Hypnotized

by Georgia Le Carre

  I had never encountered anything like it before. I could liken the sensation only to the moment when a youth first discovers that he is attracted to other men. There is sadness and regret that he is not like everybody else, and dismay at the task of confronting his parents with the ‘bad’ news. Laced underneath the trepidation is intense curiosity, terrible excitement for the forbidden, and not an ounce of revulsion.

  Right there and then I knew that under no circumstances could I treat Lady Olivia. I was too sexually aroused to remain detached or impartial. And I could only see the situation in my pants worsening with more proximity. The last thing in the world I needed was to court another scandal. Nothing good could come of it—for me, or her. I would give her one session and at the end of it when I had a better overview of her case, I would recommend a couple of regression experts whom I trusted.

  I gestured my open palm toward the chair facing my desk. ‘Have a seat,’ I invited.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied and began moving toward it.

  Coming forward, Beryl raised her eyebrows and gave me an old-fashioned look as she passed me Lady Olivia’s forms.

  ‘I’ll be out front if you need anything,’ she offered archly.

  ‘Thank you, Beryl,’ I said dryly, but she just winked, and quietly closed the door.

  I turned my attention back to Lady Olivia. She had just reached the chair and was slipping into it. For some seconds I stood simply staring at her, mesmerized, actually helpless in the pull of her sexuality. Totally at odds with her cool expression, her carefully measured greeting, her severe hairstyle, and dull, somber clothing, her movements were shockingly sensuous.

  She actually reminded me of those insects that have no voices and communicate by vibrating their bodies. Her body was communicating with me. The touch-me-not image she had created for her new amnesiac self was not the truth. Behind the façade lived a supremely sexual creature. The clue was in the startlingly red, come-hither lipstick.

  I tore my eyes away, dropped her forms on the table, lowered myself back into my chair, and faced her. She was watching me like a cat, dignified, detached, and unblinking. Up close and facing the light from the window, her eyes were like two slicks of liquid mercury, completely opaque. I didn’t know it then, but I was as doomed as the Red Indians at the Fort Pitt siege who were tricked into accepting small pox infected blankets and handkerchiefs from their white enemies.

  ‘Lady Olivia—’

  ‘You must call me Olivia. Lady Olivia is too grand.’ She wrinkled her nose charmingly. ‘It makes me feel awfully pretentious.’

  I grinned at her. ‘Nervous, Olivia?’

  She smiled back. Great smile. ‘Extremely.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s painless.’

  ‘Oh! Good.’

  ‘Right then. Let’s see what we have here.’ I pulled her forms toward me and glanced at them quickly.

  Age: Twenty-five.

  Not on any prescription medication.

  No to the illegal drugs question—or at least none that she wanted to disclose.

  No to photosensitive epilepsy

  No nervous disorders of any kind.

  Non-smoker.

  Alcohol consumption: Two to five units a week.

  No allergies.

  No phobias that she can think of.

  In short—a model citizen.

  ‘It all looks good,’ I said looking up.

  She was staring at me again with that intent cat-look of hers. ‘That’s marvelous. So you will be able to hypnotize me?’

  ‘I’ll give it a try. As I explained to your stepmother, not everybody is susceptible to hypnosis.’

  ‘Oh.’ In that one little blameless sound was a world of disappointment.

  I leaned back, my chair tipping, and regarded her with a friendly expression. ‘Tell me, Olivia, what are you expecting to come out of your session?’

  Her hands fluttered. ‘I suppose I want to be able to remember my past—or at least some of it.’

  I nodded. ‘Do you remember nothing at all of your past?’

  ‘Almost nothing.’

  I found my eyes roving her face distractedly. Her complexion was milky white and when she spoke she hardly moved her mouth at all.

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘My first and most vivid memory is of my grandmother. She was smoking a menthol-tipped cigarette in the Tapestry Room and she opened her silver cigarette box and popped one between my lips so I could pretend to smoke. I remembered the thrill of sucking on it, the cold minty air that came out of the filter, and her amused, indulgent expression as she looked down at me. I knew that she loved me dearly and I loved her just as well.’

