The Cure for Dreaming by Cat Winters Page A

do not be afraid, Miss Mead.”
    I turned and looked straight into Henri Reverie’s eyes—a mistake.
    â€œDo not be afraid,” said the hypnotist again in a voice that soothed me as much as when I had succumbed to his anesthetizing words on the stage. Those eyes of his—those potent blue irises that tugged me toward him—swallowed me whole and assured me there was nothing to fear inside that dental office. There was nothing to fear in the entire world. My muscles slackened. My worries evaporated into the sweet nitrous oxide in the air.
    Father let go of my arms.
    â€œIt is a pleasure to see you again, Mademoiselle Mead,” said Henri, rising to his feet. “I can tell you are nervous about my presence here, but I promise, your session in this building will be as relaxing as your trance yesterday.
Ne vous inquiétez pas
. Do not worry.”
    I exhaled a sound between a laugh and a gasp and tore my eyes from his, an action that hurt as much as pulling a thorn from my finger. “How can I possibly feel relaxed,” I said, “when I don’t know what’s about to happen to me?”
    Henri walked toward me with footsteps that scarcely made a sound on the lobby’s dusty floorboards. “I swear to you, Miss Mead, you will not be harmed in any way. You will feel the same sense of well-being and euphoria you experiencedwhen you reemerged from my trance on the stage. Do you remember that beautiful sensation?”
    He stood in front of me and trapped me again with those unshakable eyes. The flaws in his skin and light stubble on his chin faded to insignificant blurs compared to those two orbs of brilliant blue. My breath grew shallow and fluttery. My veins seemed to flow with hazy waves of Father’s laughing gas instead of blood.
    Henri took my hand, and a rush of warmth passed between us. I remembered that warmth all too well.
    That sensation was my undoing.
    He jerked me toward him by my arm and called out, “Sleep!”
    My face crashed against the buttons of his coat.
    â€œMelt down, melt down.” He cupped his hand over the back of my head, and my body slackened against his chest. “Let yourself go, downward, downward, downward.”
    He dragged my rag-doll body across the floor and plopped me into one of the lobby chairs, still holding the back of my head. “Keep going down, Miss Mead. Keep easing deeper into sleep. Melt down. Let go, let go.”
    A lock clicked into place. Curtains clattered closed.
    â€œTeach her to accept the world the way it truly is,” begged Father in a voice that trembled and cracked. “Make her clearly understand the roles of men and women.”
    â€œI’ll try my best,
monsieur
—”
    â€œAnd tell her to say ‘All is well’ instead of arguing whenever she’s angry. Please. Her rebelliousness has got to be removed if she’s going to survive.”
    I was too submerged in a warm and comfy eiderdown blanket of peace and darkness to care anymore what that silly man was blathering on about. Henri took hold of my left hand, and a numbing shot of heat flowed up my arms and fanned throughout my body to my farthest extremities. I gasped. My chin melted to my chest. The entire world slipped away, except for the soft lull of Henri Reverie’s voice.
    â€œYou are doing beautifully, Miss Mead. But now I need to take you into an even deeper level of hypnosis. I am going to stand behind you and use my hands to guide your head in a complete circle. Each revolution will send you further and further into the desired state of relaxation.”
    His warm hands clasped my temples and revolved my head in a gentle, circular motion that slowed my breathing and dropped me down into a tingling world of blackness. My shoulders slumped forward.
    â€œYes, very good . . . you are melting even deeper now.” He rotated my head again, tilting back my chin until my neck was stretched and exposed.