Animal Magnetism - The Kidnapping, Part 2

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

2.	Imprisoned.

	Debbie woke up.  She felt groggy.  She turned her head to look around.
She was in a plain white room with nothing on the walls.  She tried to move,
but her hands were secured to a chair by thick, leather straps.  She attempted
to speak; her mouth was taped shut.  She was breathing through her nose.  She
moaned and shook her chair.  Nothing happened.

	The door opened.  In walked a large, muscular man.  She recognized him
as one of the two who dragged her into that van.

	"Hello, Debbie.  Call me Mr. Meyers.  You've been asleep awhile.
Feeling better?"

	She shook her head and groaned.

	"Oh, I'm sorry.  You can't talk, can you?  Your mother said you'd be
upset about that.  I'll let her know you're awake.  I know she'll want to talk
to you."

	Debbie blinked.  What the hell was going on?  Her mother?  Her mom
lived in California.  Where on earth was she now?

	Moments later her mother walked in.  She was a tall, stately looking
woman in her mid fifties.  Like Debbie, she had naturally brown hair, though
hers was touched with streaks of gray.

	"Debbie, honey, how are you?" Andrea Simpson asked pleasantly, as if
nothing unusual was happening.  "Oh God, I'm so sorry I had to do this.  But
it's for your own good, you know."

	She tried to speak, but her mumbling underneath the tape on her mouth
muted her words, making them incomprehensible.

	"Sorry about the tape, dear," Andrea went on.  "But if you could talk,
you'd talk us into letting you go.  I can't let that happen, honey.  I'm
sorry."

	Debbie cocked her head and gave her mother a quizzical look.

	Andrea sat down.  "Ever since your teenage years, Debbie, you had the
power.  Grandma told me about it, God rest her soul.  Remember?  She moved to
our town when you were sixteen?  You were starting to use the power in ways
that weren't smart, like smoking and making your brother buy you cigarettes.
When Grandma found out, she insisted she had to intervene.  Since she had the
power, too, she steered you away from that terrible, destructive behavior.
Grandma turned you into an anti-smoker.  You never knew what hit you," her
mother laughed wickedly.

	"Then you met that Bill fellow," she went on.  "From what you said on
the phone, he must have the power, too, and it's stronger.  I couldn't believe
it when you said you were smoking again.  Damn him!  No daughter of mine will
smoke if I have anything to do with it.  So I called a few of your old
friends.  They said you actually promote smoking now.  They were horrified,
and so was I.  Well, I had to do something, didn't I?"

	Debbie tried to speak, but Andrea put her finger in front of her
mouth.  "Hush, dear.  Don't try to talk.  I won't let you.  It cost me lots of
money, but Mr. Meyers, Mrs. Rogers and little Sarah really delivered, didn't
they?  Mr. Meyers is a deprogrammer.  Ordinarily he kidnaps brainwashed kids
from religious cults and deprograms them for their families.  But this time,
for his usual fee, he kidnapped you so I could deprogram you.  Or, should I
say, so that you could deprogram yourself."

	Mrs. Simpson gave her daughter an erasable board and magic marker.
"Write on this, honey," Andrea laughed.  "It's safe if you write messages.
Talking is what we can't have.  Not 'till you're back in your right mind, free
from that bastard's influence."

	Debbie finagled her right hand to write on the message board.  She
held it up for her mom.  It said:  "Don't.  I'm not hurting anybody."

	"Oh, yes you are, Debbie," her mom countered after reading the scrawl.
"You're killing yourself.  I can't let you smoke, dear.  I paid Mr. Meyers
fifty thousand dollars, and I intend to get my non-smoking daughter back."

	Debbie scribbled again.  "Food?  Bathroom?"

	Andrea laughed.  "Mr. Meyers' assistant Sarah will help with the
bathroom.  She's a nurse.  She'll hook up an IV so you get saline and
nutrients.  It'll only take a day or two to get you fixed, I think."

	Debbie cocked her head again.

	"Oh, I can explain.  I've got your video tapes, the ones you made for
SmokeStopperz.  Remember the ones you sent me years ago?  They're amazing,
Debbie.  I've played them for many people.  Your power comes through nicely.
They convinced many, many people to stop smoking.  And now your tapes will
deprogram you.  You'll convince yourself to quit smoking.  Don't worry.  Soon
you'll be back to normal."  She stood up.  "I'll tell Sarah you want to go to
the bathroom, and I'll have her hook up the IV."

