Animal Magnetism - The Kidnapping, Part 1

This fictional account contains adult language and graphic sexual themes.  If
such language and themes offend you, please do not read further.  The persons
and events described in this work are purely fictional.  Any similarity to
actual persons or events is strictly coincidental.  Copyright 2002 by
SSTORYMAN.  All rights reserved.  Permission is hereby granted to reproduce
this story in any form and for any purpose as long as this notice is
reproduced and no financial remuneration is received, directly or indirectly,
by the person reproducing or using it.

This story is a second sequel to "Animal Magnetism" and "Animal Magnetism -
The Sequel" posted elsewhere on this story page.  You may find it helpful to
read them first before this one.

ANIMAL MAGNETISM - THE KIDNAPPING

1.	The Abduction.

	Debbie Simpson walked out the front door of Pembrook High School into
the sunlight.  It was a lovely spring afternoon.  Reaching in her purse, she
shook out a Marlboro 100 and lit up on the steps.  The smoke felt good as she
sucked it into her lungs.  She wasn't supposed to smoke on school property.
But afternoon classes had been over for an hour.  She wasn't worried.  Her
power, her unique ability to influence others, made her totally invincible.

	She'd finished her second session with the Female Entrepreneurs group
that met after school once a week.  As a graduate of the high school and a
successful businesswoman, she supposedly met with the girls to talk about
opportunities for women in business.  But her true motivation, of course, was
different.  Last week she casually asked their opinions about smoking.  In the
ensuing discussion, she shared what a wonderful habit it is and how much she
enjoys it.  As she talked, she saw the girls' attitudes changing right before
her eyes.  Today several admitted they'd tried smoking after last week's
meeting.  That made her feel _so_ good!  She loved seeing teenage girls start
to smoke.  It was so gratifying to move them toward smoking.  And before long,
they'd all be smokers.  She couldn't wait to tell Bill!  Perhaps they could
invite all the girls over for a cookout, so Bill could see firsthand the
fruits of her labor.  It was a labor of love for both of them!

	A white minivan was parked on the street.  The driver's window was
rolled down.  An adorable young woman in her mid twenties sat in the driver's
seat.  She had an unlit cigarette in her right hand.  Debbie smiled politely
at her, and the woman spoke up.

	"Hey, do you have a light?"

	Debbie reached for her lighter.  "Sure, I always have a light for
another smoker."  She walked to the window and held out the flame from her
gold lighter.  "God, don't you just love to smoke?  Yeah, of course, I can
tell you adore smoking.  You most definitely do!"

	Something totally unexpected happened.  As Debbie leaned in, the woman
behind the wheel raised a small pen-like device toward her face.  She clicked
it, and a stream of noxious gas assaulted Debbie's eyes and nostrils.  It
stung like hell!

	"Aargh!  What the hell ??"

	"Sorry, Debbie," the girl grinned.  "Don't worry.  It's just mace."

	Debbie groaned and rubbed her eyes.  As she did, her lit Marlboro 100
and her gold, monogrammed lighter fell to the ground.

	Two men jumped out from the minivan and grabbed her.  She struggled
vainly.  Without a word, they pulled her inside.  The woman started the engine
and pulled away from the curb.  Debbie tried to scream, but couldn't.  One of
them had pushed a syringe into her arm, and whatever its contents, it was
making her feel very sleepy.

	"Sweet dreams, Debbie," smiled one of the men.  "Just don't dream
about smoking.  You're done with that foul habit!"

	The driver saw Debbie's lighter had fallen to the ground.  She stopped
the van.

	"Go," the man ordered.  "She won't need it anymore, and I'm not
worried about someone finding it.  Some punk will pick it up.  It'll never be
connected with Debbie.  Let's just get the hell out of here.  Now!"

	Obediently the driver pulled away at a high rate of speed.  In
moments, the van was gone.

	A blond girl of sixteen approached the place where Debbie stood
moments before.  She looked both scared and bewildered.  She picked up the
still burning cigarette that Debbie dropped and raised it to her lips.  She
took a long, powerful drag and sucked smoke into her lungs.  It felt good, but
she was scared.   She carefully picked up the gold lighter and walked slowly
back toward the school, continuing to smoke Debbie's discarded cigarette.

