Chapter 4

"I want to go out with Laura tonight," Terry told Paul as they drove to school the morning after their rather enlightening experience in Julie and Rick's house.

"Oh?" he said, grinning a little. "Is there a good movie that's playing?"

She smiled for him; a genuine Grade-A Terry smile. "I don't think I have to tell you what's going to happen," she said. "Though I'll probably be a little later than usual. I think maybe I'll accompany her home after the movie."

"I see," he said, letting his hand rest on her leg. "Going to finally give her what she wants?"

"And what I want," she answered. "I've wanted her for an awful long time but I always held myself back from doing too much with her. That's going to change tonight. After what we did last night... " she shook her head a little in wonder. "Well, I still can't believe we actually did that. Anyway, I think in light of our new... arrangement with each other, I'll start things off with what I've always desired."

"It sounds like a plan babe," he told her. "Do you want me to uh... suggest anything to her?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm going to go it solo for now. But don't worry. My dirty little mind is thinking up all kinds of things to do in the days to come."

"Good enough," he told her, piloting the car off of the freeway and stopping at a red light.

"What about you?" she asked him carefully. "What are you going to do while I'm gone?"

He looked over at her. "I haven't really thought about it," he said.

"Liar," she admonished. Her face turned more series. "Are you going to... bring someone home?"

He chewed his lip for a moment. "Terry... "

"It's okay," she said. "Really. Like you said, what's good for the goose is good for the gander. But... "

"But?"

"But, please don't do it in our bed, okay?" she asked timidly. "I mean... it's uh... well..."

"I know what you mean," he said. "And I promise you, I'll never do anybody else in our bed."

"Thank you," she replied. "It's probably a meaningless gesture in this new relationship we're in but... well... something has to stay sacred, doesn't it?"

"Yes," he told her. "I couldn't agree with you more."

Though it was a strange conversation for a married couple to have it was, in a bizarre way, a very loving discussion. Paul was glad that they had been able to share such a moment on their way into work. He was glad because shortly after he arrived at work, he found he had another mess to clean up.

Paul and Terry both knew that something was up the moment they walked into the administration building to check their mail. A group of ten or so of their peers were gathered around the cubbyholes, Maureen the vice-principal among them. It appeared that they had been discussing something quite enthusiastically. This was not surprising. The cubby hole area was the traditional gathering place for the exchange of school gossip. It was the high school's version of the proverbial water cooler. Nor was Maureen's presence among her underlings terribly unusual either. Maureen prided herself on always having the latest rumor, on always being the first to know and the first to pass on. Though she was not well liked by those she supervised, she was still eagerly listened to when she had something to share, was still eagerly filled in on the latest when something that could not get a staff member into actual trouble was circulating. The human desire to gossip apparently was stronger than the desire to maintain a distance from an unpleasant boss. What was unusual about the gathering however, was the way that everybody suddenly stopped talking when they walked in. Both had seen that reaction before from a gossip group. It was what they did when the subject or subjects that they had been discussing suddenly entered the room.

They gave a quick glance at each other, a silent piece of marital telepathy passing between them.

"They were talking about us," Terry's look said.

"Yes," Paul's returned, "and what were they saying?"

The group around the cubbyholes naturally was not going to share that information. They quickly broke up and went about their business, most of them heading out to their classrooms, a few of them offering knowing glances at the Woods' as they made their retreat. Maureen sported a particularly knowing look as she sidled off to her office.

What do you suppose that was about?" Terry whispered as they stood next to each other and checked their mailboxes.

"I don't know," he told her. "But you can bet your ass that Maureen had something to do with it."

"Yep," Terry agreed. She hesitated a little. "Do you think it has anything to do with... you know... the power?"

He wanted to tell her that he didn't think that was the case. He wanted to, but instinctively he knew that it did. "Probably," he admitted. "I'd better find out what's going on."

"Be careful," she said, catching the drift of what he was planning. "Remember how dangerous this thing is."

"I will be," he assured her.

He grappled with the idea of going into Maureen's office and asking her - after all, she was undoubtedly the source of whatever was going around - but in the end he elected a safer approach. He headed off to his classroom as he always did, tossing his bundle of meaningless memos into the garbage can on his way. Once in the halls, which were only sparsely traveled by students this early, he stopped Phil Daniels, the football coach and one of the members of the gossip circle that had just taken place.

"Phil," he hailed, waving him over but not utilizing the power just yet.

Phil, who was in his mid-forties and was a former Cornhuskers linebacker, looked downright uncomfortable at the hail but came over anyway.