  ‘How old do you think you were then?’

  She shrugged one shoulder, a lazy, sinuous movement. ‘I don’t know. Maybe seven.’

  Her lips had not shut after she had spoken but remained parted and moist. A glimmer of perfect white teeth showed in the gap. And I suddenly and absolutely craved to see her naked and sucking my cock.

  I coughed. ‘How soon after your accident did this memory surface?’

  ‘It happened at the hospital as I was coming out of the anesthetic. After that there were no more clear memories—just vague impressions of familiarity, feeling that I knew a place or a person, and unconnected—I must say, disconcerting—flashes of images.’

  ‘Disconcerting?’ I questioned.

  ‘Yes. I’ll get a flash of something and when I try to remember more I’ll end up with a stabbing headache. My doctor says it’s some sort of post-traumatic thing. At other times I get to a point then my mind will go completely blank, as if I have come up to a brick wall.’

  I nodded and tried hard to concentrate. ‘I see. What about dreams? Do you dream of the past?’

  She frowned. ‘Not really. But I do have a recurring dream where I am going down a dark hallway. I think it could be the east wing of Marlborough Hall, our family home, but I’m not sure. I seem to be very young because my bare feet are very small and my toes are painted shell pink, but untidily, the way a child would paint them.’

  Unconsciously she hugs herself.

  ‘Then I reach a door and I am suddenly filled with a frightfully intense sense of impending doom. I want to turn around and walk away, but I cannot. My whole body is clenched and trembling with fear. I am so terrified I feel sick, but I turn the knob and open the door.’

  She lifts a shaking hand and wipes her nape as if she is smoothing down the hairs standing up at the back of her neck.

  ‘I find myself at the threshold of an unpainted, uncarpeted, desolate room. It is bare but for a rocking chair that is rocking all by itself. As if someone has just vacated it. I know from the silent fear that hangs in the air that something very bad happened in that room. Then I wake up in a cold sweat, frightened, uneasy, and with a strong sense that I am in terrible danger.’

  I stared at her, surprised and unsettled. This was not at all going the way I thought it would. ‘Do you see a psychiatrist?’

  ‘Yes. I see Dr. Greenhalgh once a week.’

  I nodded. ‘Good. One last question. How did you feel when you first saw your family?’

  She shifted uneasily in her chair. ‘I don’t know. I could hardly believe it when they said they were my family.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It just seemed extraordinary.’

  ‘In what way?’

  A strange expression flickered across her face. She clasped her hands in her lap. ‘I’m afraid you’ll think me awfully ungrateful.’

  ‘Try me?’

  She licked her lip and, looking me directly in the eye, said, ‘Because I felt no love for them at all… No matter what they said or did for me.’

  3

  ‘I wouldn’t call that ingratitude, Olivia,’ I said mildly. ‘Trauma can have totally unpredictable effects on the brain and psyche.’

  She smiled uncertainly. ‘That’s what Dr. Greenhalgh says, too.

  ‘Right. We’ll start off wi
th a word association exercise. I’ll say a word and you tell me the first thing that comes into your mind.’

  She frowned. ‘A word association exercise? What has that to do with hypnosis?’

  ‘We want you to remain as calm and relaxed as possible through your descent into hypnosis. That means avoiding any words that elicit a negative or ambivalent response from you. And since you can’t tell me about any phobias or painful memory associations from the past, a word play exercise is the easiest way to excavate undesirable triggers. Bear in mind that some of the words I am going to throw at you have nothing to do with the process, but are in the mix to keep your mind free-wheeling.’

  Her eyes shimmered. ‘All right.’

  ‘Once we have established your parameters I will take you next door and we’ll start your hypnosis.’

  She turned her head nervously toward the door I had indicated.

  As I did with all my clients I immediately put her at ease. ‘It’s a soundproof room. All our sessions will be recorded to protect you from impropriety and me from any accusations of impropriety. Ready to start?’ I asked, picking up my pen.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I think so.’

