Mind Storm: The Minds Series, #1

By Cross Bones Jones

A man mysteriously cuts off communication with everyone close to him.

 

A woman finds herself in a strange city with an unknown companion and doesn't remember how she got there.

 

A wild, unbroken horse suddenly obeys every command.

 

Devon Williams is a world-renowned hypnotist from Berkshire, England. After his most recent tour, he decides to go on one of his usual vacations, but leaves without communicating his plans to anyone. Upon alienating almost everyone he cares about, he unknowingly triggers a strange sequence of events.

 

Donella Saint-Clair is another world-renowned hypnotist from Georgia, USA. After her most recent tour, she briefly returns to her horse ranch before going on an unscheduled trip. Those closest to her are shut out and left to witness occurrences of a mysterious and disturbing nature as they unfold in her absence.

 

When Devon and Donella's paths unexpectedly cross, they become inseparable as they delve into each other's hypnotic abilities. Driven to experiment in ways never dreamed of before, they find themselves on a level all their own. When the thrill of their newly-discovered power begins to consume them, through pain, fear, and desperation they must struggle to hold on to the most valuable thing they have—their own lives.

 

No one could have known what the union of two powerful minds would unleash.

 

Book #1 of the Minds series

A novel of approximately 81,120 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crystal McNeil
• Release date: Nov 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201033835

Book preview

The Villa

G reat show, Mr. Williams ! Stewart is in the limousine and your wine is chilled. Shall I have it brought around, sir?

Yes, thank you, Simon. Oh, Simon? Have my plane readied to go to St. Barts. I’m taking a few days of downtime.

Yes, Mr. Williams, will that be all, sir?

Yes, that’s it for now. Thank you, Simon.

It was a great show, perhaps the best yet, with a full house of more than ten thousand people—two hundred dollars for the cheap seats, seven hundred for gold box seats. The venue promoter wanted to book him straight away for another three shows, but the touring was starting to take its toll on him.

St. Barthelemy is an island in the Caribbean where Devon Williams would retreat for solitude at his villa. Overlooking the Corossol Harbour, it is a place of tranquility and beautiful sunsets. When requiring extended periods of downtime, he would venture off with his dog, Stewart, taking his boat out of the harbour, going island to island, exploring nearby shorelines and coves, perhaps doing a little scuba diving too. He was pampered by his staff of six, which had grown from two since his first big tour three years before, and he treated them extremely well in return for their highest quality of service. Simon was the longest-serving member of his staff, going on twelve years, and he took great care of everything around Devon, including his closest companion, Stewart.

Mr. Williams won't be in need of the show props for the next little while, David. I need you and Rigly to pack everything up and put it back in the Carns room at the estate for now, said Simon.

No problem, Simon. Consider it done. C'mon, Rigs, let’s have at it. Bring the truck around and I’ll open the theatre doors, directed David.

I'm on it, replied Rigly.

David and Rigly were loyal to Devon and took instruction from Simon when not directed by Devon himself. Both in their late twenties, they were physically able to do just about any laborious task required. They shared rather nice living accommodations on the estate, separate from the main house, and enjoyed a much higher standard of living than most people of their stature. Having both dropped out of school before their ninth year, they never refused any task that was given. Receiving a decent wage with bonuses on top of everything else, they had it pretty good.

Simon punched a number into his cell phone and put it to his ear. Hi, Dutch. Ready the plane to leave in forty minutes; Mr. Williams is going to the villa for a few days.

Will do, Simon, replied Dutch.

Dutch was an ex-military transport pilot of twenty years with the Royal Australian Air Force and had seventeen years of commercial piloting experience after that. He had lost his wife in a car accident several years before and had no children. He flew the Raytheon Premier 1 Learjet for Mr. Williams and took care of the grounds at the estate, both of which kept him fully occupied. When needed, David and Rigly were his backbone while working on the heavier tasks around the property. When they weren’t on the road doing shows, Dutch kept them both busy with general maintenance like painting, trimming hedgerows, running errands, and cleaning up after Stewart. Now in his early sixties, working for Devon Williams was everything (and the only thing), that Dutch wanted to do in life.