"How you doin' Paul," he greeted, his voice conveying a clear we-need-to-make-this-quick-cause-I-got-things-to-do tone.

"I'm fine Phil," he replied, looking around to see if anyone was standing in earshot. No one was. The closest people to them were a group of freshmen girls that were forming their own gossip circle near a bank of lockers. He stared at the coach. "Nothing I ask you is unusual and you will answer everything immediately and truthfully."

"Okay," he said, seeming to relax just a tad.

"What were you and the others saying in the admin office?"

Phil looked confused for a moment, his brow creasing, his eyes narrowing to bewildered slits. He scratched his head a few times. "Well," he said hesitantly, "as near as I can remember, I came in and Jenny and Brad were getting their mail. I said "hi", just like I always do and then Brad said "hi" in return. Jenny then said "hi" as well and she asked me if my wife was still going to bring her deep-dish casserole to the potluck. I said that as far as I knew she was going to. She then said she really loved that dish and asked me if I would get the recipe for her sometime. I told her that of course I would, that Karen would be happy to share... "

"Stop," Paul commanded, a little exasperated. What had he done wrong? Was even a simple request such as: "tell me what you were talking about" going to be complicated?

Phil looked up at him expectantly.

"Why," Paul asked, "were you telling me about your wife's casserole and all of that other crap?"

More confusion crossed Phil's brow. "Well, because you asked me to tell you what we were talking about," he said carefully. "That's what we were talking about. I came in the room and said hi to Brad, just like I always do. He said hi in return. Jenny then said hi and asked me if my wife was going to bring her... "

"Stop," Paul said again, taking another glance around and then a few deep breaths. Phil was apparently intending to recite every last word that was said in the admin office since he entered it this morning. He would have to learn to be a little more specific in his inquiries. "Let's try this," he said after a moment's thought. "Did Maureen have some gossip to share about Terry or myself?"

"Yes," he said, and then stopped, volunteering nothing further.

"And what might that have been?" Paul prompted.

Again the look of confusion. "Well," Phil said, scratching his head once more. "I don't know what it MIGHT have been, all I know is what it WAS."

Another deep breath, another glance around. Let me try this again, he thought. "What," he said slowly, thinking through each word, "in general, was the story that Maureen told that had to do with either Terry or myself?"

Finally, that seemed to do the trick. "She was telling us that you and Laura are having an affair with each other."

Strangely, once he heard this, it seemed like something he should have known without asking. After all, Terry had been advised that he and Laura had been seen alone in the classroom. He had known that Maureen had spotted them together. Why hadn't he concluded that Maureen would begin spreading that rumor around? It was a very Maureen type of thing to do.

"I see," Paul said. "And why does Maureen seem to think that we're having an affair?" he asked.

"She says she saw you two slip into your classroom during the lunch hour yesterday and that Laura's makeup was messed up when she came out, and she smelled like sex."

It was worse than he had thought. But that was Maureen for you. She didn't miss a single detail or odor.

"I gotta hand it to you Paul," Phil said admiringly. "It's about time someone nailed that bitch. I've been trying for months to get in her pants. How'd you do it?"

Paul looked at the coach and projected. "I haven't had sex with Laura," he told him, "and you have no memory of any conversation that might have led you to believe I have."

Paul blinked a little, shaking his head in confusion. "What were we just talking about Paul?" he asked.

"Nothing," Paul said, continuing to project, "and if anyone tells you any stories about either Terry or myself engaging in extra-marital sexual activity, you will forget all about it as soon as the subject of conversation turns to something else."

"Uh... sure," Phil said doubtfully.

Paul smiled. "You'd better get to the gym coach," he said. "You'll be late."

Phil looked at his watch and frowned. "My god," he said. "I must've lost track of time. It's been nice uh... well... talking to you Paul." It was plainly obvious that he had no idea what they had just talked about. He shook his head a few times, as if to clear some confusion away and then headed down the hallway.

Paul watched him go, fuming at what Maureen had done. He was going to have to go clean this up and right away, before the rumor spread beyond the school. If he let it go beyond the first period it was entirely possible that faculty wives or husbands would be telephoned during the first break. The staff members at the school were a pretty tight knit group and it was too juicy of a story not to spread. He turned and headed for the administration office. The first thing he would have to do is cut off the source of the story.

He walked right through the administrative assistants, ignoring their protests, and went directly to Maureen's office door. He opened it and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. Her office was quite luxurious, even nicer in fact than the principal's office. Plush carpeting lined the floor and wood paneling covered the walls. The desk, which was not a standard school administration issue, was of genuine oak. Maureen was behind the desk, tapping away at something on her computer terminal. She looked up as he entered, her brow creasing first in confusion and then in anger.