  I turned a new page in my notebook. ‘Sky,’ I threw at her.

  ‘Stormy,’ she countered.

  ‘Run.’

  ‘Away,’ she responded immediately.

  I scribbled her answer. ‘Painting.’

  ‘Doorway,’ she replied.

  Odd answer. ‘Doorway.’ I said, looking up at her.

  ‘Looking glass,’ she tossed back.

  Very interesting. ‘Looking glass,’ I called out.

  ‘Danger,’ she said without missing a beat.

  I resisted the slight sensation of uneasiness. Her associations seemed disjointed and haphazard. I had no experience of such answers. She was not the normal patient I saw on a daily basis. Something was very wrong. And it was quite clear that I should go no further, but my professional curiosity was greater than any sense of prudence.

  ‘Water,’ I pitched.

  ‘Clean,’ she lobbed back.

  That was her first positive association. I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Earth.’

  ‘Sin,’ she heaved back.

  Wow! Earth and sin! Where did that come from? ‘Dog,’ I said.

  ‘Growling.’ Her voice was becoming progressively softer and more confused. As if her own instinctive answers were surprising to her.

  ‘Staircase,’ I ventured, my pen hovering over the pad.

  ‘Falling,’ she muttered.

  I kept my face neutral, but I knew I’d have to be very careful whom I recommended her to. She needed help.

  ‘Money,’ I said softly.

  ‘Death,’ she whispered.

  My hand stilled on the notebook. I looked up. Her answer had spooked her too. Her lower lip trembled and I felt a stab of pity for her. You’re not normal, Lady Olivia. And yet I am drawn to you the way I have never been to another. I knew there was no point going any further, but I didn’t want to leave it on such a negative note. I needed to break up the heavy atmosphere that had crept up around us like a dark cloud.

  ‘Silk,’ I said.

  ‘Sheets,’ she came back.

  ‘Good. All done,’ I declared, and grinned encouragingly.

  She leaned forward slightly and looked at me with veiled eyes. ‘Is something wrong with me?’

  ‘No,’ I lied firmly. Her answers had clearly revealed a mental lake bottomless with mystery and a deeply disturbed inner world. I swung my chair to the side and stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll take you next door.’

  I walked to the door, opened it, and waited for her to join me. As she reached me I registered two impressions. First: that I towered over her. She was much smaller than I had originally thought. Second: the inappropriateness of her perfume, a girlish, floral scent of almost sickly sweetness.

  She went through the door and waited just inside for me, rapidly taking in the dim lighting, the faint scent from the lavender diffuser, the blinking lights of the electrical equipment, the zero gravity chair where she would sit and the armchair next to it that I would occupy. I closed the door and indicated the recliner.

  ‘Have a seat.’

  She moved toward it and gingerly settled herself into the black leather.

  ‘Comfortable?’ I asked.

  ‘Very,’ she replied with a tense smile.

  ‘Let’s see if we can get you even more comfortable,’ I said and taking the remote hanging off it, pressed a button on it. The chair began to recline and she wriggled slightly. It stopped when it reached the ergonomically optimum position of locating her feet fractionally higher than her head. In that virtually weightless stance there was no stress or strain on her back, neck, shoulders, or arms. I activated the therapeutic massage function and her body started to move and shake gently.

  ‘Oh, this is nice,’ she commented, rotating her shoulders.

  I handed the remote to her. ‘Feel free to control the strength of your massage.’

  She took it from me. Her fingers were very white and slender, the nails painted pale. The skin looked soft. She had obviously not done a day’s work in her life. Our skin did not touch.

  I moved over the console and switched on the audio recorder. Then I flicked a switch and a metronome based device began to glide down from the ceiling. I stopped it when it was a few feet away from her face. I spent a few minutes tinkering with all the dials and functions of the different machines. When everything was ready I went back to her chair and switched off the massage function. The room became very silent.

  She sighed softly.