Simon placed the cell phone to his ear a second time. Hello, Rita? It’s Simon calling. There will be no need to prepare a meal tonight. Mr. Williams has decided to go to the villa. I’ll let you know when we’re returning to the estate, bye for now.

Rita was a great cook and Devon loved Spanish cuisine—paella being his favourite dish—and she made it proper, always using the freshest of shrimp. She also took care of the maid services at the estate and would bring in help as required for special occasions when Mr. Williams had guests.

When at the villa, Devon would cook for himself or order something from the nearby village and have it delivered. He would seldom eat in town, but when he did, he would go to a small dining spot with open seating right by the water called The Oasis. He would spend his downtime with fine wine, the sea breeze, soft music, scenery, and of course, Stewart.

Stewart was his Scottish terrier and he was very well mannered. He was so well behaved that Simon even did the grooming when needed—nails and all. Stewart sported a great beard down to a perfect point and he did not share Devon’s love of Spanish cuisine, but show him a raw carrot and his little stub tail would go into a speed-wag.

Devon walked into his dressing room backstage and cast off his array of black clothing which consisted of gloves, a long sleeved shirt that had silver threading on the cuffs, tight-fitting pants, and Doc Martens shoes. When the house lights went down, all you could see of him was his goateed face and the silver threads on his cuffs with the rest of him in shadow. He had a sip of wine and a couple of shrimp before he had a shower. He quickly combed his jet-black hair, then slipped on his casual whites and, with his walking stick in hand, he got into the limo. Without hesitation, Stewart hopped in beside him and off they went.

C’mon, Rigs, lift that up a bit more! Now push it back! There, perfect. Say, Rigs, have you noticed how Mr. Williams isn’t quite himself lately? asked David.

What do ya mean? asked Rigly.

Well, he just doesn’t talk a lot like he used to, and he seems to be into the wine more. I’d say he’s got something playing on his mind, David said.

Rigly stopped for a moment, rolling his eyes slightly. Hmm, I never really gave it much thought, but now that you mention it yes, I see what ya mean. Perhaps he’s just lonely. He should get himself a woman, said Rigly. What, with all his money he could likely have anyone he wants! I’d have a dozen if I had his money! He laughed with a snort as if to place himself alongside the rich and famous.

Ha! It would take more than money for you to have that! replied David with a demeaning laugh.

Oh, yeah? Well, if you saw a woman naked, you’d run for a Band-Aid, said Rigly in retaliation.

Shut up! I’ve been with more women than you, said David, jousting back.

Have not!

Have too!

And on it went, both of them forgetting all about what started their verbal pissing match as they finished loading the truck. They headed back to the estate, not giving Devon’s behaviours another thought, but they were right—there was something playing on Devon’s mind.

Is everything all right, Mr. Williams? queried Simon.

Yes, everything is fine, Simon. I’m just a little tired is all, Devon replied as he stared out the window of the plane.

Simon sensed that everything wasn’t fine, but didn’t pursue it with a line of questioning. Ok, well, if you need anything you know that I...

Devon callously cut Simon off. Really, I am fine. Go about reading your book and stop pestering!

Simon was now certain that something wasn’t right, as he had never been cut off like that before. Without another word, Simon looked back down toward his book and remained that way for the duration of the flight.

As Dutch opened the door of the plane for Devon to get off, Devon turned to Simon and said, I will call you when I’m rested and want you to pick me up.

Simon was taken aback by that, for he always remained nearby, even when Devon stayed at the villa. With a slight stammer Simon said, Umm, ok. With a shrug and a confused look he stepped backward into the plane.

Dutch put Devon’s two small bags in the trunk of the taxi that Simon had arranged to be there. Will that be all, Mr. Williams? he asked.

Yes, that’s fine. Thank you, Dutch, replied Devon before he followed Stewart into the taxi.

Welcome back, Mr. Williams. Do you need any stops along the way? asked the driver.