	Debbie groaned as her mom left.  Deprogramming?  God damn!  The
trouble was, her mom was right.  That tape she made ten years ago was good.
It might be good enough to work on her!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Micaela Moore sat at the table.  Her mother was beside her.  They both
looked stricken.

	"Micaela, I appreciate you meeting with me.  Like I said, Debbie and I
live together, and I'm very worried about her.  Can you tell me again exactly
what happened?"

	The youngster turned toward Bill.  She was a pretty blond with bright
blue eyes.  They sparkled despite her obvious distress.  "Debbie just finished
our meeting after school.  Seven of us meet with her in the Entrepreneurs Club
every week.  We really like her," she added sorrowfully, brushing a tear away.
"I stayed behind to talk to one of my girlfriends.  But something Debbie said
really affected me, so I decided to run after her, to ask her one last
question.  I went out the front door and saw her down the street.  Before I
could catch up, I saw her stop to talk to someone in a white van."  She
sniffled.  "I think it was a woman, but I couldn't tell for sure.  She must've
asked Debbie for a light, because I saw Debbie get out her lighter and hold it
up to the window.  Then she grabbed her face.  I think the driver sprayed
something at her.  I heard Debbie scream.  Two men jumped out and dragged her
into the van.  I couldn't believe it.  I just stood there, staring.  Before I
could do anything, the van drove away real fast."

	Her mother frowned.  "What did Debbie say at your meeting that you
wanted to talk to her more about, Micaela?"

	"I'd rather not say, Mom," sniffled the youngster.  "It doesn't
matter."

	Rosemary Moore was in her late thirties.  Like her daughter, she was
blond and good looking, with eyes as bright and blue as Micaela's.  "I don't
know Debbie smoked," she huffed.  "How did the driver of the van know to ask
her for a light?"

	"Probably because Debbie was smoking," Bill smiled.  "If Debbie met
with the girls for an hour or more in the school, I'd be surprised if she
didn't light up as soon as she was outside."  He guessed that for obvious
reasons the youngster didn't tell her mother about finding Debbie's lighter.

	Rosemary shook her head with a disapproving look.  "Well, there you
go!  If Debbie hadn't stopped to offer the driver a light, this wouldn't have
happened."

	Bill looked at Rosemary.  Clearly, she didn't approve of smoking, but
he guessed Micaela didn't share her mother's disdain.  After all, the reason
Debbie met with the high school girls was to persuade them to become smokers.
Her first meeting with the group went well.  He knew that from talking with
Debbie about it last week.  He suspected the comment Micaela was alluding to
related to that very subject, smoking.

	"Now Mrs. Moore ?.  May I call you Rosemary?"

	She smiled at Bill.  "Yeah, sure, if I can call you Bill."

	"Of course.  Rosemary, it almost sounds like you don't approve of
Debbie being a smoker.  That makes no sense.  After all, there's nothing wrong
with liking to smoke, is there?"

	She hesitated.  "Well, I don't know ?."

	"Oh, come on," he chided good-naturedly, glancing at Micaela who all
of a sudden seemed very interested.  "Look, Rosemary, just like Debbie, I
smoke, and I love it.  God, it's so pleasant, so refreshing, so nice.  It's a
wonderful little habit."  He grinned.  His power was at its peak, but with
Debbie gone now, he knew it wouldn't be this strong for long.  So despite his
concern for Debbie, he decided to go for it.  "Don't you want to try it out?"

	Rosemary just stared.  Finally, she nodded.  "God, I don't know what's
gotten into me," she laughed uncomfortably.  "But for some reason, Bill, what
you say suddenly makes perfect sense.  I never thought I'd say this, but yeah,
I guess I _would_ like to give smoking a try."

	"Good girl," Bill said, reaching in his pocket.  He proudly displayed
a pack of Marlboro 100's.  "Rosemary, I'd like you to join me and have a
cigarette.  You, too, Micaela.  You'd like to smoke, too, wouldn't you?"  He
grinned at them.  Micaela gasped in thrilled disbelief hearing his unexpected
suggestion.  Rosemary looked unsure.  "Come on, Rosemary, what the hell?  Why
not?  I mean, Micaela is only sixteen, but she should be allowed to smoke,
too.  Don't you agree?"

	Rosemary nodded, dumbfounded.  Micaela just smiled a shit-eating grin.

	"I bet you really want to smoke, too.  Don't you, Micaela?"

	The youngster nodded, stunned by her unexpected good fortune.  "Yeah,
I would, Mr. Johnson.  But how did you ??"