  I activated the relaxing heat pads under her back and looked down on her with a professional, neutral expression. ‘Ready?’ I asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s begin.’

  I sat on the armchair next to her and pressed the button that killed the lights. The room was now lit only by the flickering LEDs in the different electrical equipment. In the small, sterile space, her nearness suddenly seemed more potent, her perfume stronger. I could hear her breathing in the dark. It affected me with a strange cold anxiety. I took a deep breath. Just this one session, I told myself, and switched on the soundless metronome above her head. A narrow band of blue light came on and began to tick like a pendulum.

  ‘The glowing light you see has an invisible flickering, but its flicker rate is so fast the human eye cannot perceive it as an intermittent flashing, only as a strip of perfectly steady light moving at a perfectly precise and rigid repetition. Its frequency has been set to exactly correspond to the alpha brainwaves present in the human brain when in a relaxed state. Staring at it will entrain your brain in the same way your television does.’

  ‘The TV doesn’t hypnotize us,’ she said softly.

  I glanced at her. Her face rose out of the darkness like a glowing blue mask. ‘As it happens, it does. You fall into a semi-hypnotic state every time you watch TV, especially if you view it in a darkened room. The longer you stare at it, the more hypnotized you become.’

  ‘Really? Why on earth did they set it at that frequency then?’

  ‘Probably so you will believe everything you see and buy everything they sell. Shall we begin?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her hand twitched on her thigh.

  ‘Please remain as still as possible,’ I instructed. Stress on muscular relaxation assisted in disorientation since one of the ways humans kept orientated was to know where their hands and feet were. With immobility, those ties to reality were weakened and dissociation was more readily accepted.

  I waited for a few seconds then began the induction in my ‘hypnotic voice’: monotonous, deep, and somnolent. ‘Olivia, I want you to fix your entire attention on the moving light.’

  She took a deep breath and attached her gaze on the steadily swinging band of light.

  ‘Without taking your focus off the light, you will relax every muscle in your neck. Feel all the tension flo
w away… feel all those muscles completely relax … as you go deeper and deeper into your trance.’

  I repeated the same instructions as I moved down her body: shoulders, arms, wrists, fingers, chest, stomach, groin, hips, thighs, knees, calves, ankles, feet, and then back to the face: forehead, cheeks, nose, chin. She was still staring with a blank, transfixed gaze at the metronome, but her body had slowly spread out and become heavier in the chair.

  ‘You are now filled with a great calm. Your entire body is so limp and so pleasantly relaxed, even your eyelids are getting too heavy to stay open. It is now impossible for you to keep them open anymore and they are starting to close by themselves,’ I went on.

  Her eyelids began to flutter downwards.

  I waited until only a crescent of gleaming white showed under her eyelids.

  ‘You are now in a very, very pleasant state, completely disconnected from your body, and aware of nothing except your mind, which is floating in a dark so intense it has a feel, smell and taste of its own. Nothing can wake you up or stir you away from this safe, womb-like limbo. And nothing else matters but my voice as you gently drift deeper and deeper into your dreamlike rest. Completely let go and go deeper still.’

  I stopped and allowed a few seconds to pass.

  ‘Your right arm is now so light it will start to float up of its own accord.’

  I watched her right arm slowly begin to rise. When it was as high as it could go I said, ‘Your arm will start moving back down to your lap at the rate and speed with which your unconscious mind completely submits to my voice.’

  Her hand reached her lap and I continued, ‘When I ask you questions, the answers will float effortlessly out of your mouth. Are you completely relaxed?’

  Her mouth moved soundlessly first, then closed and opened again. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. Her voice was like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

  ‘Are you aware of your body?’

  ‘No.’

  I touched her hand. ‘Is anything touching you?’

  ‘No.’

  In the glow of the blue light her face appeared pale, slack, and blank—the features flattened, the mouth gaping, the expression reminiscent of someone of very low intelligence. The rise and fall of her chest was slow and steady. Her hands lay limp and still on her thighs. It was the look and stance of a person under deep hypnosis.