That’s not even an attempt at a working title for whatever story this winds up going into. I just couldn’t come up with a name for it. It won’t be “Immaterial Girl,” though, since I already have “Emma-terial” as a working name for a story featuring a very similar character. Don’t really have a story in mind for this one at the moment…
“Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“You’ll see when we get there,” she said with a giggle. “Stop worrying — you know I won’t
let anything happen to you.”
He tried to sit back and relax, but the situation was just too weird. Nothing in his normal daily experience could have prepared him for this — he was in the driver’s seat of his van, but he wasn’t driving. His wrists were cuffed, and the cuffs were secured to the steering column. He couldn’t see the hands driving the car, or the ones massaging his shoulders. Or, for that matter, the owner of the feminine voice trying to get him to relax.
Whoever she is — whatever “she” is — she had taken up residence in his house. Had taken charge, in fact — she now decided what he wore, what and when he ate, everything; but she did it so amicably that he had little trouble following her directions.
Lately, though, she had been asserting herself a bit more forcefully, using restraints where she had previously used persuasion.
(some time later)
The van stopped at a rocky cliff. The door swung open as Jeff’s cuffs came undone, and he floated out, with unseen hands grasping his upper arms, wrists, and ankles.
“What are you about to do to me?” he asked nervously, as he floated just beyond the edge of the cliff.
“Don’t you trust me?” she asked, in a coy tone.
In a shaky voice he replied, “Until recently I only had to trust you not to poison my dinner, or clean out my bank accounts. This is different.”
“How is this different?” she said, genuinely baffled. “I’m not gonna do you any kind of harm, but I need to know you trust me.”
“Why do you have to scare me to death to see if I trust you?”