	"Hush, Micaela.  Don't fight it.  Your mom said yes.  God, girl, just
do it.  Okay?"

	Micaela nodded and grinned.  Keeping one for himself, Bill handed
Marlboro 100's to both of them.  Rosemary still seemed befuddled, but Micaela
was clearly delighted.  Bill laughed out loud as he readied his lighter.

	"Rosemary, I bet you've smoked before, haven't you?"

	She slowly nodded.  "Yeah, years ago.  But I haven't had a cigarette
since high school."

	"That's too bad.  It's too bad you quit.  Quitting is always a
mistake.  But you'll enjoy this cigarette," Bill promised.  "It'll taste
great.  You'll love pulling thick, rich smoke down into your lungs again after
all those years."  He held out his lighter.  Rosemary caught the flame and
dragged on her cigarette.  After she did, he did the same for Micaela, who
likewise lit up.  Rosemary didn't seem fazed by her daughter's participation.

	Micaela spoke, releasing smoke as she talked.  She was still amazed.
"But Mom, you've always been against smoking.  Why are you doing this?  And
why are you letting me smoke with you all of a sudden?"

	Rosemary shrugged and giggled as she exhaled.  "I don't know, honey.
I really don't.  You're right.  For years I've been against smoking.  But now,
somehow, all the things Bill said make perfect sense.  All of a sudden smoking
seems appealing again.  There's nothing wrong with it, is there?"  She dragged
again on the Marlboro 100.  "Yeah, this _is_ very nice," she sighed, tipping
her head and releasing a stream of exhaled smoke.  "God, this is so nice.  I
used to love doing this when I was your age."

	"Of course you did," Bill interjected.  "All the shit you hear from
anti-smoking people is just that - pure bullshit!  Smoking always makes you
feel so good, so satisfied.  There's nothing better than lighting up a
cigarette.  And now that you've tried it again, Rosemary, I bet you want to
start smoking all the time again.  Right?  And I'm also willing to bet you
want your lovely daughter, Micaela here, to join you and become a regular
smoker.  After all, you don't want her to miss out on the pleasures of smoking
any longer.  Isn't that right?"

	A whimsical smile spread across the mother's face.  "Yeah, Bill, that
_is_ right.  Damn, this tastes _so_ good!  I guess I'll have to start smoking
again.  I really want to.  And Micaela, honey, what about you?  Are you
interested?  God, I hope so.  He's so right, you know.  Smoking's a wonderful
little habit."  Bill smiled.  Rosemary was mimicking his exact words.

	Micaela giggled and shook her head in amazement.  She was still in
shock.  "God, Mom, I don't believe it.  I _never_ thought I'd hear you say
it's okay for me to smoke.  Yeah, I sure am interested!  Since Debbie talked
to us at school, I've thought about it constantly.  This week I even tried it
a few times with my girlfriends.  I really, really like to smoke."  She raised
her cigarette to her lips for a long drag.  "Yeah, I want to start smoking
regularly, just like you said, Bill."

	"Of course you want to," Bill smiled.  "You both want to smoke, and
you will.  From now on, you'll both smoke regularly.  You'll smoke at least a
pack a day, every day, and love every minute of it."  He was on a roll.  His
animal magnetism was clicking on all cylinders.  "And you know what else,
girls?  Smoking also makes you look really sexy.  I'm serious.  There's
nothing sexier than seeing a beautiful woman smoking a cigarette.  Don't you
agree?"

	Micaela nodded eagerly.  "That's just what Debbie said," she gushed.
"And it's so true.  I love the way I look holding a cigarette, or taking a
drag, or exhaling smoke.  It's way cool."  She looked at her mother.  "Don't
you think so, Mom?"

	Rosemary smiled.  "I never thought about it before, but you're
absolutely right.  Smoking a cigarette really _does_ make a girl more
attractive, doesn't it?"

	"Sometimes you hear people say smoking's gross, that it's a nasty
habit, that kind of shit.  But those people are just wrong.  I feel sorry for
them.  They're just stupid.  Right?"

	The women nodded agreement.  Micaela dragged on her cigarette and
Rosemary smiled seeing her daughter inhale.  "God, honey, you _do_ look so
cute smoking!  Seeing you smoke makes me want to join in and smoke more."
Rosemary, too, took another drag.  "Well, this has been quite a revelation,
Bill.  Thank you."

	"You're very welcome, Rosemary."  He smiled.  Debbie would be proud.
"But let's get back to business.  Micaela, what else can you tell me about
what happened?"