"What are you doing in here Paul?" she asked, glaring at him. "Your class starts in two minutes. And why did you come in without knocking?"

"Shut up," Paul told her, speaking softly and projecting towards her. Her mouth snapped shut.

He walked up to the desk, his mind on overdrive as he tried to think of the best, fastest way to get this over with. "Maureen," he said, continuing to project. "You did not see Laura and I enter my classroom together yesterday. You have no suspicions whatsoever that I might be engaging in sexual activity with her or with anyone else except Terry. You never told any of the staff or anyone else that Laura and I were having sex. All you talked about around the mail boxes this morning was uh... " he tried to think of a typical Maureen subject of conversation. After a moment he came up with one. "... was how the district was going to cut our funding if we didn't start posting better regional scores."

Maureen continued to look at him, her expression a cross between hostility and confusion. She said nothing.

"I want you to take my first class of the day," he projected to her next. "You are doing this because I have to go home and shut off an iron that Terry left running. This is not an unusual request. You will find my lecture notes for the day in the top drawer of my desk."

"Okay Paul," she said, looking like someone who had been punched. "I'll go do that."

"And don't deride my students either," he added. "Be nice to them. Be a good teacher."

She seemed to shudder at this last command for a moment, as if being nice was just a little beyond her capabilities, but she acknowledged it. A moment later she stood up and headed for the door of her office. "Hurry back as fast as you can," she told him snottily. "Honestly, I don't know why I get stuck taking classes every time your wife leaves her iron on."

"That's just the way it is boss," he told her. He gave her another little projection. "And try to avoid talking to any of the other staff members on your way."

"Right," she agreed, opening the door. Paul watched her nyloned legs beneath her skirt as she walked to the main entrance. The admin people all looked at her quizzically as she shot by them silently.

When she was gone Paul walked up to each of them one by one and whispered a few things into their ears. Figuring that Maureen had told every one of the office staff her story, he started with them, telling each of them that they had heard no story about he and Terry. He probed them all a few times, checking for loose ends in his programming. Finding nothing amiss, he then went and checked the principal's office. Thankfully, as usual, he was not in yet. He then went about the main task of deprogramming the entire complement of teachers.

It took nearly forty-five minutes to complete. Knowing that the story would already have spread to everyone, he visited every classroom. At each one he poked his head inside and waved the teacher in question over to him. Using whispered tones he commanded them to answer his questions truthfully. He then asked them if they had heard the story about he and Laura. Unsurprisingly, every last one of them had. Next he asked them if they had told anyone else that was not on the campus the story. Thankfully, not a single one had gotten around to that yet, although if he had waited beyond first period that probably would have not been the case. To each teacher he then whispered the command to forget what he or she had heard and that he had even talked to them. The only teacher he skipped was Laura herself, knowing that nobody would have told her about it. He also did not fear that any of the students would have heard the rumor. Teacher/student relationships, no matter how solid, did not extent to the sharing of staff gossip.

Finally, stressed and exhausted, the job was done. He checked his watch and saw that he had five minutes to spare. He made a pass by Terry's classroom and stuck his head inside, waving her over to him. She paused in her lecture, which was nearing its climax, and came over to him.

"Its taken care of," he told her, giving a brief summary of what the story was and how he had killed it.

"That bitch," Terry whispered back at him, fuming. "I don't know why I'm surprised every time she does something like this, but I am."

"I know the feeling."

"At least you were able to erase the story this time," she said. "This power you have can come in kind of handy." She gave a wicked smile. "Maybe you should use it on Maureen. Give her a little... you know, reprogramming."

"I was just thinking the same thing," he replied, returning the smile.

"Oh? What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing specific yet," he said. "But I think I'll have her join me in my classroom for lunch today."

Terry soured a little, perhaps catching a gleam of what was going on in his mind. "Be careful with her," she warned. "Remember how easy it is for things to get out of control."

"I'll remember," he said. "I'd better go now. I'll catch you later." He kissed his index finger and put it to her nose, making her giggle. A moment later he headed for his classroom.

As he arrived there the class bell rang, signaling the end of first period. The door opened and his students - sophomores this period - began filing out. Many of them were talking softly to each other, their words conveying bewilderment at how nice their vice-principal had been as a substitute. It seemed Maureen had taken to heart his command to be nice to them.

"That was fuckin' scary," he heard one student remark to a friend. "It was like one of those alien takeover things, you know?"

"Fuck yeah," the friend returned, shaking his head. "Freaky."

