Entangled: Chapter 28 - Between Mist and Memory

Brad's Session with Dr. Jackson

After I made an appointment that afternoon with Dr. Jackson—who had told me that hypnosis was an integral part of his practice—Nathan wanted to come with me to the hospital to witness the session. I convinced him it was better if he stayed home, telling him his mother might grow suspicious. The real reason, though, was that I wasn’t sure what, if anything, would surface in the hypnotherapy session, and I didn’t want Nathan exposed to something he didn’t need to be. I thought about calling Quinn to accompany me, but decided we probably needed a little more space from each other. So, I went alone.

At the hospital, a staff member greeted me at the entrance and escorted me to Dr. Jackson’s office. I couldn’t say I was particularly happy to see him—especially after our first encounter—but I told myself not to be so confrontational this time. We exchanged cordial greetings, if not entirely genuine, at least on my part.

“Have you ever undergone hypnosis before?”

“Nope. No, sir. I haven’t,” I said, a little nervously.

“May I ask why you’ve decided on it?”

“Well, let’s just say I’m following the advice of a very smart individual.”

“May I ask who that is?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well, okay, no problem. It’s just that before you called, I was going to call you and suggest—” Dr. Jackson began, before being interrupted by a knock on the door. He called out in a singsong voice, “I’m in session.”

“Yes, sir,” the young male assistant replied, his voice muffled by the door. “But he says he’s your patient’s son.”

Dr. Jackson looked at me, surprised and confused, then stood and opened the door. Nathan was there, a backpack slung over one shoulder, standing beside the assistant.

Nathan glanced at Dr. Jackson, then at me, and said quietly, “Hey.”

“Nathan! What did I tell you?” I asked in frustration. “Your mother’s not here, is she?”

“No. I rode my bike. I told her I was going to a friend’s house. She was busy with the kids and Patty, so she didn’t really care.”

“Well, you know, Nathan, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”

“This whole thing was my idea,” Nathan said defiantly. Dr. Jackson, who had been looking at Nathan, turned to me and couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, I know, and I appreciate it, Nate, but... I just don’t think... I don’t know. What do you think, doctor?”

After a moment, Dr. Jackson replied, “Well, that is entirely up to you, Brad. On some occasions I’ve had family members or friends sit in on hypnosis sessions—especially in forensic cases like yours, where we’re trying to retrieve memories. They can sometimes prompt me to go in one direction or another, since they’re more familiar than I am with particular situations or events.”

“Well, don’t you think this is a very unique situation, doctor? I mean, both Nate and I have come to the same conclusion—that I’m not his real dad. So, I’m a little leery about what might come out while I’m hypnotized.”

“Oh, I see,” Dr. Jackson said, looking at Nathan and then back at me. “Well, you’re the one being hypnotized. I’m afraid I’ll have to let you decide.”

That was not what I wanted to hear. I thought to myself what a chickenshit Dr. Jackson was, leaving it to me to be the bad guy. I looked at Nathan, who had a pleading expression, making me wonder why he wanted so badly to be in on the session. As smart as he was, maybe it was just scientific curiosity. Or maybe he was so desperate to have his father back that he wanted to do everything in his power to make it happen. He already thought I was dumber than his real father, so maybe he believed his presence would counter that. And, after all, it really was his idea.

“Okay, fine,” I said in tired frustration. “But I’m not responsible for whatever comes out of my mouth.” Nathan looked relieved, and I could see just a flicker of excitement on his face.

Dr. Jackson declared, “Well, okay then. But Nathan, I’ll need you to sit in the waiting room for a few minutes while I do the initial phase of the hypnosis. I wouldn’t want you to be put under as well. I’ll come get you when we’re ready. Do you understand?”

“Yes, doctor,” Nathan replied politely, though he didn’t appreciate being spoken to almost like a child. He opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind him.

Dr. Jackson and I both took our seats. He asked, “Are you sure about your kid being here?”

“Not at all, doctor. But even though he’s not really my kid, I still don’t want to see him disappointed.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“Um, yeah, okay. Can we just please get on with it?”

