HER SHOULDERS BURNED AS SHE HELD her arms straight out before her and trained her eyes on Dr. Johnstone’s finger floating between them. Her parents had given their consent, just like Maria knew they would, and she had pleaded with Dr. Johnstone to get started immediately. He tried to warn her that their first session wouldn’t be their last, that he first needed to determine if she was even hypnotizable, but she couldn’t hear reason. She was convinced she would be home by nightfall, even though she couldn’t provide him with the kind of memory he needed to take her there.
Give me a day you would love to repeat with your family, he’d said, and Maria had nothing but the dream on the beach to offer him. It was a regrettable admission, an eye-opening moment when she thought of all the missed opportunities to make memories with her family. She wouldn’t let it happen again. If he could send her home, she would be a better wife and a better mother. A better person.
“Block out everything but the sound of my voice,” he said, as they began the session. “And keep your eyes on my finger.”
Despite forbidding her mind to overthink it, Maria was convinced she would be unhypnotizable. She wanted so desperately for it to work that she was certain it wouldn’t, that she would somehow sabotage it.
“Your arms are light and airy, like feathers on a breeze, drifting into the sky.” As his voice reached her, the tension in her shoulders dissolved and her hands drifted above her head. “When I move my finger away, you will continue to stare at the same spot between your hands. Focus only on that spot.”
Her eyes didn’t falter, they didn’t blink or twitch or waver, but the air could not hold her attention. She couldn’t help but see the window on the far wall in front of her, which led to a world she was desperate to leave. She forced her posture straight and pressed her back into the stiff cushion of her hospital room chair, fighting to see the air bouncing between her two outstretched arms. A searing pain bit through her wrist as he turned her hands so her palms were facing each other. She tried to force it away, but the ache was deep and tangible, and the more she fought to feel nothing but the air between her arms, the more intense the pain grew.
“Shut your eyes, Maria, and allow the pull between your hands to take over. Your arms are being forced together by your palms, as if each is a magnet. Soon they will come together and meet in the middle.”
The heaviness set in again, her arms weighted down with fatigue, but it wasn’t the pain that pulled at them now; it was a steady, ensnaring tug that forced them together, like a rubber band constricting around her wrists.
“The closer together they get, the stronger the pull. They’re very close now, Maria. In fact, even if you tried to separate them, it would be impossible, because the attraction is too strong.” The force was overwhelming, and the instinctive tug she gave against it did nothing but enforce the pull.
“They’re getting closer now, Maria. And soon, when they touch, your whole body will go limp and you will hear only the sound of my voice. You will experience nothing—no sounds, no sights, no smells—unless my voice gives you permission. Your hands are even closer now … and now … they touch.”
She could no longer feel her back against the chair, she couldn’t hear the birds singing outside the window, and she couldn’t smell the scent of Dr. Johnstone’s aftershave. All the senses she didn’t even know were a part of her were gone, and the world in her head was vast and barren.
“I want you to meet your family at the beach. That beautiful dream you told me about with your husband and your daughters. The sun is shining, you can smell the salt in the air, and the wind is caressing your skin. I give you permission to experience all of that. Watch your children as long as you’d like. Feel the waves between your toes.”
The sun beat down on her face as the waves lapped over her feet, forcing her toes to curl under the icy water. She didn’t remember it being so cold in her dream. Was this how it happened?
“Enjoy your family, Maria. Build sand castles with your daughters, throw a Frisbee with your husband, just soak it all up and experience them.”
She kneeled beside her daughters, absorbed in their giggles, while she tried to burn every image into her memory. Her hands ran over her swollen belly and her mind fought to suppress logic, but her movements were too effortless, and she was certain this wasn’t how it would happen.
“Good, Maria. I can see you’re having a wonderful time with your family, but the sun is setting now, and soon it will be time to go.”
The wind forced its way through her, and as the clouds rolled in around her, the sky darkened. She searched the beach for her daughters and her husband, but they were gone. The waves, the surf, the sun, they were all gone. And when the darkness closed in on her, nearly suffocating her, she stood frozen with terror.
There was something in her hand, something she hadn’t realized was there. It was cold and hard, and as her fingers ran over its jagged edges, its identity was unmistakable. 307. The white block numbers painted on the metal door in front of her jumped out from the darkness, and the lock that sealed it in place was waiting to be paired with the key in her hand. It was the key that Detective Andrews had wanted. Had he already been here?
Maria fumbled with the lock. She would just take a quick peek—
Whack!
A thunderous clap split through her ears, sending a vibration through her jaw.
Whack!
A blinding flash of light threw her off balance.
Whack!
A distant voice was calling for her. “… Maria.”
Whack!
“When I clap my hands, you will awaken.”
Whack!
Dr. Johnstone hovered above her, his face tense with worry as he clapped like a madman.
Whack!
“Maria, wake up!”
Sweat dripped from her forehead as she leaped from the chair, her heart pounding against her chest. “Stop!” she yelled, her head ringing from the echoes of his deafening claps. “Stop clapping.”
“I couldn’t get you out,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth from Maria to the door. “You weren’t listening to my voice anymore, and I didn’t know where you were.”
