Totally beyond his control, tears sprang from Fred’s eyes. He was indescribably happy to see Maureen. A short time ago he had virtually given her up for dead; but now she was standing in front of him alive, admittedly somewhat the worse for the injury he had just inflicted on her. He pulled her into his arms hugging her as had never before. When she didn’t respond he wondered what was wrong; then he realized she was still handcuffed. He removed her handcuffs, and taking her hand, he led her up the front steps. To the left of his front door, he opened an aluminum metal box entering a code to deactivate the recently installed alarm system.
His pure joy in seeing her alive temporarily obliterated his memory of the fact that she just a short time ago had been stalking him outside the house. When he suddenly realized what she had been doing, he consciously decided to ignore it, at least for this precious moment. They sat on the living room couch and softly kissed each other carefully, both ensuring not to do anything to reactive the intense pain they had both incurred just a few minutes ago.
Fred decided not to immediately ask about the events that had transpired from the period since Maureen had left her parents in Tampa. Maureen said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve just got to go to the bathroom.”
While Maureen was out of the room and out of hearing distance, he called her stepfather to let him know she was all right, but added hat she could not speak with him this evening.
Her father indicated he understood and said, “Just give her our love,” and hung up.
When they went to bed that night they made love, a subdued, soft love. Each movement, each thrust, activated an intense pain from all segments of his damaged body.
*
Fred spent a restless night, his sleep constantly interrupted with terrifying dreams of Maureen holding a pistol to his face while he was sleeping and squeezing the trigger when he opened his eyes. Each time, when he woke up from his nightmarish dreams, he observed that Maureen was sleeping peacefully as if she didn’t have a problem in the world.
The next morning Fred arose to the aromatic smell of bacon and eggs. He was exhausted. He got up, put on his robe and slowly descended the hall stairs to the kitchen.
Maureen said, “There you are, sleepy head,” as she placed a plate of bacon and eggs on the table in front of him. Strangely, after all she had been through, she was in her typical upbeat mood and acting as if the past three days had never happened. Fred was silent during breakfast, mentally trying to compose how he would ask Maureen about what had happened during her prolonged absence.
As he finished his last sip of bitter coffee he confronted her. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Maureen, we have to talk and we have to talk now.”
She compliantly said, “Ok, what about”?
Fred said “You know—where have you been? What happened to you during your absence?”
Maureen wore a quizzical look as if his question made no sense. She said, “You mean during the cruise?”
Fred was speechless; they both knew she never went on the cruise.
Fred said, “Come on, Maureen, I know you left your parents’ house, and you never went on any cruise.”
Maureen’s attitude remained unperturbed, “Of course I did, and it was a great cruise, I wish you could have come with us.”
Fred had no idea how to continue the conversation; it was as if they were living in two different universes. He said, “Maureen, look, please stop playing games with me. Your father told me you missed the cruise, you disappeared for three days, and your car was abandoned near the Sarasota-Bradenton Airport. Last night you tried to …” He could not finish the sentence.
Maureen said, “What are you talking about? I have been on a cruise!”
Fred was mystified at Maureen’s denial. He looked into her eyes. He always had the ability to determine if she was serious, joking or lying; her eyes always told the absolute truth. In an instant he knew she was serious; she was telling the truth as she knew it. Fred felt that no matter what he told her about the reality of the last few days, it would not resonate; he decided the best course of action was to get Maureen on the phone with her parents. When her stepfather answered the phone, Fred said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you in any detail last night, but Maureen is well.” Her father sighed in audible relief.
After a second had passed, Fred said, “Before we continue I have to ask you a strange question. I have Maureen on the phone with me. Please answer me so that Maureen can hear your response. Was Maureen on a cruise with you during the last few days?”
“Fred, is this some kind of a joke?!”
”No, just please, please answer the question.”
Finally her father answered emphatically, “No, of course not!”
Maureen gasped but said nothing.
Fred said, “I will definitely get back to you to explain this, but don’t worry. Maureen is fine; we just have some … complex issues to get resolved. I promise I will get back to you,” Fred said as he hung up.
For the next hour Fred explained to Maureen all that he knew about her missing three days. He never mentioned that she tried to kill him; he just couldn’t pass on to the woman he loved that type of information.
Maureen said, “Tell me, do you think I’m crazy?”
“No, not at all, but I have to ask you a question. What do you remember about Harry Ford, the hypnotist?”
Maureen, still in a highly unsettled emotional state, said, “What the hell does that have to do with my recent behavior?”
Fred said, “Maybe everything. Please, honey, just answer my question.”
“I’ve been having problems sleeping and I remember years ago my friend Jane Stanton went to a hypnotist and he seemed to cure her problem immediately. I decided to do the same and I found his phone number in the Yellow Pages. I called him and had one meeting with him. The night after I saw him, I had the best rest that I had in a year.”
Fred asked, “Did you see him more than once?”