Mark could understand the source of their confusion. Maureen had an even worse reputation among the student body than she did among the faculty. After all, the students didn't have union contracts and teacher's associations to limit how much she could do to them. Many a horror tale, most of them true, of her bitchiness had been told in the halls. Mark had personally seen errant students leaving her office in tears, and not just girls either.

"Well," Maureen said, standing before him in the doorway and tapping her toe impatiently. "Is your little domestic crisis taken care of now?"

"Yes it is," he told her. "Thank you for taking my class."

She glared at him. "I just hope you appreciate how much I am now behind on my work. I trust this will not continue to be a problem."

"Not at all," he said, stepping a little closer. He projected at her. "Come to my classroom during the lunch break," he instructed. "Try not to be obvious and don't tell anyone where you're going. If you're asked, make up something that would sound plausible to them. You will have no memory of this conversation but you will nevertheless follow my directions."

She seemed to tremble a little bit for a second but said nothing. She gave him a single confused look and then headed off down the hall, towards her office. He was a little worried that he had done some sort of damage to her. After all, it was very unlike Maureen just to walk silently away like that. She usually was compelled to offer at least one parting snide remark over her shoulder as she went. But as she passed a group of girls lingering near an open locker and putting on makeup she stopped and spent a moment yelling at them.

"I guess she's okay," Paul muttered, entering his classroom. A few moments later the juniors of his second period class began to drift in.

His female students did not cause quite as much distraction as they had the previous day. As he delivered his first lecture that morning his attention, as always, was drawn to their alluring, nubile forms. He caressed bare legs with his eyes, touched swelling young breasts with imaginary hands, just as always. The difference was that now he refused to be driven insane by the knowledge that he could have them at any time. Now, having come to some sort of terms with his ability, he knew that he soon WOULD be having one, maybe ALL of them. This distinction allowed him to relax and concentrate on teaching. And the power allowed him to add a few unique touches to his job description.

In the middle of the third row sat Kelly Callahan. Kelly was very bright and, in her freshmen and sophomore years, had been one of his best students. Over the past two semesters however, her attendance had slacked off quite a bit and her grades had taken an alarming dive. Already quite skinny to begin with, her weight had dropped even more, giving her the look of an anorexic concentration camp survivor, and her eyes now had perpetual bags beneath them. Paul knew what all of this meant of course. Even in an upscale school like this one, drug abuse was a common thing. There were some students who just seemed destined to travel down that road but others, like Kelly, were seduced onto it by something as simple as hanging out with the wrong crowd. It was a sad thing to watch but there was little that a teacher or a counselor could do about it once the spiral began. Adolescents, in their minds, were ALWAYS right and were ALWAYS smarter than the adults who attempted to guide them. Trying to talk to a teenager about something was almost always an exercise in futility. Except that now, for Paul, it was not.

"Kelly," he said when the bell rang, as the rest of the class stood and gathered their backpacks, "can I talk to you for just a second."

She gave a disinterested shrug, the trademark gesture of a teenager being asked to do something by an adult, but stood and walked over to his desk. She was wearing black clothing, as was the fashion among the rebellious ones and her hair looked like she had done nothing more than run a comb through it in weeks. "Yeah?" she said, her voice bored.

A few students were still lingering near the doorway but they were far enough away that they would not overhear anything that he said. Knowing that he only had a few minutes before his third period kids began shuffling in, he got right to the point. "Answer all my questions truthfully," he told her, projecting, "and you will find nothing unusual about them."

"Sure," she told him brashly.

"How much crank do you snort every week?" he inquired.

Another shrug. "An eightball or so," she said. "Depends on how much cash I can get my hands on."

"Have you started stealing things so you can get your crank yet?"

"Just from my parents," she replied. "I been getting in my mom's purse and my dad's wallet and takin' a few bucks out when they got it."

Paul nodded thoughtfully. If she was still only stealing from her parents, then she was still fairly early in the game. But an eightball a week was also quite a bit more than just casual experimentation. "What about when you can't get money?" he asked her next. "What do you do then?"

"Sometimes I just go without any wire," she told him. "But that's pretty jacked lately. It's like I HAVE to have it, you know? So a couple times I had to give Ronnie, that's the dude that sells me the shit, I had to give him a blow job to get a few lines.""

"I see," Paul said. "And how does that make you feel when you have to resort to that?"

"Like a fuckin' slut," she admitted.

"And do you enjoy being a fuckin' slut?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But you gotta do what you gotta do, you know?"

