Corruption of a Family

He was sitting at a table in a small café in Concourse C at the Denver International Airport. He was 43, and his name was Phillip Baxter. He sipped on a glass of Dr. Pepper and crushed ice, really the only vice he claimed to have if you could call it a vice. He was a very religious man, and he and his wife Lori were faithful members of the church since they married right out of college twenty years ago.

As he picked up his glass and took a drink, he thought back to the presentation he gave that morning at the Denver branch office of Gold Star International, the multinational conglomerate he worked for the same 20 years he had been married. Gold Star International or GSI as they were known was recently acquired by an overseas competitor out of Saudi Arabia and was in the process of implementing changes to the old operating structure to bring them in line with the new company.

That was where Phil came in. It was his responsibility to travel to all 30 branch offices in the U.S. to present these changes to upper management and then oversee their implementation over time. In the modern technological world, you would think that this could all be done with teleconferencing and email, but the powers to be decided to have him do the initial presentations in person and then follow up on the implementation of the central office in Atlanta where his office was located.

Denver was his twenty-seventh city in forty days, and he had not been home once since leaving because the new parent company wanted all branches working on implementation as soon as possible. Every presentation he gave was a carbon copy of the last with very few changes give or take a few minor modifications. If this all sounded very dull, that's because it was, but it suited Phil to a T because he was not the type of person you would notice in a crowd, maybe not even if he were on fire.

Phil was a fairly good looking man for 43. He visited the gym when he had time, so he kept himself in good shape, but he was accustomed to the routine in his life and he liked it that way. He never smoked or drank and followed a strict religious regimen of regularly reading his Bible and praying. He refused to work on Sunday and even when on the road; he sought out churches to attend for Sunday service.

Even at home Phil and Lori had a set routine they followed like clockwork that they seldom deviated from their set schedule. They raised their daughter, Missy, an eighteen-year-old senior in high school, under a religious regimen, and she too was accustomed to having a routine in her life. They were not a bad family or awful people; actually, they loved each other very much. They were what most people would consider dull. Even Phil and Lori's sex life were routine. They made love once a week on Saturday night. Because they didn't engage in any foreplay, it took them around ten minutes to finish, and then soon after they were both asleep.

This lifestyle would drive most people insane, but for the Baxter family it was quite reasonable, and they never considered any other way of life.

Phil had to travel a lot in his twenty years with GSI, but he was never gone this long in one stretch. He called Lori and Missy every night, and Lori kept him up to date as much as possible. Being a senior meant that Missy would be going away to college next year, and he was trying to help her with her college applications via his laptop, but it would be much easier if he were home.

"Well," he thought to himself as he picked up his glass and drank again. "Tomorrow is Friday, and I will be in Chicago, then on Monday I'm in Salt Lake City and Wednesday in Phoenix and then it's home to Atlanta."

It was hard to believe it would be forty-seven days when he finally got home; trying not to think about that fact he looked at his watch.

"4:45 PM," he read, and his flight to Chicago was at 6:10 PM. He was just down the hall from his gate so knowing he had plenty of time, he pulled his laptop out of its case and opened it on the table. Logging into the company website, he checked his office e-mail. Finding only one that needed his attention, he replied, giving his boss an update on this morning's presentation, and then he logged out. Deciding to check his email to see if Lori or Missy sent him anything, he went to his mail server. Putting in his name and password, he hit enter.

There was tons of junk mail, so he started hitting the delete key one after the other when he came to one with a subject line that read "Life Changing Message for Phil Baxter." A little intrigued that they had used his name, he couldn't decide if he should open it or not. The last thing he needed was a virus on his work computer. Logic told him to delete it and being the logical person that he was, he hit the delete key, but it didn't remove. He tried again, still nothing. Clicking on the message below it, he hit delete again, and that one disappeared.

"That's strange," he thought.