No, Devon answered shortly.

No more words were spoken on the drive from the airstrip to the villa. Devon just gazed out the side window for the near thirty-minute journey.

Just set my bags on the table, Max. Thanks, Devon said as they went inside.

Max tipped his hat and placed the gratuity that Devon gave him in his shirt pocket. You have my number, Mr. Williams, if ever you need. Then he departed, closing the door behind him.

Devon stood silently looking around the room for a moment, then went over to the bar, poured a glass of red wine, walked over to his stereo, pressed the power button, and placed the needle upon the record that was on the turntable. Even though he was only thirty-seven and had grown up in the digital age, he still preferred vinyl. He then proceeded to the patio doors, opening them and stepping out into the hot sun just as the soft sound of piano grew in the air behind him. Looking down the steep, lush green slope to the harbour below, he eyed his boat and contemplated—perhaps he would take it for a voyage in the next few days. Stewart found his favourite spot on the patio in the shade of the palm tree that hung over the front right corner.

After a few glasses of wine and feeling a little hungry, he decided to take Stewart for a walk down the trail to the harbour for a bite to eat. He slipped into a pair of shorts, t-shirt, sandals, and ball cap, grabbed his sunglasses, then headed out with Stewart following close behind. At the bottom of the trail, he clipped a leash to Stewart’s collar and proceeded along the harbour’s edge until he reached the open seating area of the eatery he fancied.

Upon sitting down, a young waitress greeted him. Hi, Mr. Williams. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. How are you?

Very well, thank you. What’s new and exciting on your menu since I was here last? he asked without looking up.

Not querying her on how she was doing or how her day was going, the waitress presented a more formal posture and placed the menu on the table in front of him. Our special today is the Caribbean chicken and pineapple kebabs with banana salad. It comes with a non-alcoholic beverage of your choice from the selection on the back page of our menu. I will give you a few minutes, if you like.

Passing the menu back to her he replied, That won’t be necessary, I’ll have the paella and a glass of your best Chardonnay.

That will be fifteen to twenty minutes, replied the girl. Would you like something to start with such as...?

He abruptly cut her off and said, Yes, I would like a glass of your best Chardonnay! Better yet, could you bring me the bottle?

Without another word, the waitress vanished in the direction of the bar, returning but a minute later with a bottle sitting in a nautilus shell holder filled with ice. She reached for the bottle and was going to open it for him when he gestured for the opener saying, I’ll get that, thanks. She walked away.

Back at the estate, David and Rigly finished unloading the truck and completed a few small tasks that Dutch had asked them to do.

So what are we gonna do tonight, Rigs? asked David.

I think we should go out and have a few, seeing how we’re not setting up for any shows in the next little while, Rigly suggested.

Sounds good to me, said David. And where do ya figure we should go?

Rigly thought for a moment. Well, I think we should hit Annie’s. I’ve always wanted to go there and I’ve been told there are lots of single ladies at that spot, if ya get my drift.

All right, Annie’s it is! I’ll grab a little puff to take with us too. said David.

They cleaned themselves up and headed out, determined to tie one on.

Rita was going about her daily routine of turning down the house when Simon walked in with Dutch. What are you doing here? she asked, turning toward Simon.

Simon replied, I’m not sure at the moment. Mr. Williams didn’t want me to stay at the villa with him this time. I believe he’s troubled about something. I’m quite concerned!

That’s strange, although I have noticed a change in him too over the last couple of weeks, said Rita.

Dutch added, Yes, we were discussing that on the flight back, but what can any of us do about it? I work for him and I’m not sticking my nose in his business. I figure if he wants to tell me anything, he will when he’s ready. Then he turned and walked through the kitchen, heading for the workshop.

Rita stepped closer to Simon and said, I think Dutch is right. If there was something going on that he wanted us to know about, he’d tell us.

Yeah, said Simon with a sigh. Perhaps you’re right. I just wish I was there is all. I’m worried about him.