Maureen said, “No, I didn’t have to. Whatever he did was effective and I’ve been sleeping like a baby since then.”
“Do you remember what he said to you while you were hypnotized?”
“No, and that’s normally the case. For the period one is under hypnosis, subjects don’t remember a thing.”
Fred said, “I understand but I need to know all you can tell me about hypnosis.”
“Do you think I have been hypnotized into believing I was on a cruise when I really wasn’t?”
“Yes, and much more. I believe you may have been put into some type of post hypnotic trance and you have been acting under the total control of someone else – specifically, Mr. Harry Ford.”
Maureen said, “I can’t buy that. I had one three hour lecture on hypnotism in grad school and half of that time was devoted to a hypnotist who came into the class and used our class room students as guinea pigs. At any rate it is true a hypnotist can induce a post hypnotic trance. But to the best of my knowledge, the process is fairly short lived.”
“How long is short lived?”
“I don’t recall if that was even brought up in class. In fact, in the exercise conducted in class, the post hypnotic suggestion was triggered by selective words that the hypnotist spoke during the initial trance. Then the subjects were awakened and subsequently brought back under a second trance at the time the trigger words were spoken by the hypnotist. The experiment was completed in a short time.”
“Did the students know how they were acting during the trance?”
“No, not at all, in fact they had no recall of the events whatsoever until the hypnotist told them what had happened.”
“Can…can …” Fred had a difficult time articulating what his mind told him that he had to ask. Finally he said, “Can someone do something under hypnosis that’s against their moral code?”
Maureen said, “Absolutely not. One’s lifetime values are not altered by being in a trance. For example if I was told to take off my clothes in front of an audience
I would not do that, regardless of the level of the trance I was in.”
“Ok, let’s take this one step at a time. You said you thought a post hypnotic suggestion could only last so long, but suppose the post hypnotic triggering event or the conditioned response was the image of the hypnotist himself. In other words suppose a hypnotist, during the post hypnotic suggestion phase, imprinted on one’s mind, a post hypnotic suggestion that his appearance alone would create a new state of hypnosis. Would that work?”
Maureen thought a moment, then said, “I suppose; it’s my understanding that the trigger could be anything that was specified during the initial hypnosis.”
Fred paused, absorbing the new information that Maureen was providing. “OK,” he said, “Do you remember seeing Harry Ford at any time during the period you were at your parents?”
“No, and I certainly would remember if I had!”
Fred was not willing to concede this part of his theory. “Ok, but if during the post hypnotic suggestion phase you had been told by Mr. Ford that you would not remember anything during the period that you had been placed under the initial hypnosis, you would not have to remember seeing him. Isn’t that correct?”
“I guess if one were told they would not remember anything while under hypnosis, they would not remember.”
“Then let me ask this, could a series of new fresh hypnotic trances be induced by a repetition of the same triggering event, time and time again?”
“I suppose so, but as I told you I’m no expert on hypnotism.”
Fred felt any further interrogation of Maureen would do no good. He made two decisions—to interview an expert hypnotist to get the answers Maureen could not provide, and to put Maureen somewhere safe so her actions could no longer be controlled by an external force. Fred decided to take on the more urgent issue first.
“Maureen, I don’t want to go in great detail with what happened to you during your absence but suffice to say that your life was in great danger and most likely still is. Please trust me on that.”
“You know I trust you with my life.”
“Ok, now we need to find a place where you can be safe from external influences.”
“Maureen said, “You mean, such as police headquarters?”
Fred said, “Yes something like that. But frankly, so many strange things have been happening, I don’t even trust the security of the station any more.”
“Fred, I know an associate who runs a medical facility which treats all types of maladies from simple neurosis to full blown schizophrenia. Some patients are violent so they are kept securely isolated and under guard.”
“Maureen, I know this is difficult to ask of you, but would you be willing to enter that facility for a week for your own protection?”
Maureen, head lowered, said, “Yes.” “But,” she added, “please, not more than a week.”
Maureen called Dr. Clinton, the head of the facility. After they exchanged pleasantries, Maureen asked her question.
Dr. Clinton said, “I don’t fully understand what this is all about but, yes, I can help you out. Come over tomorrow morning, and we’ll have a place ready for you.”
*
That evening very little conversation took place between Fred and Maureen. It was obvious both were dreading the next day. Late that night Maureen packed her clothes; the next morning they left for Sleepy Meadows Sanitarium.
The Sanitarium was located near Naples, just a few miles off interstate 75. They left Sarasota before dawn and arrived at their destination within a couple of hours. As they turned onto the Sanitarium’s private road, three massive white Victorian buildings loomed out of the darkness directly in front of them. A massive iron fence surrounded the grounds. On it a large sign, notated Sleepy Meadows. Sanitarium—Private, was their initial introduction to Maureen’s temporary new lodging. Fred observed that the gates seemed large and strong enough to keep King Kong in.