“Certainly,” Dr. Jackson said, trying to ignore my attitude. “Like before, take a few minutes to do your grounding and breathing.” I complied, and after a while he asked, “Do you feel relaxed?”

With my eyes closed and my head resting against the black leather chair, I said, “Yes.”

“Very good. Now, I’m going to help you relax even more. Picture yourself walking in the middle of a forest in winter. The leaves have all fallen, and a few inches of snow cover the ground. It’s a gray, overcast day, the sun hidden behind the clouds. It’s chilly, but you’re not uncomfortable—you’re wearing a warm parka. Can you picture that in your mind?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. As you walk, the trees grow fewer and fewer until you reach a small clearing. In the middle of the meadow, you see something that seems impossible at first—an escalator. As you approach it, you notice it’s made of shining silver. Strangely, you find it perfectly natural, even beautiful. You look up and see it stretching into the sky, disappearing beyond the clouds. Can you picture it?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now, you’re getting a warm, welcoming feeling from the escalator. You feel good about it as you step onto it, placing one hand on the soft, white rubber railing. Slowly, you begin to ascend, rising out of the forest. The bare, snow-covered branches shrink beneath you, smaller and smaller, until the forest below looks like a white, fuzzy carpet. Misty clouds surround you, cool moisture brushing your face and hands. Are you there?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice slower and calmer than before

“Very good. You’re still feeling good, but that sensation gradually gives way to drowsiness. You remain awake and aware, though your body feels lighter, almost as if you could float. You grow warmer, so you slip off the parka and let it tumble down the escalator. Looking up, you see the escalator ending in the middle of the clouds. Beyond it, only mist. You step forward until you notice a small, soft white leather chair. You approach and sit, sinking into its comfort as if it were made just for you. Around you, there is only mist, but you are content—sleepy, yet awake and aware. Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I want you to remain very still in the chair, quietly observing the mist as it drifts all around—calmly, without emotion. Can you do that?

“Yes.”

“Very good. You’re doing just fine,” Dr. Jackson said as he slowly rose, opened the door, and motioned for Nathan to come in. Nathan entered, and Dr. Jackson pointed to a chair near him so they were both facing me. Sitting back down, Dr. Jackson asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” I said. “A little sleepy.”

“All right. I’d like you to listen carefully to the sound of my voice. I’m going to ask you to go back to a certain time and place in the very recent past. I want you to tell me what you see and hear. I also want you to describe what you were feeling at the time. But here’s the important part—I don’t want you to relive those emotions. I want you to report them, calmly, as if you were a journalist covering a news event as it happens. Stay perfectly calm and relaxed, just as you are now. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, very good. Now, I’d like you to go back to the morning when you first woke up in the bed, in the bedroom of the house, in this world that is unfamiliar to you. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Please tell me what you see, hear, and feel.”

“I see a lamp, an alarm clock, and a cellphone on a bedside table—none of which look familiar to me. I feel confused and a little panicked, even though I think I may still be dreaming. Then I lift the sheet and see a woman I don’t know, hear her softly snoring. I panic even more, thinking I may have drunk too much the night before and gone home with someone. I’m scared that I may have just cheated on my partner, Vince, with some woman, a stranger.”

“Okay, good,” Dr. Jackson said, glancing toward Nathan, whose mouth hung slightly open in surprise. “Now, I’d like you to rewind the scene to before you woke up and opened your eyes. I want you to be back asleep, sometime before waking. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now take a deep breath, filling your lungs completely, and then hold it. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Jackson waited a few moments, then asked, “If you’re holding your breath, nod your head.” I nodded, and Dr. Jackson continued, “Okay, now release the air as slowly as you can. Repeat the process two more times, all the while picturing yourself in that bed, under the covers, with your eyes closed, minutes before you woke up. Do you understand?”

I nodded again and did as instructed.

Dr. Jackson waited until I had released my final deep breath, then asked, “Okay, what do you see, hear, or feel?”

“Nothing. It’s all just black,” I replied quietly, but plainly.