Rita started to walk away then stopped, turned back to Simon, and pointed her finger at him. Don’t fret anymore about it tonight. Get some rest and treat this as some downtime for yourself! I’m sure he will be fine, she insisted as she strolled off to bed.

I hope you’re right, Simon replied. Then he poured a cup of tea and sat at the table alone, thinking of how he could find out what was going on at the villa without Devon knowing. He started to devise a plan.

The Ranch

Dianne brushed out Donella’s long, jet-black hair in her dressing room as the audience filtered into the hall and seated themselves. Dark, medieval music played faintly in the background and the burgundy-coloured curtains were drawn across the stage.

So why have you never married? asked Dianne.

Looking back at her reflectively through the mirror, Donella stated, I have never met a man who has what I’m looking for.

Dianne prodded curiously, And what might that be?

Do you think I should put blonde streaks through my hair? asked Donella, evading the question.

Dianne sensed she had hit a nerve and avoided repeating herself. Perhaps one thin streak down each side, she said as she gently laid two lengths of hair across the front of Donella’s shoulders.

I’ll have to give it some thought, said Donella as she placed wide, silver rings over the first two fingers of her right hand accompanied by a wide, silver band, encrusted with emeralds, around her left wrist.

Donella was a very attractive woman with long legs and hazel eyes that seemed to see through you when she fixed a look in your direction. With her heels on, she was all of six foot six—and they weren’t just any heels. They were jet black with straps that wrapped around her feet and up her calves. The banding formed a web on the top of each foot. She was focused, filled with confidence, and in complete control of everything around her at all times, or so she thought.

Donella proceeded to the stage and stood behind the curtain as the house lights went down. A voice reminiscent of Vincent Price filled the hall. Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to witness is a one-of-a-kind event. I ask that you turn your cell phones off and refrain from taking any pictures. Doneva may call upon you to participate in the show and it would be in your best interest to do so! This was followed by a low, spooky laugh, then the voice said, Enjoy, carefully. (Doneva was her stage name—she thought it had a darker ring to it.)

The curtains pulled back with the sound effect of chains hauling them open. The music faded. In complete blackness and silence, a small light grew upon Doneva’s feet as she stood there motionless. She spoke slowly and decisively, growing louder and louder with perfect clarity, her deep, dark voice projecting to the back row without the help of a microphone.

I want you all to look at my feet! Clear your mind! Place your hands on your knees! Then she paused. Your hands are getting heavy. They are getting so heavy that you cannot lift them up off your knees! Don’t be afraid! There is a way you can get your hands off your knees. Just come up here and see me. I will release your hands and you will be fine.

A dozen people, half women and half men, made their way down the carpeted aisles, navigating along the trail of usher lights at the base of each row, then they filtered onto the stage. She always had twelve subjects, half female and half male. Nobody knew how she did that. She touched each one with the index finger on her right hand while leaning into them and whispering something. As she did that, their eyes closed and they stepped back behind her with their hands hanging freely at their sides. She then had complete control of them, and then the stage lights slowly rose upward.

Donella had been able to hypnotize people since the age of seven. Her parents discovered her ability of control the day her father walked into the kitchen and saw his wife making a chocolate cake for Donella’s breakfast. She had put her mom in a baking trance. They took her to counselling and, in time, they believed she understood her gift and why it wasn’t right to use it like that. Yet, she was getting kids in trouble at school by making them do things to entertain her. Sometimes, it simply wasn’t funny, and other times it was downright dangerous or embarrassing, to say the least. Some of the faculty, including the principal, were a little afraid of her. She didn’t have any close friends and never a boyfriend. She was very much a loner growing up, but somehow that didn’t seem to bother her as much as it did her parents. Some people even believed that she could hypnotize animals, however, there was never anyone to say that they actually saw her do it.

Now at the age of thirty-four, Donella had honed her skill and had an extremely successful career made up of glitzy adult-rated shows and all the spinoff merchandise that went along with it. One clothing designer even introduced a line of evening wear called Donevening Wear, and it was highly sought after by wealthy women and certain types of men all around the world.