“It was the storage unit,” she said, her pulse normalizing as the moisture from her shirt chilled the skin beneath. “I was there. I must have gone there before I came back.”
“What storage unit?” A hush settled over them, each watching the other, neither sure how to proceed.
“I have to go back,” she said, easing herself onto the chair, the familiar ache in her head throbbing to the same beat as the pain in her arm. “You have to take me back there, so I can see what’s in that unit.”
“Let’s give it a rest for today. I’d like to get another MRI to see if your brain has changed at all, but I think we should wait for a day or so before we go back there.”
“I have to go back.” She laid her hand over his arm, and through the gripping pain that shot up her left wrist, her fingers tightened. “Please,” she said. “I’ll do as many MRIs as you want. I’ll do anything. Just take me back.”
“I don’t even know what could happen to you if we did that again. You weren’t even under my guidance anymore. It was almost like you took over the hypnosis.”
“I promise,” she begged. “This time I’ll do everything you tell me to do. I’ll listen to your voice and I’ll come back the second you clap your hands.”
“I don’t know, Maria.” He glanced toward the door to her room again before he turned back to her. “I can’t believe no one came in here with all that screaming.”
“Please, Dr. Johnstone. You of all people should understand my desperation.”
“I do. But we can’t mess this up.”
“Mess what up?” She loosened her grip on his arm. “I was there. I could feel it. It’s working.”
“There’s one condition.” He raised his finger between them, just like Will had done on that fateful night when Maria promised she’d stay away from the storage unit. “You go where I take you,” he said. “And this time I’m taking you to the hospital where you saw your husband. To see if your family is there waiting for you.”
Maria nodded. Her instinct was pulling her back to the storage unit, the last place she could remember going before she came back, but the lure of her family was too great. It was too much to resist.
“We’ll use the same technique as last time,” he said, positioning his finger between her arms and talking her out of the ache in her shoulders. By the time her hands were forced together like magnets and she could see only the air bouncing before her, her mind was quick to void itself of sensation.
“Good, Maria,” he said, his voice echoing in the abyss of her mind. “When I allow you to see, you will find yourself surrounded by the people you love. Your husband will be sitting by your bedside, holding your hand. Your daughters will be coloring pictures for you and taping them to the wall by your bed.” He paused briefly, taking in a sharp influx of air before sighing it away. “You see them now.”
From above her body, Maria watched as machines and tubes pumped air into her lungs and fluid through her veins. Will stroked her hand, kissing each of her knuckles, while her daughters held colorful pictures over her seemingly lifeless body, begging her to awaken.
Dr. Johnstone’s voice boomed through her mind, and despite her promises, she fought to block out his words, which pounded through her head. It was her family she wanted to hear; it was their touches she longed to feel.
“Stay with me, Maria,” he commanded. “You’re surrounded by the love of your family, and if you listen closely, you’ll hear the voices of your children.”
That’s not what Mommy looks like.
Emily’s laughter filled the air as Charlotte held the picture up for Will to see. His mouth opened and spilled out laughter that her ears couldn’t hear.
Here, Daddy. You draw a picture of Mommy.
Will took the crayons, a smile dancing through his eyes as he glanced up at Maria from time to time, creating an image of her on the paper in his lap. She had forgotten what a beautiful father he was. A scholar for Charlotte’s incessant thirst for knowledge and a comedian for Emily’s insatiable hunger for laughter. He was a fatherless boy who had turned into the most intuitive and nurturing father Maria had ever known. Why hadn’t she ever told him that? Why did it take this tragedy for her to see it?
“Good, Maria.” Dr. Johnstone’s voice reverberated through the room like an uninvited guest. “If you concentrate hard enough, you’ll feel the touch of your husband’s skin on your own.”
With the picture complete, Will held it up for the girls to see, their giggles at their father’s drawing ringing through the air. He set the crayons aside before he reached for Maria’s hand, her skin prickling with anticipation. His touch was softer than any she had ever felt, and if Dr. Johnstone had given her permission to cry, she would have wept. Her eyes drifted shut, blocking out the image of her family so she could focus only on the sensation of Will’s skin upon her own. His hands swept through her hair and over her face, down her arms and into her fingertips.
Mommy, look!
Charlotte was standing before her when she forced her eyes open, Will’s picture in her hand.
This is what Daddy thinks you look like.
It was a crayon sketch of a woman with black hair, lying in a hospital bed, with her eyes shut and her family by her side. The covers draped over her body were flat against her stomach, with no signs of a baby in her belly.
Where is he?
Her voice pounded through her own ears, drowning out Dr. Johnstone’s and the racket he was making as he tried to force her back to him.
Whack!
An agonizing pain shot through her left arm as she grabbed at the covers, ripping them away.
“Where is he?” she screamed.
Whack!
“Maria!” Her eyes opened to Dr. Johnstone’s arms shaking her wildly as his attention bounced back and forth from her to the door. “Maria, wake up!”
“Where is he?” she yelled, and as her hands tore at her shirt, ripping it from her body, a nurse barged into the room, calling for Haldol. “Where’s my baby?”