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	Bill Johnson was pissed.  He and Debbie were supposed to have dinner
with another couple at six.  It was six thirty.  He tried her cell phone, with
no luck.  It wasn't like her to be AWOL, and with each passing minute he grew
more perturbed.

	The doorbell rang.  As he approached the door he saw a police cruiser
outside.  Fear gripped him.  Did something happen to Debbie?

	"Hello," he answered.  Two plain-clothes detectives stood behind the
screen.

	"Mr. Johnson?" asked the man, giving a quick glance at his female
companion.  "You'd better come with us downtown.  We need to talk."

	Thirty minutes later Bill was in a small office at police
headquarters.  He was shaking.  It'd been awhile since he'd had a cigarette.
He could've used one, but no smoking signs were posted everywhere, so he sat
quietly.

	The two detectives re-entered.  The man was about fifty and seemed
gruff.  The other, apparently his partner, was younger, probably in her early
thirties.  She was quite attractive.  She spoke first.

	"Mr. Johnson, you and Ms. Simpson lived together for several months.
So let's get down to it.  At four thirty this afternoon a student at Pembrook
High School reported she saw Debbie Simpson accosted and compelled into a
white minivan down the street from the school building.  This youngster had
been in an after-school meeting with Ms. Simpson called Female Entrepreneurs.
She said she left the building a hundred yards behind Ms. Simpson and saw
someone in a white minivan stop her and spray something in her face.  Two men
pulled her into the van and it drove away.  The girl picked up this from the
ground."  She showed Bill a gold monogrammed lighter in a plastic bag.  "Do
you recognize it?"

	"It's Debbie's," he nodded, gulping.  "I gave it to her as a gift."

	The male detective cut in.  "Mr. Johnson, Ms. Simpson lived with you
for several months.  Two questions.  First, did she have any enemies you know
of?  Second, can you confirm your whereabouts between four and four thirty
this afternoon?"

	He looked up in disbelief.  "Are you suggesting I had anything to do
with this?"

	"No," smiled the female detective.  "We're just checking all the
facts."

	"I was with a client," Bill sighed.  "I can give you her name and
phone number.  It was a sales call at a doctor's office.  I work for a company
that sells computer software programs to all kinds of businesses.  I was
nowhere near Pembrook."

	"It's just routine, Mr. Johnson," the female detective reassured him.
"But we have to make sure you have an alibi.  Otherwise, everyone's a
potential suspect."

	"Does Ms. Simpson have any family?  Do you know who else we should
contact?"

	Bill shook his head.  "Her mom lives in California, and her dad's
deceased.  Debbie and her mom aren't close.  In fact, they've had several
arguments on the phone the last few weeks.  I could probably find her mom's
number if you want it."

	"We need to contact her family," the male detective nodded.  "In the
meantime, this abduction is being treated as a kidnapping.  The youngster's
testimony is straight-forward.  Let us know if you hear anything from anyone
calling about Ms. Simpson's whereabouts.  We've told Mike Lachey and the folks
at Allied, where Ms. Simpson works, the same thing."

	"Can I talk to the student?  I'd like to hear her story myself if you
don't mind."

	"'Fraid not, Mr. Johnson," the female detective shook her head.
"She's pretty shook up.  I don't think she should talk to you or anyone else
right now.  When the school's headmistress and her mother brought her in, she
was pretty upset."

	"Wait.  You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?  Ask
Mike Lachey, or anyone at Allied, her employer.  Debbie and I are very happy.
I'm as shocked and upset and confused as anyone about this."

	"Mr. Johnson, you can't talk to the witness till we're sure you're not
a suspect.  Sorry, that's how it is.  Meantime, here's our cards.  Give either
of us a call if you hear anything, or if you think of something we should
know.  Otherwise, you can go.  But don't leave town without letting us know."

