Psychological Control

CHAPTER 2: My days with Mike and the commercial dance group

-oOo-

The clock on the car displayed 9:30. A black jeep entered an empty neighborhood and parked in front of a wall that was filled with ugly graffiti. Behind the wall was a rowdy crowd holding a boisterous gathering.

Mike turned off the car engine, took the handcuffs at the backseat and hung them on his belt, grabbed the police baton, fixed his cap, then pulled the door open and jumped out.

"Tap tap tap" – the sound of baton hitting against the door did not bring any attention; the rowdy crowd inside did not stop their activities; they were busy skating or smoking, ignoring the well-dressed Mike in his police uniform.

I stepped out from the crowd; after getting away from all the human shadows and smoky air, my terrified face appeared under the light.

"Hey kid, someone has reported that you guys are disturbing the neighborhood here," said Mike with a cold expression, tapping the baton on his palm.

"What?…But….There are basically no residents around this area! You must get it wrong!" – I was pushed back a few steps by him, anxiously trying to explain.

Mike seemed to be a rather cold-hearted person, he pushed through me, pulled the door open and walked inside right away: "I don't care if I got it wrong or not. My job is to clear this mess."

My face sank as I followed him inside. The people inside looked like the sea being divided into two by Mike, separating to two groups.

—

"Aaaahhh!" Along with the high-pitched scream of the audience, my face suddenly appeared on the big screen on the stage. I displayed a smile that totally did not match with my "good student" look when opening the door earlier. Followed by the sound of the door being shut, the video officially ended, the lights on the stages were lit again.

Under the lights I slowly walked out from the left-sided backstage, smile on face, hands in jeans pockets. Mike was swinging his police baton, also walking out from the right-sided backstage, facing me.

This was a performance with a storyline, which also was my suggestion to the group's manager. A few years later this type of performance would become mundane, but at the time it was still considered creative and unique. To attract the interest of audience who had no understanding about dance, plainly having the skills was not enough.

Violent neighborhood's fights was a flexible topic; after being arranged into the storyline it successfully increased the tension of the dance. I followed the male dancers appeared in the video, together with everyone standing straightly in the middle of the stage.

I gave the schoolgirls standing closest to me a mischievous smile, and while their faces were turning red with excitement, I hopped onto the stage making a provoking gesture at Mike.

The second I raised my hand, a ferocious melody broke the silence on the originally quiet stage; the opening sound was like a signal.

I shook my hip rhythmically in front of Mike; at the same time he had put his baton aside, in the fixed gazes of the audience, starting to show off his dance skills. After a short section in the song, he made an angry look and headed towards me, pulling my arm. We made an advanced move in the air together then made the scene looked like I was thrown down away on the floor.

I turned my body around, grabbed the baton Mike put on the floor; my body made a curvy shape as I moved.

The audience was cheering wholeheartedly, I walked towards Mike as we changed our positions. The baton was sucked in my mouth; I zipped down my jacket, showing of my pale skin under the cloth. You got it right, I did not wear any t-shirt under the jacket.

To increase my seductiveness from my just-like-a-good-student appearance, also to not be downplayed when comparing with Mike in his eye-catching police uniform, I took off my jacket to show off the lovely curves and muscle of my upper half body.

Together with the tight jeans, under the stage light, my pale skin became dazzling. Following the tempo of the song, I threw my jacket down on the floor.

Even though in the Middle Age, because of religious myths like "people who crawled up from Hell had red hair because of the hell fire", redhead were usually ostracized or tortured till death, in this age there were always some people infatuated with their pale skill and ginger hair that almost looked like a flame under the light.

Mike and I, according to the rehearsal arrangement, would take turn showing off our dance skills. As the golden signboard of the dance group, there was almost no type of dance Mike didn't know. This opening performance for the competition, 2 years from now, also would become our signature performance in any competition.

As the 10-minute opening performance was drawing to the end, after Mike's one movement, I took a few steps back, acting like being defeated, fell down on the floor. After that Mike made the same movements with some other male dancers that had been standing around, throwing all of them onto the floor.

Finally Mike walked towards me, arrogantly looking down from above, his military boot stepped on my hand that was trying to grab the baton. He slowly pulled me up, locking my hands behind my back. Then he took down the handcuffs hanging on his belt and dragged me out.

"Mike Mike Mike !" – as the music faded away, the audience stopped holding their breath and screamed out together.

"Brian! Brian! You are the best!" – our names were continously screammed. Next would be some other performances by other dancers.

In the high-pitched shrieks of the girls and exciting atmosphere that stirred up the whole club, the competition officially begun.

