“Well, here we are again,” Barb remarked as Nick walked into the therapy room for the third time and headed toward the couch. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but the office didn’t give me your message until yesterday and my Mondays are booked solid.”
“That’s all right,” Nick replied, forcing himself to be polite. “I had some prep to do for my class this morning, anyway.” The sessions still felt unbearably empty without Amy’s shining face.
“So, shall we continue where we left off on Friday?” Her voice showed no trace of anger about the way he had walked out of the session—again—or the way he had insulted her—again. Good.
“Yes, please. Actually, I’d like to take you up on the suggestion you made as I was leaving.” He twisted around to glance at her. “I’d like to go back to that meeting so I can see it more clearly.”
Barb frowned. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? It’s a big step, confronting the triggering episode so soon.” Again Nick felt sympathy for Barb, this time tinged with real respect. This was probably the case of her life, at least so far, and she must be as eager as he was to get into it, but she was more concerned with his well-being than with her own curiosity and success.
“I think I need to do this,” he admitted, to himself as much as her, and the determination must have been evident in his voice because Barb nodded.
“All right. Lay down.” Nick did so, stretching full-length upon the couch. “Comfortable? Good. Now close your eyes, and listen to the sound of my voice.” Her voice dropped even as she said that, the tones smoothing out, becoming deeper, slower, softer, rolling over him like a wave.
“You feel yourself becoming very drowsy, your breath slowing, your limbs becoming heavy . . .” Nick’s head slumped onto his chest, “and you are drifting into a deep, relaxed sleep.” She paused for a moment. “Are you asleep?”
“Yes.” The word forced its way from weary lips, escaping between slow, even breaths.
“Good. Now, Nick, we’re going to go back to that day last Thursday, when you first met Daniel. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“All right. You will see and hear everything clearly, but there will be no emotional impact—you will be distant, as if you were viewing the events through a window. Any time you want to you can wake up—you will feel refreshed, as if you had a full night’s sleep, and you will remember everything you have seen and heard. Now, can you see Daniel?”
The image floated into his mind, then solidified, and once again Nick was back in that room, sitting on that fancy couch as Daniel’s features hovered in the dark before him. He saw again the sharp cheekbones, the silvery hair and neat black beard, the hawk-like features and glittering eyes, only now it was without the fear and confusion that had gripped him so thoroughly that night.
“Yes, I see him,” he admitted to Barb. “He’s sitting across from me, in the dark. He’s speaking to me. Now he’s getting up, going to the window . . .”
Once again he saw Daniel pull back the heavy curtains and reveal the view beyond the window. And there it was, the lake, the high-rise apartment buildings glittering in the morning light—glittering because they directly faced the window. There were no other buildings between those spires, out on a spur that projected into the lake itself, and the window, and he could just make out a lamppost in the windowpane’s bottom right corner. That was all there was to see, but Nick thought it might be just enough.
A part of him didn’t want to wake up yet—he wanted to lie there on the comfortable couch and relax and talk to Barb and answer her questions—but another part of him was eager to test his newly recovered knowledge and it was that part that won out, forcing his eyes open. Immediately all traces of the hypnotic trance vanished, and as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch he yawned, feeling refreshed and energized and eager.
“What . . . what are you doing, Nick?” Barb sounded concerned, and he flashed her a smile to reassure her.
“Sorry, Barb, but I have to go.” He couldn’t resist needling her just a little as he rose to his feet. “You’ve done a great job—in fact, I think I’m cured. I really appreciate it,” he headed for the door, “and I’ll recommend you to all my friends. Promise.” And he was gone again, racing down the stairs and toward the L, the image from that window still fresh and clear in his mind.