	The youngster shrugged, tapping some ashes into a makeshift ashtray.
"I don't know.  I suppose the police already told you about the license plate
on the van?"

	"No.  What do you mean?"

	"I gave the police the van's license number.  I'm good with numbers,"
she said proudly.  "I memorized the license plate before the van drove off.
The police said they'd find out who owned the van.  I'm surprised they didn't
tell you."

	"I'm sure they just forgot," Bill fibbed, angry at not having been
told.  "But wow, that's great.  Maybe we're not far from finding out who did
this terrible thing."

	Micaela took another drag.  She exhaled the smoke like a veteran.  She
was a very good looking young smoker, Bill decided.

	"Bill, it scares me.  I like Debbie."  Micaela grinned.  "I like you,
too, of course, and it looks like Mom does, too.  Do you have any idea what's
going on?"

	"No, I don't, Micaela.  But Debbie only recently began to smoke again.
She has enemies in the anti-smoking community due to switching sides.  I plan
to talk to one of the detectives again tomorrow morning about it."

	Micaela smiled.  "I bet you're going to talk to Detective Carey,
aren't you?"

	"Yeah, how'd you know?"

	"Because she's pretty.  You know, she'd look awfully cute if she were
a smoker."

	Bill nodded and grinned.  "Yeah, you're right.  Her name's Ashley
Carey.  She'd make a great looking smoker.  Micaela, I'll tell Ashley you said
so.  She'll be flattered, I'm sure."

	Yeah, Micaela, you're already with the program, Bill smiled to
himself.  Totally.  Debbie laid the groundwork, but I closed the deal!
However, now I need to figure out who did this to you, Debbie, and get you
rescued as soon as possible!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Debbie closed her eyes, but couldn't make the noise go away.  The
noise was her own voice, and it droned on and on.  She hated to admit it, but
when she did those old tapes, she was damned persuasive.  That SmokeStopperz
presentation was good.

	She wasn't sure what time it was, but the SmokeStopperz program ran
eight hours.  She was at the end of the third tape.  Five hours to go, she
sighed.  Damn, it was painful!

	The girl named Sarah came in to change the tape.  She smiled and
looked at her.

	"How are you doing, Debbie?" she said playfully.  "Enjoying listening
to yourself?"

	Debbie shook her head forcefully from side to side.  Sarah turned down
the volume on the TV and sat beside her.  "They say you have magic powers, or
something.  Is that true?"

	Debbie picked up the marker and wrote a message on the erasable board.
"Take the tape off my mouth - I'll show you."

	Sarah laughed.  "Yeah, I wish I could.  This is the third
deprogramming I've done with Mr. Meyers.  But this is the weirdest so far.
Usually I like talking with the clients, as we call them.  Usually they're all
fucked up by one of those religious cults.  But you're not a religious nut.
I'm actually sort of sorry I can't talk to you, Debbie."

	She hit the eject button on the tape player.  "This tape's almost over
anyway," she said.  She checked the IV and nodded.  "Lookin' good," she added.
"Do you want to hit the head?"

	Debbie nodded.  Sarah un-strapped her arms and helped her up.  She
wheeled her IV pole to the bathroom door, and assisted her into the cubicle.
"I hope you know better than to fight," Sarah laughed.  "There's Darvan in the
IV solution, enough to keep you slightly sedated.  You'd never make it down
the hall, let alone outside," she added brusquely.

	Debbie sat down to pee.  Sarah was right; she _was_ wobbly.  She
barely made it back to the bed, where she laid down again.  Sarah strapped her
arms down.  Debbie didn't fight.

	"I bet you wish you could have a cigarette," Sarah teased.

	Debbie gave her a sad nod.  She _did_ want a cigarette, real bad.  It
was evening, and her last one was at four o'clock.  She only had a couple hits
on that one.  But somehow the sedative and being strapped down made the
cravings less noticeable.  She guessed that when you can't move around you
became less focused on nicotine deprivation.

	"Debbie, I was told to play these tapes over and over.  Basically,
you'll watch yourself on TV constantly for the next day or so.  Your mom says
sooner or later it'll change your mind about smoking.  I think it's crazy, but
they don't pay me to think.  I'm only here because I'm a nurse and I can put
the IV in and take you to the shitter."  She laughed.  "Not exactly high-end
nursing care, is it?"

	Debbie rolled her eyes.  Sarah put in a new tape, turned on the VCR,
and turned up the volume.

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