"I know," he assured her, trying to think this through. He could simply tell her not to ever use methamphetamine again as long as she lived, but would that be the wise path? That would leave her in a hopeless depression from the loss of her favorite hobby. Could that maybe drive her insane? Could it maybe force her to resort to suicide? And what about the friends that were imbibing in it with her? What about their reaction to her sudden cessation?

"Listen Kelly," he said, projecting again. "Crank is very bad for you and it will destroy your life if you continue to use it. You do not want to destroy your life. You want very badly to give up the use of methamphetamines and lead a normal life."

"Yes," she said, her eyes showing something other than boredom for the first time. "I do."

"Good," he told her. He gave her one more little push. "You need to think about the best way of stopping this habit before it goes any further and then you need to do it. If you have any difficulties or just want to talk to someone, you can come talk to me or my wife. Do you know my wife?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Mrs. Woods. I have her in English."

"Correct," he said, continuing his push. "If you have any problems, if you need to talk, if you need some help with quitting or anything else, you can come talk to one of us. It will be in confidence and we give good advice."

"I'll do that," she said, looking a little dazed now.

"I'm sure you will," he told her. "You can go now."

"Uh... well... thanks Mr. Woods," she said, her voice a little vacant, as if she suddenly had a lot on her mind.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

As she walked out the door and as his third period group, more juniors, began to take their seats, he had a smile on his face. He had done something good with his gift. Something noble. That helped offset the guilt at the other things he was going to be doing with it.

Maureen showed up right on schedule, two minutes after the early lunch bell rang. She entered his classroom and shut the door behind her, cutting off the sound of hundreds of students out in the hall. Paul looked at her, still not quite sure what he was going to do with her. She was wearing a standard dark business outfit with a knee length skirt and dark nylons. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and fastened with a hair clip that matched her outfit. Upon her face was her signature bitchy expression but just underneath it was confusion.

"Paul," she said, looking at him from the doorway. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay," he said, not suggesting anything at her for the moment. "What for?"

She chewed her lip a little as she tried to concentrate and the look of confusion grew. "I... uh... well, I don't know," she said.

"You don't know?"

"Well," she said, looking around the empty room. "I knew I had to come here and see you at lunch time and that it was very important but... well... I can't seem to recollect what it was about now." She shook her head a little. "I guess maybe it wasn't that important after all."

"No?"

"No," she said, this time with more firmness. "Well, I'll leave you alone to your lunch now I guess. If it occurs to me later what I wanted to discuss, I'll get in touch with you." With that she turned and put her hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave.

"Maureen," Paul said.

"Yes?" she asked, turning towards him.

"Lock the door and come over here," he told her, projecting.

"I don't really think that... " she started to protest but stopped as she noticed that her body was doing exactly what it had been told. Her hand reached out and twisted the lock button. Her feet turned and began walking towards her desk. A look of fear replaced the confusion and Paul could actually see her trying to will her rebellious body to stop doing what it was doing.

He cursed himself for having forgotten again to say that nothing was unusual. When was he ever going to remember that? He opened his mouth to give the command and then stopped, deciding on the spur of the moment to treat Maureen a little bit differently. After all, this was the woman that had made a career out of tormenting others, out of stabbing them in the back, out of spreading vicious rumors. She was, to put it mildly, a bitch. Why should she deserve the courtesy of having her fears calmed? He continued to omit the "nothing is unusual" statement for the time being.

"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded of him as she found herself standing before his desk. "Why did I just do that?"

"Because boss," he said. "For various reasons that need not be discussed right here and right now, I am able to control you." He projected at her. "You will answer all of my questions truthfully."

"Yes I will," she said, "but, how... what... what the hell?"

"You need not give me any side comments," he commanded. "Just stick to the facts of the matter. Do you understand?"

"Yes I do," she told him, despite her plainly seen attempts to NOT answer.

"Good," he said, looking up at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts. Here he had Maureen before him and an entire hour with which to do as he pleased. So what to do? What to ask? How to program? Despite his guilt at earlier sessions with Julie and Laura, that emotion was now completely absent from his mind. When it came right down to it, he hated this bitch and it was time for some payback.

"Now then," he finally asked, deciding to get right to the meat of the matter, "how often do you and your husband have sex with each other?"

"As little as I can get away with," she told him, her eyes widening in fear at what was coming out of her mouth. "Jack is easily controllable. I can usually keep him confined to less than once a month."

"Once a month?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "That's truly amazing."

She was trembling now, in obvious panic at what was happening. Paul decided to let her hang that way for just a little longer.

"Do you have other lovers?" he asked her next.

"No," she told him.

"No?" he asked, in disbelief even though he knew she was telling the truth. "Why not?"

"I hate sex," she said. "I only use it to get what I want from men."