To Fight the Black Wind

Chapter 4

Hypnotic therapy is not for all my patients. Many are too untrusting, temperamental, or are unwilling to relax enough to explore their inner thoughts through the guided technique. For a patient like that, I use a more standard set of psychological tools to get to the heart of their malady—if it is possible.

My hypnotic therapy technique came about after much research and thought. The essence of the matter is that many patients cannot face their trauma in the cold, hard light of day. But, in a relaxed, sleepy, hypnotic state, the inner child (or critic) loosens its hold and allows them to examine their trauma with a more objective mind.

I was fortunate that the chemist at Providence Sanatorium was willing to converse with me and come up with the concoction that I use today. The sedative relaxes both the body and the mind without causing blackouts. It is enough to still the discomfort of those unable to relax and open the mind to suggestion, allowing the patient to be led down difficult paths to examine their own fear and trauma. They remain just conscious enough to be aware of me, my guiding authority, and my representation of safety.

This is what I had decided Josephine needed. I was right.

With the sun high in the sky, Josephine was the last of my patients I was to see today. I pulled the drapes closed as Josephine settled in. She looked as neat as she had yesterday, in a pale blue dress and a sweater, but the hollows beneath her eyes were deeper, darker, and more haunted. She watched me with a curious gaze, but said nothing. I had to prompt her into conversation again. “How are you?”

“Did I have the nightmare last night? Yes. Did I bleed again? Yes. Am I in pain? No. No more than usual.” The heiress gestured to the room. “The office is set up in a different manner than yesterday.”

I knew she referred to the sitting area of the office in specific. Her abrupt manner and immediate change of topic said just how bad last night had been. Weary and wary, Josephine hurt.

“Yes. The setup is new for you, but this is how I arrange things for almost all my hypnotherapy sessions. It is a visual cue for your subconscious as much as it is for comfort and utility.”

The two overstuffed armchairs sat across from each other with the coffee table just to the side. The low table held my papers from her file, my examination notes, and the library research. The sedative I liked to use—syringe and drug bottle—sat on top of it all next to my light enhancer.

I sat down across from her. We were very close, with our knees no more than a couple handbreadths apart. This closeness inspired trust and honesty for some patients like Josephine. Others, I had to sit much farther away. “After some careful thought, I have some ideas about your case. Have you experienced anything tragic in the last couple of years? A loss, perhaps?”

Josephine considered this for a long moment. “I have had losses, yes…though, I cannot think of anything I would consider tragic.”

“The loss of a family member or a childhood friend?”

She shook her head. “Not in the last couple of years.”

Repression was a natural reaction to the pain of losing a loved one. It is not unusual for my patients to be unaware of both their loss and the mark it left on their psyche. “I believe your wounds may be a unique case of stigmata-like symptoms born of grief.”

Josephine watched me, waiting for me to elaborate. When I did not, her rigid posture relaxed. “Grief? What am I…who am I grieving for?”

“Grief,” I confirmed. “We will speak of that soon.”

Her face shifted from confusion to surprise and grateful relief. “You believe me? I didn’t…. That I did not harm myself?”

“I believe you.” Josephine had dismissed the idea she was suffering from grief because I might actually believe her. This relief and gratitude would make her much more amenable to our hypnotherapy session. I would need to use this.

Another note of interest. Until this moment, she had not used a contraction with me. Perhaps it was a sign of high emotion. I would watch for it and determine its trigger. Unconscious mannerisms rarely lied—even when the patient was guarded. I gave myself a mental note to notice any and all contractions she used.

Josephine closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You are aware I use hypnotherapy with my patients to get to the roots of their problems.”

She nodded.

“I would like to use this technique on you.”

“What does it require?” Suspicion returned to her voice and stiffened her posture as she opened her eyes once more. “What will it feel like? It sounds…unusual.”

“It is unusual. Odd and strange. Some of my colleagues have called me crazy. However, they cannot deny my results or my number of cured patients.” I shrugged. “It requires nothing from you except your willingness to proceed. You cannot hypnotize a person who does not wish to be. They must be willing.” I gestured to the syringe and bottle of clear liquid. “This is a sedative. Again, it is not required, but it does relax the patient and make them more willing to go on the hypnotic journey.”

“If I do this, what will we do?”

“We will journey into your mind. We will find the source of your pain.”

Josephine locked eyes with me. “You will be with me?” It was a question, a plea, and on the outside edges, it was a command. She was a woman used to being obeyed.

“I will be with you the entire time. I’ll not leave your side.”

“My mind is a dangerous place, if my nightmares are any indication.”

