“That’s true,” I said, “but any time you work with the unconscious, there’s a risk of unleashing unpredictable things.”
“I’m a veteran of that already, wouldn’t you say?”
“All the more reason,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “You’re the expert. But I also know that what’s stressing me is carrying around all this stuff and not understanding it.”
I looked at her, trying not to appear coldly clinical.
Her posture was loose, receptive. She seemed calmer than ever before. Purposeful.
I gave her my preinduction lecture, explaining that hypnosis was deep relaxation combined with focused concentration, nothing magical. How it didn’t weaken the patient’s control but was merely the harnessing of a process that occurred naturally for most people. That all hypnosis was self-hypnosis, and the more she did it the better she’d get.
As I spoke, her body pitched progressively forward and her lips parted.
When I finished, she said, “I understand.”
Her fingertips were inches from mine, her face close enough for me to see my reflection in her pupils. I looked worried.
“I want to help someone else,” she said.
“All right, we’ll start out with some simple muscle relaxation exercises. But we may not go any further today.”
“Whatever you say.”
I had her tense and loosen muscle groups, moving from her head to her toes. She closed her eyes and her body swayed in time with my voice. I was sure she’d go under quickly.
Instead, she fell asleep.
At first I didn’t realize it and kept talking. Then I saw her head tilt back and her mouth open, letting out soft, delicate snores.
No more body sway.
No movement at all but the heave of her chest.
“Lucy, if you can hear me, lift your right index finger.”
Nothing.
I picked up her hand. Limp.
I flexed her head. No tension.
“Lucy?”
Silence.
Her eyes moved rapidly behind their lids, then stopped.
Sleep. The ultimate resistance.
I put her hand down and made sure she didn’t slip off the chair. The air gun had stopped. The yard was too quiet.
She dozed for a while; then suddenly her body began jerking and twitching.
Crunching her facial features.
Grunting.
Fragmented REM, the kind associated with nightmares.
I stroked her hand, told her everything was okay. She fell asleep.
A moment later, the same pattern.
After two more episodes, I said, “Wake up, Lucy.” She didn’t till a minute later, and I wasn’t sure it was in response to my voice.
Sitting up, she opened her eyes. Looking at me but not seeing me.
She closed them and went slack.
Oblivious, once more.
I tried to shake her awake, gently.
Each time I got her to open her eyes, she rolled them drowsily and the lids closed.
Finally, I managed to bring her out. She blinked and stared and muttered something and rubbed her eyes.
“What’s that, Lucy?”
“What happened?”
“You fell asleep.”
“I did?” Yawn.
“You’ve been sleeping almost half an hour.”
“I—we—we were doing hypnosis, weren’t we? I wasn’t dreaming about that, was I?”
“No, we were doing hypnosis.”
“Was I hypnotized?”
“Yes. You were right about being good at it.”
“Did I do—say anything?”
“No, you fell asleep.”
She stretched. “I feel refreshed. Was that supposed to happen—falling asleep?”
“It needed to happen.”
“I didn’t say anything at all?”
“No, but we’re just starting out. You did great.”
“But I’m a good subject?”
“You’re an excellent subject.”
She smiled. “Okay, I guess I’d better just let it play itself out—but I do feel good. Hypnosis is great. You should do it with Ken.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s going through some very tough times. His ex-wife is really vindictive, out to take him to the cleaners, doesn’t let him see his kids. He has visitation, and the court keeps ordering her to comply. But when she doesn’t, they don’t enforce it.”
“When did they get divorced?”
“A year ago. He didn’t come out and actually say so, but I get the feeling she had an affair. He’s real cheerful all the time for my sake, but he’s feeling it—very restless at night. I heard him go downstairs twice. This morning I got up at five-thirty and he was dressed and doing paperwork.”