They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.
-(The Story begins HERE)-
A moth drawn to a flame ... does it know that it will be consumed by that which attracts it? What drives the lemming to plunge to its death from a treacherous precipice?
I didn't know the answers to those questions, but I did know that a burning insatiable lust was in control of my psyche and driving my primal instincts. Stripped of resistance as well as clothing, I scooped her into my arms and carried her to the waiting bed.
Fueled by her searing lips and heated breath upon my neck, I could feel a fire within my brain. Centered behind my eyes, it was a burning passion, the likes of which I'd never felt before.
The moment was shattered by a sudden disembodied voice somewhere nearby, "Michael! What in the hell is going on?"
Much to her surprise, I dropped my naked freight onto the bed. "What are you doing?" she shrieked. She slid from the bed and landed on the floor with a thump.
Although I was in a daze, I ignored her protests and reached for the telephone on the end table next to the bed. So wrapped up in sexual rapture, I had not heard the phone ringing. It was Brock O'Day's voice on the answering machine ...
My God, I thought to myself. I'd forgotten about him. We'd left him in the back of the HumVee at the airport!
"Brock, I'm here," I said into the handset. "Where are you?"
"Logan airport!" he snapped. "...And don't ask me how I got here. I found myself in the backseat of a friggin' ... "
"HumVee. I know," I muttered completing his sentence.
"Sweet Jesus, you mind filling me in? The last thing I remember was loading our zombie friends into my car at the precinct."
"Brock, I'm going to have to get back to you on that matter," I gulped. "Uh ... something has come up ... something I must attend to ..."
"What?" he screamed even as I let the phone fall from my hand.
My attention was drawn to the floor and to Susan. She was kneeling before me, her eyes fixed on one thing and one thing only. Before she could touch me I grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her to her feet. Her eyes were glazed in wanton abandon.
"Susan!" I shouted. "Snap out of it!"
Struggling to free herself from my grasp she cried, "Don't you understand? I must do this."
"Listen to me," I said shouting again. "You're not in control. They're in your head!" In one motion I released one of her arms and slapped her with the freed hand.
Falling onto the bed she rubbed her smarting cheek and yelped, "Why did you hit me?" In the next instant a sudden change came over her. It was as if at only that moment she'd become aware of her nakedness. She positioned her arms and hands in a frantic effort to cover herself. I gathered up her pants and top and tossed them onto the bed next to her.
Aware of my own nudity and unchanged state, I turned and sought my own clothes. With my back to her I slipped into the trousers and suggested, "Why don't you get dressed, Susan? I'll be outside."
I leaned against the closed door and let out a sigh of relief. Because of my brush with infidelity, I was riddled pangs of guilt and shame. I knew however, that my actions and those of Susan were not solely of our own volition.
Somehow, someone had been inside both of our heads. Somehow, they had tweaked the pleasure centers of our brains and broken down the barriers of personal restraint. The floodgates of carnal desire had been thrust open. But why? What purpose would our act of copulation serve them?
Then I remembered the experiments of the real Michael Black and Michelle Gray. As incredible as it had seemed at the time, they had discovered that during the height of sexual intercourse they could actually "read" each others' thoughts. On a limited basis they had even able to communicate telepathically.
I shook my head at the possibility that someone had taken their research to another level. It would certainly explain the mass illusions we had witnessed at the cottage in New Hampshire. A cloud of gloom began to encompass me. If they were able to make us think that a helicopter had exploded, how would we ever be able to know what was and what wasn't?
My thoughts turned to Michelle. Had she and Ben been subjected to the same surreptitious incursions into their minds? Would she be able to overcome the irresistible sexual urges as I had done? I groaned and hung my head in resignation. If it hadn't been for Brock O'Day's phone call, I would have no doubt succumbed to the very same urges.
"That's it!" I voiced aloud snapping my fingers. It was the sex, or moreover, the heightened brain activity during the sex act itself! Someone was using Susan to get inside my head to "read" my thoughts. So too was Ben being used to channel Michelle's thoughts! There could be no other explanation.
The so-called guardian's plan - the artifice - was to pilfer our brains for something they needed. The burning question escaped my lips as a spoken question, "What was that something?
The guestroom door swung open and Susan emerged, her eyes avoiding mine. I studied her shapely form and had a sudden but insane thought. Was it possible that our sexually heightened brain activity could be used two ways?
Interrogating the Dead )