It was a challenge. I nodded. “That may well be, but I will not leave your side while we are in session. You are safe with me.” This was a promise I gave all my patients and I held my promises dear.

Her smile was brittle. “I do not believe that is true, Doctor, but I believe you are sincere.” With that, she unbuttoned the cuff of one sleeve and pushed both the sweater and linen fabric up, exposing her forearm. She offered it to me.

I didn’t hesitate. I prepared the sedative and administered it. All the while, I spoke: part distraction, part information. “In my research, I came across a scholar who investigated the way the mind reacted when presented with the impossible—miracles, magic, the supernatural. When we are young, we accept these things because we don’t know that we shouldn’t. The same thing happens in dreams. When we are older and we are presented with such, we reject it until we have no other explanation. In dreams, we revert to a childlike state of acceptance of the impossible because our minds do not let us know it is impossible.”

“This is what the hypnotherapy will do?”

“Yes.” I pressed a cotton ball to the injection site before covering it with a bandage. I even helped her straighten her sleeve and button her cuff, as if I were a stand-in for Hanna. “If we are expecting something miraculous to occur, it is as if our minds regress to an innocent state of acceptance. Thus, when the event happens, we accept it without question.”

I dimmed the lights until one light shone above and behind Josephine. “This is what I want you to do. I want you to acknowledge and accept every thought that comes to your head as we journey. No matter what you think, you will be safe. I shall be by your side.”

“Do you promise?” Josephine’s voice already had the soft quality of one relaxed.

I saw her slump against the comfortable chair. Her dark brown eyes watched me from under heavy lids. “I promise. I won’t leave your side while we’re in session.” I picked up the light enhancer from the coffee table—a device I had invented to help my patients go under. It was little more than a wooden frame with a metal disk suspended in the middle by a thin wire. I sat down across from her. “Focus your attention here, on this disk, Josephine.” I set the disk rocking back and forth. The moving light played over her face.

Josephine smiled. “No watch?”

“No watch,” I confirmed. “This is therapy, not a sideshow act. No need for a flashy watch to catch the eyes of both an audience and a participant. Just this. Just you. Just me. Focus on this light and let your thoughts wander. Let them go where they will. If your eyelids are heavy, let them close.”

She closed her eyes, opened them once, and then closed them again.

I kept my voice low and smooth. A consistent monotone was the key until the patient was under. “Remember, you are safe with me.”

“Safe.” Josephine’s voice was soft and asleep. The sedative mixture worked quickly.

I lowered the light enhancer to my lap. “We are going on a journey. I want you to think about the last three weeks. Think about them as if they happened to someone else. There is a sheer veil between you and the memories. When you remember, it will be as if it happened to someone else. They cannot touch you. Do you understand, Josephine?”

“It cannot touch me.” Her chest rose and fell in regular, slow breaths. Calm and serene.

“Go deeper, Josephine. Sleep. Let your thoughts take you where they will.” When Josephine did not respond, I waited and counted her slow breaths. On her seventh breath I asked, “Josephine? Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Her answer was an exhale of breath.

“We have begun your journey. Where are you?”

“I’m approaching the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber.”

I paused. That was a peculiar turn of phrase I had never heard before. It seemed specific and important to Josephine. “Describe where you are. Tell me about the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber.”

“I walk the path of stone toward the stairs. On either side of me is the mist. I can hear things in it.”

I watched Josephine’s face. She appeared more than just relaxed. She was comfortable with her surroundings. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, thank you.” The response was automatic. “I know this place. I have been here before.” Josephine paused for a long time, her head twitching back and forth. “Where are you?”

“I am right here, Josephine. Right by your side.”

“Not there. I need you here. You promised. The Stairs are just down the path. I need you with me.”

My frown matched hers. I didn’t understand. I put the light enhancer on the table and reached out to cover one of her hands with my own. “I’m right here, Josephine.”

She flipped her hand over and grabbed me by the wrist in a grip stronger than I expected. “There you are. Come. We need to go. There is something I must do.”

I winced as the light above Josephine’s head shone bright in my face. Then gravity shifted and I was falling through a rainbow of colors. Before I could cry out, my falling body shifted and I was flying. I could see Josephine’s hand on my wrist, but nothing else of her. All around me colored light pulsed and shimmered in undulating waves.

Gravity reasserted itself as my head spun and the world tilted sideways. My body, crouched forward as I had been sitting on the edge of the chair, stumbled forward in an effort to keep me from falling. The chair was gone. Josephine grabbed me by the shoulder. It kept me from tumbling to the ground, but not from banging into the hard wall that hadn’t been there moments before.