Fred spoke his name into a small speaker device concealed in a moss covered granite stone column holding the entry gates. A voice from an unknown location responded, “Dr. Clinton told me to be expecting you, please come in.” The gates seemed to take an eternity to open. Fred proceeded about a half mile down the road to a small eight by eight guard house. The guard, a trim balding man, in what Fred guessed to be his early fifties, directed Fred and Maureen to the Sanitarium’s middle building.
Upon entering the main building, a receptionist, dressed totally in white, greeted them. She smiled as she saw Fred and Maureen approach, and said, “Joe indicated you were on your way.”
Fred assumed Joe was the gate guard, and that it was his job to notify the receptionist of the approach of all visitors.
“Please go directly into Dr. Clinton’s office.”
Dr. Clinton was seated behind a large tiger oak desk. The desk had seen better days. The yellow varnish was worn in several areas; one supporting leg had encountered a large crack at sometime in its extended life. Fred observed a set of dusty books hidden just beneath the desk was providing necessary structural support. Fred could see that money was not pouring into the sanitarium’s maintenance; he sincerely hoped that more was being funneled into security.
Dr. Clinton rose as they entered. “Maureen, what a delight to see you again!” Fred thought the strong social amenity was totally inappropriate for the occasion. Dr. Clinton shook her hand, grinning all over.
Maureen introduced Fred. Clinton said, “Oh, yes, Maureen, I remember you said you were married but I never had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Harris.”
Fred said, “Nice to meet you as well, but I respond better to Fred.”
“And I answer best to Matthew,” Dr. Clinton responded amicably.
After the pleasantries, Dr. Clinton said, “I realize you don’t want to go into any detail as to why you want to enter the facility and I fully respect your need for privacy. I certainly won’t try to pry it out of you. After you called last night, I checked the records and found a vacant area in the violent ward. I am sorry, but that seems to be the only part of my institution that meets the security needs that you advised me that you needed. You will, unfortunately, have to vacate your assigned area in a couple of weeks, because we have made arrangements to take in a rather unpleasant fellow who has proved to be too violent for the medical hospital in Venice. In the interim, I have made changes that might make your stay more appealing. Of course it will never be the Hilton, but maybe we can bump it up from one star to a star and a half.” He smiled; neither Fred nor Maureen returned the smile. “Come; let me show it to you.”
Dr. Clinton led them to a small passageway. A large muscular man whose arms appeared a size larger than the white shirt he was wearing greeted them from his desk. Next to the guard was a windowed entry door. Lying on the guard’s desk was what Fred guessed to be an entry log. The guard spoke thru a speaker next to him, advising the guard on the other side of the door that Dr. Clinton and his visitors were entering.
Fred asked if any of the guards carried weapons.
“No, much too dangerous,” Dr. Clinton replied. “They do carry clubs, but that’s all. We just don’t want to take the chance that one of our inmates might get his hands on a firearm.”
“What types of patients are confined —?” Fred started to ask. His question was interrupted by a cacophony of screams, cries and a barrage of curse words from an area somewhere down the hall. Dr. Clinton didn’t seem to notice the sounds.
“The patients in here are mostly psychotics,” Dr. Clinton stated, as if he knew what the end of Fred’s question would be. “They are the very violent type. Some were murderers, if you can use that word when a person is not really responsible for his actions. Other inmates displayed sadistic streaks to such a degree that the courts determined that they cannot function in society. We give them a daily concoction of the latest mind control drugs. Of course, the drugs treat only the symptoms and not the cause. They do moderate their behavior to a degree, but not to the extent they could ever be r
eleased back into society.”
“Maureen,” he quickly added, “don’t worry. You will be totally protected from any other residents.”
As they continued down the corridor they passed a nurses’ station on the right. To Fred, the nurses seemed overly stern; none looked up as they passed. Fred felt one had to take a jaundiced viewpoint of the world to spend eight or more hours a day working in such a facility.
A sturdy steel door faced them at the far end of the hall. A small glass window, reinforced with integrated steel strips, provided a limited view into the room. Dr. Clinton inserted two keys into what in Fred’s mind was functionally no different than a prison cell door. Dr. Clinton said, “We always use two locks just to make sure no one can escape.”
The room was small; the pale green interior was covered by thick cloth padding. The only light bulb in the space was at ceiling height, about fifteen feet above the floor. A sturdy wire cage enclosed the single bulb. Dr. Clinton noticed that his guests were looking upward at the distant light. He articulated what they had been thinking. “Of course, we don’t want inmates playing with the electricity. At that ceiling height not even an NBA player could reach the fixture; and the on/off switch is kept outside of the door.”
Dr. Clinton was apologetic that the accommodations were not very appealing, He looked at Maureen and said, trying to add a sense of optimism, “We added a desk and table for you as well as a small book shelf. We replaced the inmate bed with one that is the same type used by my staff. I’m sorry I can’t do more; but as you can see, our options and finances are extremely limited.”
Mind Switch Page 17