He went ahead and finished deleting all the other junk mail in his inbox until only that one message remained. Highlighting it again, he kept tapping the delete key, but it would not delete. Now he was wary of it being something malicious. How else could you explain this strange behavior?

Perhaps his laptop was already infected, and that was why it was acting so weird, this panicked him a bit because his presentations were housed on it. Deciding he would go into the Chicago office early tomorrow and have their technical support staff take a look at it, he moved his mouse pointer to log out, and the email opened itself, and the message window popped up. Surprised by this, he jumped back a little. Now there was no doubt his computer were infected with something.

He never saw a message open itself before, so he was a little bit shocked. Granted, he was no computer technician, but he opened millions of e-mails in his career, and this was the first one that opened itself.

"Well," he thought. 'It's open now so I might as well read it." Focusing on the words in the message window, he read:

"The writhing mass has spoken your name. You belong to me now!" It was signed, "Mystic."

'Ok," he thought. "That makes no sense. I don't know anyone named Mystic, and I don't think that's going to be life changing."

Now he knew for sure it was some junk mail and was positive that he had a virus. He just hoped it wouldn't spread to his presentations. Suddenly the message window closed taking him back to his inbox, and then the whole message disappeared. It had deleted itself!

He was dumbfounded.

"How on earth could this be happening?" He asked himself.

It was as if his laptop was completely possessed. Still convinced it was a virus of some sort, he logged out and shut down, hoping to keep it from spreading until he could have a tech look at it.

Putting it back in its case and then glancing at his watch again, it was 5:45.

"How could it take me an hour to check my email," he wondered, but he didn't have time to think about it. Knowing they would board first class and business class first, he grabbed his laptop case and carry on bag and hurried down the hall to his gate. He arrived at the gate for his flight just as they were announcing first class and business class to board the plane.

He got in the short line of people with first class tickets waiting to be checked in at the door of the plane. When it was his turn, he showed his first class boarding pass to the flight attendant and then went through the door into the boarding tunnel and made his way to the plane.

At the door to the aircraft, another flight attendant was greeting passengers, and he made his way through the door and into the plane. He entered the first class cabin where he made his way down the aisle and found his seat. Stowing his carry-on and laptop in the overhead bin, he took his aisle seat. The window seat remained unoccupied.

"Hopefully it will remain that way," he thought to himself.

With nothing else to do, he watched the other first class passengers enter through the cabin door. Most of them looked as if they were traveling businessmen like himself. They were dressed in suits and carrying laptops as he did.

Then she came through the cabin door, and it seemed like in a millisecond he was forced to take a complete mental picture of her. She had the most vivid red hair he had ever seen, and it was pulled up into a ponytail on the back of her head. He could tell she was young, just older than his daughter, he assumed, but she had the most beautiful features he had ever seen. She was wearing a white top and had small firm breasts and a short pink skirt with ruffles on it. She was very slender and appeared to be about 5'4" and, despite being young, she reeked of sexuality.

It went against his religious nature to look at woman other than his wife and daughter, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her.

Like I said, this all happened in a millisecond because he didn't have any more time than that. The first thing she did as she entered the cabin was to locate him in his seat as if she knew where he would be sitting and lock her eyes on his. As their eyes met, he could vaguely remember that hers were hauntingly gray, but then he saw a flash of light and it felt as if his mind exploded.

Dazed and confused, he sat there trying to figure out what had just happened. He could no longer focus. Everything was cloudy and hazy. He tried to focus his thoughts on anything, but he just couldn't seem to concentrate no matter how hard he tried. His eyes were blurry and his brain burned, and, although he could still sense his subconscious, he couldn't bring it back under control. He felt like he was trying to see the world with cellophane wrapped around his head, but the oddest sensation of all was that with all this going on in his brain he could tell he was sexually aroused.