Dazed, I pulled back from my patient and the wall. I stared. I was not in my office anymore. I didn’t know where I was. I hugged myself, blinking and gasping, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

We were in a stone corridor without any windows or doors. The air was fresh with a faint tinge of wetness. It reminded me a little of the asylum, but the smell was wrong—wetter, loamier. I looked for the lights, saw none, and wondered how the hallway was illuminated. The walls were cool and moist to the touch. More importantly, they were solid.

It was impossible. The wet chill, so familiar and so different from the normal atmosphere of the asylum, told me otherwise. All my senses told me I was here, in this new, unfamiliar place.

Josephine stood halfway between me and the darkness at the end of the hallway—a hallway that hadn’t been there before. One I didn’t recognize. “Where are we?”

She tilted her head and gave me the kind of look you give a particularly slow student when the answer is obvious. “The Dreamlands, of course.”

I walked to her, noting that she no longer wore a dress. Instead, she wore the kind of thing a working archaeologist might wear in the field—pants, boots, shirt, gloves, belt with canteen, and a vest. Everything had changed. I was still in my usual work attire—long skirt, blouse, warm suit jacket, stockings, and sensible shoes. I was the same as before. “I don’t understand. I, we, were in my office.”

Josephine let out a slow breath. “We don’t have time for this. I have a task to perform.”

“What task?” My mind spun, confused. We’d just been in a therapy session in my office. How had we gotten here?

“Once we get down the Stairs.” She turned and walked down the corridor.

I rubbed my face and looked again. The stone corridor was still there. I followed her at a slower pace, grappling with this turn of events. Perhaps my foray into anomalous thinking put me into a similar hypnotic state. Perhaps, that was what was needed with Josephine’s case. I struggled to put myself back into the doctor’s state of mind, to regain my equilibrium.

“Josephine, describe what you see.”

She stopped and turned to me. “You see what I see. Don’t you?”

“You mentioned mist before. I don’t see mist.”

“Oh. Well, there is a stone path. It is black and worn, but not dusty. All around us is mist and shadows within the mist. Above, there is a purple sky with blue-purple clouds.” She gestured to each area as she spoke. “What do you see?”

I took a slow breath, working hard to remain calm—or to at least appear to be calm. I would not panic. I had my patient’s mental state to consider. “I see a long stone corridor that leads into darkness.” I pointed down the hallway. “It’s cool and damp here. I don’t know where the light comes from.” I watched her with a keen eye to see what her response would be to the fact that I disagreed with what she said was around us.

Her response was not as I expected.

Josephine laughed and clapped her hands together with delight. “That is the Dreamlands. It is a bit different for everyone. Still, you see the same path I do, leading in the same direction. That is enough for now.” She turned away and walked toward the darkness.

The farther she went, the more the darkness receded. I could almost see a door at the end of the hall. As I moved to follow her, a small hand touched my arm. Behind me was a child in tan shorts, white shirt, peach tie, and a tan jacket. He also wore black knee socks and black shoes. “What can I do for you?” I asked.

“You understand that you are making a huge mistake, yes?” The child gave a contemptuous sniff. “That woman is hysterical. If you follow her, you will fall into her delusions.”

“Miss Ruggles is my patient, Dr. Mintz. I will do what I believe is best. Right now, it is a joint hypnotherapy session.” Eying the spoiled child, part of me understood this version of Dr. Mintz was my subconscious fighting against the surrealistic turn the therapy session had taken. Dr. Mintz was jealous of my skill and my ability to help my patients without torturing them, and so my mind had transformed him into the form of a petulant little boy.

“You will regret this,” he warned.

“No, I won’t. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.” I turned from the child and felt the door close behind me. Josephine stood there with a smile.

She gestured before us. “The Seventy Steps of Light Slumber.”

Though we had not moved, the corridor was gone. We were on the edge of a cliff at the top of a set of steep stairs. They were wooden and interconnected by stiff wires that kept them still as they hung in the air without a visible means of support. It was a straight line down to an island landing, also suspended in mid-air.

On this landing, there was a huge gate that spanned the width of the rocky platform. Gold-bronze and glimmering, the gate reached skyward and appeared to go on forever, disappearing into a roiling darkness above that reminded me of storm clouds. I looked down and saw the cliff edge we stood on jutted out over nothing. Not darkness. Just nothing. It was all my mind could compare it to. My stomach flip-flopped. I stepped backward.

“Time to go, Doctor.” Josephine beckoned before she took to those fragile stairs, the only touchstone above the chasm of nothingness.

I looked down to the landing again. This time, I saw two robed figures—one in red and one in black—standing before the gates. Each held a huge weapon at the ready.