Doneva’s show continued seamlessly as she had the men do awkward, embarrassing acts that leaned toward the demeaning side, while the ladies interacted with them erotically in ways that some may have found offensive. Her shows had some comedic value mixed in with shock value to combine for a mind-altering ninety minutes. Some people gasped and others laughed, but they were all entertained and never did anyone ask for their money back. As always, she ended the show to a standing ovation with a long round of applause.

That was amazing, as always! How did it feel? asked Dianne, as she walked Donella back to her dressing room.

With half-closed eyes and an assassin’s smile, Donella replied ominously, "That was fucking fantastic." Her voice was low and slow, sounding possessed, as if she had just been injected with some kind of drug.

Dianne didn’t comment, but she was concerned because she had never seen this kind of reaction after a show. Donella was sharply short with Dianne and extremely demanding. Perhaps it was the inquiry earlier about why she wasn’t married, but she didn’t know and could only surmise. She quietly helped Donella out of her attire and makeup, then, as per usual, she saw to it that transportation back to the ranch was arranged.

Donella had a horse ranch about fifty miles north of Atlanta, Georgia. It was located in a quiet rural area just outside Canton, consisting of twenty horse stalls in the main barn attached to a riding arena and hay barn by a breezeway. Annexed off the other side was the tack room and the grooming quarters. She had a couple dozen goats, as well as chickens that pecked their way around the property, freestyle. The land comprised green pastures, grassy fields, various types of large trees, and scads of sunflowers everywhere; all fenced in to secure it from outsiders who just might wander in from the surrounding area. It wasn’t that she didn’t want visitors; it was more that she was paranoid of strangers appearing out of nowhere. The ranch was a place of comfort where she could ride and play without having to deal with people. Donella really wasn’t at ease with any conversation unless she had full control of it.

Jack and Daniel were the two ranch hands who looked after most everything. Jack was in his early sixties, mostly grey, and always a tad bit scruffy. He knew horses and knew how to keep a ranch running smoothly. If anything was wrong with the horses, he would see to it. He was an expert at breaking them in and training them as well.

Daniel was much younger, in his mid-twenties, with energy to burn. He was all ranch boy and loved what he did. He was a very handsome lad with blue eyes and a James Dean smile. His main responsibilities were maintenance and feeding the animals. If he wasn’t cutting hay, mending fences, or repairing something on a building, he would be tinkering with the farm equipment, always making sure that it was in tip-top shape. The only thing that could pull his attention away from all of it was Molly.

Molly Jensen was every ounce of the word sweet, right down to her checkered apron. She had long blonde hair, which she kept tied back most of the time, and the prettiest smile that just warmed one’s heart. She was orphaned at the age of six and shuffled around between foster parents. She managed to complete school with home economics being the one subject she excelled at, and through circumstances of luck, she wound up on the ranch to cook and clean for Donella. Being all of twenty-three, very shy and somewhat withdrawn, this was a perfect place for her. She would cook a down-home meal or she would bring something up on her laptop, which sat near the kitchen counter, and create something totally new. There was never a complaint from anyone on the ranch at mealtimes, nor was anyone ever absent.

Donella treated Molly like a younger sibling, always making sure she had what she needed and giving her advice about life. Molly always listened intently to Donella, looking up to her as a big sister. There wasn’t anything Molly wouldn’t do for Donella—not yet anyway.

Welcome back, Miss Saint-Clair. How was your trip? asked Daniel.

It was great, thanks, Donella replied as she walked up the steps to the veranda of the ranch house. How did you make out with the south pasture? she asked, turning to face him.

All finished and the new stallion is grazing on it as we speak, he replied, anxiously tipping his hat to her.

That’s good. I’d like to see him after I rest a bit and have a bite to eat, she responded.

Ok, I’ll let Jack know when he returns from town. He went to pick up a few things about a half hour ago, he said.

Thank you, Daniel, she said as she opened the door to enter the house. She noticed the screen door was hanging a little