Unedited Prologue of Liquid Hypnosis

Trevor Carlton hated threats--when they were directed at him. “I said we’ll talk when I get home.” Palming his cell phone, he snapped it shut before his controlling wife could finish her warning not to drink excessively during her father’s wake the following day. Why shouldn’t he toast the old man’s death? The miser had left millions to his only child and when that crone died, he’d be wealthy enough to buy more happiness than he could stand. But he had to get someone else to pull the trigger. The solution to his problem waited for him in Peter Brewster’s office. Tightening his grip on the stolen key, he scanned the deserted corridor one last time. He unlocked the door to his lead chemist’s office, confident there would be no unwanted witnesses to tonight’s experiment. The flask rested on the top shelf of the oak cabinet. Clear liquid, reflecting the overhead lights, beckoned him, taunted him. “The girls are in place,” said a familiar voice. Trevor jumped at the unexpected intrusion. He found Sly leaning inside from the hall. “I told you to wait in the lab.” Sly resembled a young Sylvester Stallone, which in part explained how he got his nickname. Mostly, the name referred to the research assistant’s ability to get his fingers on anything Trevor wanted, even if it meant stealing from other departments in the company. His best quality was knowing when to remain quiet. Before reaching for the flask, Trevor turned to his assistant. “Are you with me--no matter what?” “I can’t believe you need to ask.” He appeared insulted. Well, almost. Sly wasn’t that good an actor. He studied the young man’s expression for evidence of deceit. Nothing. “Alliances change. I want to make sure you’re not going to run at the first sign of trouble.” Sly could not have guessed what would take place that evening, but he had to know it would land them both in a jail cell if they were caught. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m in. All the way.” “Remember this conversation half an hour from now.” Minutes later, Trevor stepped into the lab, ignoring the security camera in the hall. Connected to a monitor, but not a recorder, the footage ran for no one to view. The night guard had fallen victim to a drug-induced slumber, guaranteeing their privacy until well after midnight. The camera inside the lab had “accidentally fallen” off the wall the day before. It wouldn’t be replaced until the following Monday. Trevor found the pair of gullible coeds huddled together over a magazine. “Good evening, ladies,” he said cheerfully, locking the door behind him. He strolled across the room and shook the younger girl’s hand. “You’re Leslie, right?” Her eyes lit up at the mention of her name. “Yes. That‘s correct,” she answered, her voice reflecting her sweet, innocent demeanor. He released her soft hand before he began thinking of her as a person, instead of an experiment. “I’ve never been to a pharmaceutical company before.” Her gaze took in the sterile surroundings. “It’s so quiet.” “We get a lot of help from university students. We try to work around their classes by conducting our experiments at night.” The girl sitting beside Leslie coughed. “I’m Nancy, in case you forgot.” “No, not at all, young lady.” He quickly shook her hand and noticed a blue topaz ring glittered beneath the bright, fluorescent lights. “Nancy and I have known each other since kindergarten,” Leslie explained, bubbling over with all the excitement of a cheerleader during a pep rally. “Are you sure this stuff is going to work?” Nancy, the taller of the two, straightened her posture while sitting in the standard-issue chair. “I’ve spent a lot of money on expensive products that claim my hair will grow several inches. What makes yours different?” This one could be a problem. He looked her straight in the eye, hoping she’d believe every lie if he sounded confident. “Most companies don’t go through as many experimental trials as we do.” Sly handed them each a crisp, new hundred-dollar bill. Nancy folded it neatly in half, twice. “I have a party to go to Saturday. You promise I’m not going to have orange hair, or worse, end up bald?” Trevor removed a clipboard from a drawer. “I promise.” Accepting his answer, she slipped the money into the pocket of her tight shorts. Sly perched on the edge of the table, getting a better view of the girl’s cleavage. A man couldn’t help but notice the swell of her breasts, barely contained by her brightly colored halter. Both girls wore tiny tops, white shorts, and matching sandals that showed off their pedicures. Nancy’s long, tanned legs stretched beneath the Formica-covered table. Trevor resisted the urge to scold his assistant. Sly knew better than to hit on test subjects, and these two didn’t have time to date, even if they were interested. A three-piece expensive suit, counterfeit business cards, and the promise of flowing locks and unbreakable nails had brought these two straight from the sidewalks of the local university to Eaton-Smith. Vanity usually trumped a mother’s warning not to talk to strangers. “I’m glad you agreed to take part in our experiment.” Trevor’s eagerness to get started revealed itself in his voice. Throwing a glance at Sly, he added, “I trust the paperwork is finished and the waivers have