“Okay, why don’t you give it a few moments, and speak up if anything changes. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

We waited for about five minutes. Dr. Jackson glanced at Nathan, whose earlier look of surprise had shifted into worry that the hypnosis wasn’t going to work. I kept up my deep breathing, five slow breaths in and out. Dr. Jackson seemed to be thinking about how to proceed and was just about to check on me—maybe even start bringing me out of it—when I spoke up.

“I see a blinding white light,” I said quietly.

When I didn’t continue, Dr. Jackson prompted, “Okay, very good. What else do you see? Do you hear anything? How do you feel?”

“I feel scared. I don’t know what’s happening. I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m with my little brother, Brent. I have him by the arm. We’re both little kids. He was mad at me.”

Dr. Jackson waited for a moment, then said, “Okay, very good,” relieved that my voice still remained relatively calm, despite a little bit of emotion in it. “Now, remember, I would like you to remain relaxed. You’re like a reporter, remember? I want you to describe how you were feeling at the time, but I don’t want you to relive it? Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice becoming noticeably slower and quieter.

Looking over at Nathan, Dr. Jackson noticed that he was somewhere between being fascinated and being scared himself. Looking back at me, he continued, “So, you’re with your brother and you’re both little kids. Where are you? Is this a dream or is it a memory from your childhood?”

“Both. It’s a dream about something that really happened when we were kids. Only...the dream ended up different from what happened in real life.”

“What happened in real life?”

“My little brother and I went riding our bikes somewhere we weren’t supposed to. We went past the boundary of where we were allowed to go. Our parents didn’t know where we were.”

“Why did you do that?”

“It wasn’t my brother’s fault. It was mine. I wanted to go somewhere different. I wanted to follow my friend Danny. I wanted to be friends with him, but I didn’t want to go alone, so I made my brother come with me—even though he didn’t want to—because he didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“What happened next?”

“My brother and I rode our bikes a few blocks from our house to the fenced-in walkway that marked the edge of our neighborhood. Our parents had told us we couldn’t go through there, because once we crossed over, they could no longer see or hear us. That day, we went through anyway. I told my brother it would only be for a little while, that our parents would never know.

We rode our bikes through the walkway, past our elementary school, and down toward where Danny lived. We were having fun with him—racing our bikes, riding through the park, exploring parts of town we’d never seen before. It was probably the most fun we’d had in a long time. We were able to do things and see places we’d never seen before, even though it was all only about a mile, maybe two, from our house.”

“So, how did you get into trouble?”

“Well, it was the middle of summer, when the sun didn’t start going down until late. We didn’t realize we’d been gone for almost three hours. We just lost track of time. I thought it was only around six o’clock, but later I found out it was past nine. It was only when another classmate rode by on his bike and told us we’d better get home because our mom was looking for us that we started to panic.”

I continued, my voice slightly trembling, “We were just heading back when our mom pulled up in her car and got out. At first, there was such a look of extreme relief on her face that I thought she was going to cry, but it slowly turned to anger as she walked over to us. She went on a short tirade about how long they had been waiting, about our missing dinner, and even about calling the police and the hospital.

She demanded that we follow behind her in her car on our bikes, even though we would have gotten home sooner if she had just gone ahead and let us take the shortcut back to the house, instead of making us follow slowly behind her on the main streets. Before we did just that, she gave both of us a pinch on the arm so strong and painful that I thought we were going to bleed.”

Dr. Jackson waited for me to continue, but after a couple of minutes he asked, “Can you go on?”

I didn’t answer right away. With my eyes closed, my face grew visibly emotional for a moment, and I almost felt like crying, until I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself before continuing:

“When we got home, our father was standing off the driveway on the sidewalk, underneath a big oak tree, in the white wife beater he always wore, with shorts and sandals. When he saw us, unlike my mother, all I could see in his face was pure rage. He reached up into the tree, pulled a branch off, and began stripping away its leaves and smaller twigs.

As soon as we saw that, my brother and I dropped our bikes and ran into the house, into our bedroom, and climbed into our bunk beds. Our father was soon there, where he gave us the worst beating of our lives—something we will always remember, even though we tried our best to forget. After a while the branch broke and flew across the room, leaving him with a small stick he couldn’t use, so he threw it aside, took off one of his sandals, and started beating us with it, the metal buckle cutting into our skin.