Then, as suddenly as it had hit him, it was gone, and he could focus again. He was still staring into her eyes, but she had averted her gaze and was now making her way towards him. Although he could control his thoughts again, he could not force himself to stop staring at her. She made her way down the aisle and stopped next to his seat. Reaching up she opened the overhead bin and put her carry on in it, and then closed the door. Looking down at Phil she said, "Sit next to the window. I prefer the aisle!."

Without a thought or a word he got up and moved over and she sat in the seat he had just occupied.

"Why did I do that?" He thought.

She said it and without question he simply obeyed. It was like he could think for himself, but he was no longer in control. He realized he was still staring at her and using every bit of willpower he could muster, he turned his head and looked out the window.

Watching the men on the tarmac below loading the luggage into the belly of the plane, he tried to make sense of this all. After a few minutes, it seemed like his brain was clearing a bit and his ability to put his thoughts together improved. His first clear thought was that this had to be a dream. I mean first the laptop in the airport and then the traumatic experience he had gone through when she looked in his eyes. Things like this just didn't happen to him. He had the urge to look over and see if she was there in the seat beside him, but he was afraid he would get trapped into staring at her again, so he kept looking out the window.

Then it came to him. "Do what you always do in times of need," and without another thought, he bowed his head to pray. After so many years the ability to pray was ingrained in him. He was able to pray like he was talking to an old friend. It came that easy. So he closed his eyes and his subconscious mind started to pray, but almost simultaneously the image of the girl next to him popped into his mind. She was naked, and she was lying on a huge feather comforter masturbating in front of a fireplace.

He forced his eyes open and was again left trying to clear his mind. What was wrong with him, and what was going on in his mind? He was at a loss. He was thoroughly confused, and now he felt guilty for having such a thought, especially while trying to pray. He had never seen any woman masturbate before, let alone the one sitting next to him, so how was it, he was able to picture it happening in his mind? And it had been so utterly vivid. He could still see every detail of her entire body as she lay in front of the fireplace playing with her pussy.

He was mortified when he realized he was again, picturing it in his mind. He had no control over his thoughts anymore. Again the urge to pray for help swept over him, but he refused to take the chance and close his eyes again. Until he knew he was 100% back in control of his thoughts, he would not try again, believing what had happened the last time to be blasphemy.

If he had looked at the young redhead seated next to him when he made this declaration, he would have seen her smile.

Not even ten minutes passed since Phil entered the cabin and found his seat, but so much had transpired he would have sworn it had been hours. In fact, he could still hear the coach class passengers making their way through the first class cabin back to the rear of the plane. He had an urge to turn and watch them, but, knowing she was in the seat next to him, he just kept watching the workers out the window. They closed all the doors to the plane and started clearing away equipment in preparation for the aircraft's departure. Phil knew that they were getting close to take off.

He refused to look her way but as if he was attuned to her he could sense every little move she made. He knew when she leaned forward. She was getting a magazine out of the pouch in the back of the seat in front of her even though he couldn't see her do it. He could picture in his mind every page as she flipped through the magazine one page at a time. He could see it so clearly that he could almost read the writing. How was she doing this to him? How was she able to control his thoughts, and better yet why? Why would she want his thoughts? There was absolutely nothing special about him, so why would she go to all this trouble?

And as if he had asked it out loud, he heard a voice in his mind answer.

"You'll understand soon. You can look at me now. I have already done what I needed to do."

As if it was a command, he turned in his seat and looked at her, but the uncontrolled urge to stare was gone.

At that moment the plane lurched as it started to back slowly away from the loading gate. No longer being forced to look at her, Phil jerked his head away and stared into the back of the seat in front of him instead, as the plane stopped for a few seconds and then started to move forward.

Suddenly she was inside his head again.

"I know you have questions. You may ask, but think them, don't speak them out loud. What we discuss is for no one else to hear."

By this time Phil had a new sensation to deal with, fear. He was still aroused, but deep down he was scared of what was going on in his mind. He did have a thousand questions, but he did not like her being in his mind so he tried to clear his mind.

"How are you doing this?" he asked silently as he cursed himself for not being able to control his thoughts.