	Dumbfounded, Bill took the cards.  The detectives left the room.  He
followed them.  The man was already out of sight.  Bill called out to his
female partner.

	"Ms. Carey?  Can I talk to you a second more?"

	The female detective turned.  He could tell she was about to lecture
him, but his power would soon make her do what he wanted.

	"Thanks, Detective Carey.  Listen, may I call you Ashley?"

	For the first time, she flashed a truly warm smile.  She was
attractive, five four, shoulder length brown hair and big, beautiful eyes
which stared directly into his.  Yeah, his animal magnetism was still working!
She'd be eating out of his hand in no time.

	"That's fine, Mr. Johnson.  What can I do for you?"

	"Call me Bill, please.  Listen, Ashley.  I know your protocols say I
have to be shielded from the girl who witnessed this.  But I'd really like to
talk to her.  It won't hurt.  Can't you please just give me her name and
telephone number?"

	Ashley Carey hesitated.  She was wavering.  "I don't know, Bill.  We
haven't eliminated you as a suspect yet."

	"I had nothing to do with this.  You must believe me.  Just let me
talk to the girl."

	She weakened.  "God, I'm sure you're innocent," she admitted.  "Okay.
Her name's Micaela Moore.  I'll write down her address and phone number.  But
don't tell my partner I let you have this.  I could get in big trouble for
letting you talk to Micaela."

	"Thanks, Ashley," Bill smiled tenderly.  "You're great.  I love
Debbie, and want to know everything that happened.  We haven't lived together
long, but if I think of anything that might help, you'll be the first to
know."  He paused.  "Did you talk to Debbie's assistant at Allied, Cheryl
Langdon?  Or to Mike Lachey, Allied's owner?"

	"I'm meeting Ms. Langdon in a few minutes.  George and I talked to
Mike Lachey on the phone.  He's coming in first thing tomorrow.  Everybody at
Allied seems to like Debbie.  She really had no enemies there, according to
Mr. Lachey."

	She has no enemies anywhere, Bill mused.  The power makes sure of
that!  "Well, I hope Cheryl can shed some light on this, Ashley.  I really
do."

	Ashley's eyes narrowed.  "Are there any former lovers, Bill?  Debbie
never married, but old lovers sometimes do weird things.  Did she ever talk
about old boyfriends, particularly any who were especially jealous?"

	"Nope.  Not that I know of."  He looked at the female detective.  She
was deliciously cute.  He couldn't help himself; he had to ask.  "Let me ask
an off the wall question, Ashley.  Do you smoke?"

	She startled.  "Me?  God, no.  Where in the hell did that come from?"

	"I just wondered," he smiled diffidently.  "You see, for years Debbie
ran stop smoking programs in town.  She had lots of old friends in the
anti-smoking community.  But a few months ago she started smoking.  It pissed
off a lot of those people.  They didn't understand her change of mind about
smoking.  You know what I mean?"

	Ashley frowned.  "You think someone kidnapped her because she started
to smoke?"

	"Not necessarily.  But it's the one thing I know of that pissed some
people off.  That's why I had to know if you smoke," he lied.  "Debbie's
dedicated to her new life.  She has a remarkable conversion story.  She loves
to smoke now.  Lots of people don't realize just how wonderful it is to be a
smoker.  You know?"

	She shook her head.  "Whatever.  Well, I'll make a note of it.  I take
it you smoke, Bill?  And I suppose you're the reason Debbie Simpson started
smoking?"

	Yeah, if you only knew, he smiled silently.

	"You might say that.  You know, Ashley, you and I should get together
sometime to talk about it.  But without your partner, Mr. Sour-Puss.  Just you
and me.  What do you say?"

	She hesitated again.  "Okay," she agreed.  "I guess that'd be okay."

	"Oh, come on, Ashley," he teased.  "It's more than okay.  You really
want to talk to me some more, don't you?"

	She blushed.  "Yeah, I guess I do, Bill.  But now I have to talk to
Cheryl Langdon."  She turned to leave.  "Give me a call," she added.  "You can
fill me in on this smoking angle."

	Don't worry, Bill smiled.  I certainly will!

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