been signed.” His assistant nodded, unable to peel his eyes away from the coeds. “How long before we see a noticeable difference?” Leslie asked. She pushed a strand of straight, shoulder-length, blonde hair behind her ear. Her smile revealed deep-set dimples. Gazing at the coed, he suddenly understood the meaning of cute as a button. He almost felt guilty. “We’re about to find out.” He removed two clear cups from a cupboard. After pouring an ounce of the clear liquid into each container, he topped it off with the mixture of vodka and orange juice he’d stored in a plastic container in the lab’s refrigerator. With casual nonchalance, he set the cups on the table in front of his test subjects. “You should see a change almost immediately.” Sly motioned for them to drink. They exchanged looks of hopeful promise, and then downed the contents like shots. Trevor grinned. He kept the girls talking while he watched for symptoms of Peter’s concoction taking effect. While discussing their plan to open their own boutique, he pasted an interested expression on his face and hoped he didn’t give anything away with his eyes. Knowing what to look for, he immediately noticed the slight changes in their behavior. Simultaneously, the two calmed, morphing from outgoing young women into what appeared to be quiet, introspective adults. “Leslie?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Yeah,” she mumbled, sounding tired. Her soft brown eyes turned cloudy and unfocused. “How do you feel?” “Okay.” He jotted a few notes down on the clipboard, then retrieved his metal briefcase from the locked cabinet, and set it down on the table with a clack. Lifting the lid, he stared down at the gun, complete with silencer, which Sly had procured the week before. “Nancy, how about you, dear? How do you feel?” “Good. Pretty good.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall. Trevor followed her gaze. The digital numbers read nine o’clock. He added the time to his notes, and then set the clipboard down beside his briefcase. Silently, Leslie and Nancy studied the room. Trevor eased the gun from the case. The barrel felt slick beneath his touch. He’d never held one before. He hated anything that might accidentally go off and blow a hole in his body, but he had to be certain this drug worked the way he’d anticipated. Sly wisely inched away from the women. His eyes grew wide with anticipation. Were the pieces of the puzzle connecting in his head? Not likely. “Stand near the door. Make sure we’re not disturbed.” Employees rarely returned to the building at this late hour, but it happened from time to time. Sly stood guard, his gaze traveling between his supervisor and the lab mice. “Ever hold a gun before?” Trevor handed the deadly piece to Leslie. “My dad and I shoot targets in the desert all the time.” Her response came out conversational, but dull. His grin stretched wide. When it came time to use Peter’s discovery for the real deal, no one would suspect his victim had been drugged. He folded her hand around the handle. “Leslie, listen carefully.” She gazed up at him. Sweet girl--too bad. “Point the barrel at Nancy.” Neither woman blinked. His pulse accelerated. Leslie slowly shifted the gun to her other hand and then gripped the handle tight. She took her time, fighting his suggestion. Damn! His plan relied on the drug’s ability to control the victim’s mind without error. “Leslie, did you hear me?” he asked, his voice mildly threatening. He edged closer until he’d crept up behind her. In slow motion, she raised the gun and aimed at Nancy’s head. Neither girl flinched. “Excellent, Leslie,” he said, lowering himself enough to whisper into her ear. Her silky, blonde strands caressed his cheek. “Pull the trigger,” he whispered. Her finger twitched. “Now, Leslie--” Before he finished his statement, she fired. The gun kicked back, jolting her shoulder hard against his chin. He backed away, rubbing the tender spot on his face. He found blood on his fingers. Mortally wounded, Nancy keeled over, falling into a heap beside the chair. Blood seeped out of the gaping wound, darkening her auburn locks before spreading out over the tile. He hadn’t mentally prepared himself for the gruesome sight of death. The metallic aroma of fresh blood assaulted his nostrils. Bile rose in his throat. He forced it down, backing further away from the table. Turning from the scene, he found Sly pressed against the door, his face drained of color, and a look of disbelief etched into his dark features. What in the hell have I done? In theory, this had been the perfect plan. Trevor glanced back at the lifeless body, then at the girl still holding the gun. She wore no expression. Blood splatters covered her body as if a Jackson Pollock impressionist had used her as a human canvas. He couldn’t stop now--they had a witness. Hell, she’s the murderer. It would be easier this time. It had to be. Trevor checked his reflection in the metal hand towel dispenser. He spotted the spray of blood on his face and his stomach clenched. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay strong, while he dampened a paper towel. With hurried swipes over his forehead, nose, and cheeks, he removed the evidence of what he’d done. Shoving the towel into his pocket, he found another spot on his new, white shirt. “Damn!” Remembering his chin, he tilted his head, then checked from side-to-side. Red, but no bruising. He hoped it stayed that way. If the bodies were ever found, he didn’t want anyone remembering he had a bruise the night they died. He shifted his attention to the one remaining co-ed. Maintaining a comfortable distance, he said, “Leslie, you killed your best friend. You must be punished.” “Punished,” she repeated flatly. He visualized himself as the new president of Eaton-Smith after his wife’s violent death. This experiment had to be taken to its conclusion. “Leslie, it’s time to die.” Without resistance, she raised the gun to her mouth, while staring into his eyes. He knew he’d never forget this moment. The pop of gunfire, shot through the silencer, pierced his conscience. Life left the once energetic blonde instantly. Her forehead hit the table with a thud. Trevor stared at crimson droplets on his two-hundred-dollar shoes. He huffed, grabbing another paper towel from the dispenser. He’d have to burn his entire outfit behind his brother’s desert home where no one would see him. Sly stepped closer. “Wow! How did you know she would...?” “Peter thought he’d finally discovered the antidote to date rape drugs. I tested it by spiking his soda with his own drug.” “Why?” “Save time and money. I wanted proof before I allocated the funds necessary to conduct clinical trials.” Trevor dampened the towel at the sink. “It didn’t take long to realize what Peter had truly discovered.” He wiped the blood off his shoes, then carefully folded the towel and shoved it in his pocket with the other one. “His drug controls your mind?” “Pretty much. While under the influence, he told me everything I needed to know about the drug and his personal life. He gave me enough info to put both him and his brother behind bars.” “Peter?” “Our saintly Peter Brewster has been playing Robin Hood, but that’s a story for another time.” He swirled the contents left in the flask. “Liquid Hypnosis.” “Great name, boss.” “I thought so.” The word boss told Trevor all he needed to know about his assistant’s allegiance. Sly circled the dead girl’s body. “I’m assuming this was a dress rehearsal. What comes next?” “First, we’re going to drug the guard’s thermos. When he leaves tonight, he’s going to be convinced he watched two college-coeds leave the building with a man in his early twenties. He’ll also be willing to swear he saw us working in the lab several times throughout the night.” “Smart. We might need an alibi. What then?” “I’m going to plan my wife’s death.” That woman knew how to cut a man to the core with just a look and a single well-placed comment. He’d seen his mother do the same to his father until she had destroyed every ounce of dignity, and then she left him. Life had granted an opportunity for him to seek revenge, for both himself and his father. Soon the name Carlton would be synonymous with wealth and power. His power, not hers. “Unfortunately, my wife has a cousin who would never believe she committed suicide. He would demand a drug test and I can’t take that chance. No. Someone else has to pull the trigger. In public.” “How about that nerd she fired last week?” “Doug, from accounting?” Trevor contemplated the idea. “He’s divorced, no children, carries a grudge--perfect patsy. The company picnic is a week and a half away. Several hundred employees will witness Doug gunning down my wife, the highly revered president of Eaton-Smith. After the initial shock wears off, they’ll naturally want me to replace her. I know the company from top to bottom. I also know where everyone’s skeletons are buried.” Sly edged closer to Nancy’s body sprawled over the tile. “How will you get Doug to take Peter’s drug?” “You’ll take him out for a beer. If I remember correctly, the man never turns down a free drink.” “Doug does love his liquor.” “There’s one problem.” Trevor stole a glance toward the blonde. “She hesitated. I had to talk her into completing the task.” “I heard people can’t be hypnotized into committing acts that are against their true nature.” “This is liquid mind control. The alcohol lowers inhibitions, allowing the drug to render the subject vulnerable to suggestion. Substantially more so than regular hypnosis.” “Maybe she hesitated because she knew she had taken a drug?” He eyed the young man with interest. “You know, Sly, about once a year you can be down right brilliant.” “Thanks. I think.” Using the toe of his boot, Sly gently nudged Nancy’s hand resting in the puddle of blood. The crimson liquid eerily contrasted the soft blue hue of the topaz ring. “We should do a field-test. Maybe in a bar. Slip it into some woman’s drink when she isn’t looking.” “You’re reading my mind.” Yanking his briefcase closer, Trevor banged it against the table. He cringed at the echo filling the room. “I can do the field-test,” Sly offered. “Peter will do it. He has a face women trust. You don’t.” Trevor clicked open his briefcase, removed a new tarp from inside and tossed it at Sly. “Clean up this mess, then find a place in the desert to dump the bodies. Dig deep. I don’t want them to surface during the next storm.” “Sure thing.” Sly popped open the tarp and lowered it to the tile. “Think Peter will cooperate?” “If he knows what’s good for his brother he will.”