.”

  “Okay, I’ll come find you when I’m done. I don’t know how long this’s gonna take.”

  “I’ve got to make some calls, too. Business. Take your time. I’ll be back and keep an eye out for you.”

  I watched him for a moment as he threaded through stalled traffic, talking on one of his cell phones while squeezing between a silver Ford minivan and an old model burgundy Cadillac with three white-haired couples, men in the front seat and women in the back. Turning back to my newly discovered and exotic destination, I considered Khur-Vay’s place. The plate-glass windows along the front were covered with some of those special window shades that you could see out of but not in, no doubt to protect the identities of the pretties, who were no doubt baring bellies while gyrating to tinkling drums and flutes. There was a six-foot-tall sexy rendition of a particularly well-endowed belly dancer on the door, her braceleted hand up and beckoning me gracefully inside her lair. A spider and web impression came to me, and I got a little shiver down my spine. Nah, that case was long over.

  I sighed, took a deep breath. Oh, boy, was this ever gonna be fun. I pulled open the door and was hit immediately with the pungent odor of sandalwood incense and jangling music straight out of Mustafa’s Bar in some narrow Baghdad alley. I shut the door quickly so no males would dare get a peek inside at the ten to fifteen ladies twisting their bodies about the floor to the beat of twangy notes. The studio portion of the shop was off to one side, divided by a low quarter wall and taking up almost three-fourths of the large room. Cobalt blue walls sported less than realistic scenes of palm trees and mosques and more cavorting midriff-bared Arab women with those little handkerchief thingies that covered their nose and mouth but revealed their heavily henna-lined eyes.

  The dancers before me definitely did not have on burkas. In fact, they were baring more skin than Mariah Carey, some doing so a helluva lot better than others. Most looked in their twenties or thirties, a few in their forties, a couple more with one foot in the grave. Maybe even one foot and a half. Khur-Vay herself was looking particularly enticing, with an ultra-toned tanned body that might, or might not, be sprayed on, a pretty face that looked Asian but was almost hidden by way too much makeup, and a myriad of flowing sheer scarves in rainbow pastels hanging off a gold sequined belt riding just below her waist. Her feet were bare and pedicured with fire-engine-red toenail polish, with bracelets on her ankles, bracelets on her hands, and in truth, I wondered if she weren’t Fatima waiting for the sheik of the burning sands like in that old song. More bracelets adorned her upper arms, and I couldn’t help but notice that many of them were of the same type Mikey and his poor girlfriend had gone so bonkers over. So okay, bingo.

  Khur-Vay gave me a friendly wave but did not stop with the hip rotations long enough to say anything. Oh, my, she did have some impressive abs going on and could swivel her hips to beat the band when she went up on one toe. She reminded me of those bouncing dolls in grass skirts that people stuck in the back window of their cars. Glancing around first, I made sure nobody was hiding behind a palm tree ready to jump me, and then I walked back to the gift shop and a counter with a cash register located at the rear of the dance floor.


  Every conceivable kind of Middle Eastern attire hung on racks, even flowing white desert robes like Laurence of Arabia swept around in, plus all manner of trinkets, castanets, jewelry, and belly dancing CDs offered to Arab-inspired folk, and beautifully displayed, at that. I quickly found that one entire glass case held the blue and white beaded bracelets and amulets I was interested in. Now I was cooking, yes, now I was getting somewhere.

  Browsing some more, and curious despite myself, I found Tshirts advertising Khur-Vay’s voluptuous figure and face, Oriental aromatherapy bath salts and candles, feng shui books and candles, various shapes and sizes of crystals, wind chimes made out of Chinese lucky coins on red cords, embroidered white Muslim skullcaps, and all manner of other New Age gadgets and gimmicks. I found the source of the thick, sweet aroma filling the room, and it was emanating from a black Buddha sitting in his own special little alcove, one very similar to the one adorning Mikey’s apartment. Suddenly I had a distinct feeling that Khur-Vay was going to figure prominently in my investigation. How, I did not know. Yet.

  After poking around in gold and red sequined outfits sans any midriff, I sat down on an uncomfortable black iron bench near the CD player and watched the fun. Now the ladies had added little finger cymbals to their thumbs and forefingers and were clacking away and twirling their see-through scarves about, happy as little flamenco dancers in a Barcelona square. Actually, down deep, I thought they looked sorta cool and to my own amazement, wondered if I should take a lesson, or two, just to surprise Black with a dancing girl costume, thus garnering some dancing ability and newfound sexiness, to boot. It might go okay with my guns and holsters, and maybe it would teach him a lesson about comparing me to that Elaine girl who couldn’t dance on TV, whoever the hell she was.

  Fifteen minutes later, the lesson was over; the dancers were breathless and seemingly elated. They laughed and chatted together awhile, mostly telling tales of how well their lessons were going over with their boyfriends, husbands, and significant others. Some sexual details emerged that were entertaining but belonged behind closed doors, believe you me. Mouths had been washed out with soap for less. Most of the ladies slipped their bare feet into rubber flip-flops and left with scarves wafting behind them and bellies bare, but a few more conservative lasses donned shorts and Khur-Vay Tshirts over their skimpy attire.