…

After two hours working, I was soaked in my sweats. Luckily, after getting out the pub the cool air at night helped me relaxed more.

Mike was holding a black leather case that kept his performing outfits; I also took my clothes from him.

"The manager said he would increase your wage, did you know that?" – Mike looked displeased; he opened the car's back door and threw the black case in, then slammed it hard and got back to the driving seat.

I shrugged unconcernedly, putting my clothes in the trunk then climbed to the back seat.

"Even when that's the case, I don't plan to change my decision. Didn't he know that I'm leaving for university? I thought you've told him." I took off the tight jeans that were covered in dust from rolling on the stage, then stripped down the underwear that had been making me uncomfortable because it was wet from sweats.

Mike's stare on the rearview mirror met my eyes; he shamelessly smiled at me.

It has been two years since I first joined the Chippendales dance group, starting from the time Mike brought me to the competition. The lord of fate finally was nice to me for once; meeting Mike and got directly admitted to the group saved me a lot of time. I originally expected that process would take longer.

That one time Mike made me his dance partner, persuading the manager to let me try one time on the stage. I agreed without hesitance, showing off all the skills I had learned for years.

Finally, my ability along with the recommendations moved the group's manager. Mike, as my partner, started to get me used to the work.

I was a good intern – since Mike didn't have anything to teach me, in the end, we became friends. Mike could be considered as my very first friend since I became Brian Morse.

Mike had been in the Chippendales group for 5 years. The weird thing was no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get any information from him or even from other people about his life before that 5 years. It almost like he suddenly appeared from air.

He could easily catch women's soft spot, obviously I meant in a sexual way, he seemed to only interest in matured women. Talking to him would always involve talking about women. We never mentioned our past, maintaining a good but not too deep relationship that matched just what I wanted in friends.

"Mike", I put on the shirt and my comfy cotton pants while talking, "I have planned to mention my resignation with the manager, then officially leave the job a week later."

Mike had finished changing his clothes long before; he started the car engine, his hand was moving half way then stopped because of my words. He was silent for a while then said: "Isn't it still a month before school starts? You know Palo Alto near San Francisco has a lot of commercial dance groups. If you need, I know a pretty good group manager over there…"

I wiped the sweats on my forehead away and waved my hand to signal a refusal: "It's fine, I've been thinking of other ways to earn money. It's hard to arrange my personal time working in dance group, especially this year as the group grows and expands. We often have to work over time because of the clients' requests. Even though the paycheck for each performance was pretty good, but my savings in the past 2 years was quite enough, for the mean time I won't need to work so many hours in my freshman year."

Mike looked at me from the rearview mirror; it seemed like some thoughts flashed through in his eyes, yet it was too fast I couldn't catch it.

Actually I had no complains about my current job, I also did not resign because I got to university. If I planned to continue my path as a dancer, Mike's offer was obviously good. But I had my own reason, resigning for school was a reasonable excuse that nobody could object.

Everything was in my plan.

My unfinished academic path in the previous life that always made me regretted, I now successfully, through self-learning and knowledge from before, got admitted to the reputable Psychology department of Stanford University.

I also successfully kept my savings. My bank account balance, together with my scholarship, could cover the fees for my first two years in university.

Investigation on Dexter could also be considered going well.

Even though this was a bit over of my controlling, but Brian's insistence on his brother Dexter left me no choice but giving more effort on this matter.

Dexter's cage in his heart was still too weak. Because of his adopted mom's death, he couldn't control the bloodthirsty monster in him. The first time he committed a crime was a revenge for his adopted mom.

As expected, his loving adopted father, also because of other personal reasons, didn't delate him. He even taught Dexter how to cover his trace and tamper the evidence.

Officer Harry was an experienced police; under his guidance, Dexter learned how to destroy the evidence and blend in the crowd.

Even though I didn't support giving up on Dexter's mental treatment, but I also knew that his abnormality wasn't something officer Harry could treat. The real key was in Brian's hand.

Therefore I can only blame myself for not knowing my stuffs well enough. At the moment even my mental state was a chaos, how could I go help Dexter. Furthermore, I was selfishly afraid, afraid that contacting with Dexter would make Brian's personality broke through my control.

The only thing that consoled me a bit, in the end was Harry's existence. Harry imposed rules on Dexter, putting another layer of chains in Dexter's heart, allowing him to push the monster under his control temporarily for now. So until Harry's death I would not have to worry too much about this.

It was quiet in the car. I stopped my flow of thoughts, looking out from the window. "Are you driving to my house?" I asked in surprise, realizing that this road wasn't the way to the practice room of the dance group.

"Yeah, it's too late now, I should take you home first and return those outfits tomorrow." Mike stared at the road, replied.