“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.”