"That is a very complicated question," the voice immediately replied. "But I will make it as simple as I can."

Why did he ask? Why couldn't he clear his mind of any thoughts?

"My grandmother on my father's side was an eccentric old woman that did not like anyone in the world but me; she did not even like my dad, but me she adored. She was very wealthy and lived alone in a colossal house by herself. It was a house her father had built, and she inherited it along with his money. My grandmother never married and would not tell anyone who my dad's dad was or any of the circumstances surrounding his conception, a secret she carried to the grave with her."

At that moment the plane suddenly burst into motion as it sped down the runway for liftoff. Her voice stopped, and Phil glanced at the young redhead. She had her eyes closed tightly. A few minutes later the plane was in the air and throttled back as they reached speeds and altitude.

"I've never liked to take off," she projected. "And as much as I fly, you would think I would get used to them."

Phil was having a hard time adjusting to this situation. How bizarre it seemed that he was conversing with this young mysterious and highly sensual young woman without uttering a word.

"Why do you fly so much?" He thought.

"One question at a time."

Phil was instantly frustrated. Having her inside his head was driving him crazy.

"You'll get used to me over time," she said. "There will be times I will shut it off, and you'll have your thought all to yourself. "OK, back to my grandmother. As I said, she adored me, and I spent every summer with her in her huge house from the time I was young until her death this spring, three days after my eighteenth birthday. She loved that house and very seldom left it. Being wealthy meant she didn't have to. Everything she needed was purchased for her."

At this time the flight attendant stopped at their seats and asked if she could get them anything?

"I'll have ice tea," the redhead said, and then Phil, feeling the way he did, knew he could use a Dr. Pepper.

"I'll have a VO and 7." Shocked at himself for saying it, he was getting ready to correct himself and say Dr. Pepper when the voice said, "No, you got it right. A lot of things are going to change for you now."

"But I don't drink!" He thought to himself.

"You don't do a lot of things that you're going to be doing very soon," she continued. "But that is for later."

Something inside Phil lurched when she said that as if it were an omen of some type, and the fact he was no longer in control of his mind started to sink in finally. He was filled with dread.

"By the way my grandmother's name was Rose. Rose went out of her way to make summer fun, and, although I have tons of stories, I will tell them to you another day. To answer your question, we will skip to the summer of my eighteenth year. Rose was a collector and the house was full of things she had acquired over the years. Being a homebody didn't mean she couldn't purchase things, and she had ingenious ways of doing it. The one Rose relied on the most was her lawyer. She would spend hours pouring over auction bills and finding the things she wanted, and then she would send her lawyer to the sales as her agent. Books were her favorite, and she sent him numerous times to different parts of the world to get one single book at auction that she just had to have."

The flight attendant was back with their drinks, and, as she handed him the glass with the amber colored whiskey, Phil just held it in his hand and looked at it like it was a pit viper. On its own, he felt his hand move the cup to his mouth and the next thing he knew he could feel the whiskey burning its way down his throat. Phil coughed at the sensation, and he could now feel it burning inside his stomach. It was the first time he had ever had whiskey.

"You'll grow used to it," she said as she took a sip of her tea.

"Why are you making me do this?" He thought.

"I told you one question at a time!" She replied, irritated.

"Every room in the house had stacks of books, " she continued with her tale. "There were eleven bedrooms alone in Rose's house and that's not including the office, den, library, and three different sitting rooms. As you can imagine, there were a lot of books. I don't know how many Rose read, but there is no way she read them all. If she lived to be two hundred, she could not read them all."

"Anyway, I was Eighteen, and I was spending another summer with her. It was a rainy day in July, and Rose was in the library going over a new stack of auction bills. I was in the library with her, and I was bored so I was just going through the stacks of books looking for something to read. That's when I found it. It was the last one at the bottom of a pile, and, as I put my hand on it to pick it up, I felt a tingle go up my arm.