I felt sorry for my brother because he was on the top bunk, where he couldn’t avoid any hits. I was on the bottom bunk, huddled in the corner against the wall, where my father had to stoop low to get at me, and sometimes he missed.”

When it was clear I wasn’t going to continue, Dr. Jackson asked, “So, that’s what happened in your real life?”

“Yes.”

“How is that different from the dream you were having?”

“In the dream, my brother and I were at the walkway in our old suburban neighborhood in Parma, Ohio... only we were adults, like in the present. Even though my brother Brent actually lives with his own family forty-five minutes east of there, and I live in Idaho with Vince, and my parents had long ago moved from that house to a bigger one in another part of the city. Somehow, we were both back there. I’m not even sure what we were doing, but for some reason I started walking toward the walkway while my brother told me not to. Brent had said, “Don’t go….”

I kind of tricked him into going in with me. When we stepped into the walkway, the first flash of light hit, and suddenly we were little kids again, riding our bikes through the walkway, following Danny on that same day we got in trouble. We both kept our memories as adults, and as soon as my brother realized what was happening—where we were and what day it was—he stopped. He refused to go through, refused to relive what had happened. That’s when he started walking back home.

I ran after him, and it was on the street, at the side of our house, where the second flash of light happened—when I grabbed his arm, right before he stepped onto the sidewalk.”

“And soon after that is when you woke up here, in this world?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you can remember?”

Taking a few moments, I then said, “No.”

“All right, very good. I think we have enough for now. What I’m going to do is count to ten, and while I’m counting I want you to slowly become less sleepy and more and more awake after each number, so that when I reach ten, you will open your eyes and be fully awake and refreshed, having remembered everything that was said here. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I answered.

Dr. Jackson began counting slowly, his voice becoming louder and louder until it reached a normal speaking tone.

When he reached ten and I opened my eyes, Dr. Jackson asked me, “How do you feel?”

Taking a second to stretch out my arms, I answered, “Good, actually. I feel pretty good.”

“Do you remember everything that you said?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And how do you feel about it all?”

“It’s actually quite incredible. I dream a lot for some reason, and I normally remember most of my dreams, but it’s the ones I don’t that bother me. So, for one of the forgotten ones to come back like that is really amazing. I’m not exactly sure what any of it means, or what bearing it has—if any—on my situation, but I guess it’s somewhere to start, I suppose.”

“Yes, it is a start. We’ll get to analyzing what it all means, but for now, I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“Well, okay, if you say so.”

“This way we can both think about and digest what was revealed here today. I suggest we continue tomorrow, around the same time, if that’s okay with you.”

“Well, sure, doc, but can you do that? I mean, don’t you have other patients’ heads to shrink besides mine?” I said sarcastically, though in a joking manner, feeling surprisingly good—not sure whether it was the hypnotic suggestions Dr. Jackson had made, or simply the emotional weight lifted from what we had discussed.

“Of course, but this is a very special case, and it is well... you, so I’m making it a top priority.”

I stood up, followed by Dr. Jackson and Nathan, who had been patiently listening. We headed outside to the reception area, where Dr. Jackson’s assistant was seated. Dr. Jackson told him to shuffle his schedule around to accommodate me at the same time the next day. The assistant made a note and then handed me a separate slip, which I took from him.

“What’s that?” Nathan asked curiously.

Reading it quickly, I answered, “It’s from Dr. Arias, my primary doctor. She wants me to go to imaging—they’ve requested another MEG from me. I don’t know, maybe the first one didn’t take.”

At that point, Dr. Jackson excused himself.

“Well, it’s up to you, kid,” I said, looking at Nathan. “You want to go home or come with me to get my head examined twice in one day?”

“I’ll go with you,” Nathan said, smiling.

“Okay, then,” I said, smiling back. Deep down, I knew Nathan had heard me mention my partner Vince during the hypnosis session. I knew I would have to deal with that sooner or later, but at the time I just wanted to forget about it.

As we made our way through the lobby toward a separate section of the hospital, we passed several smaller glass-enclosed offices, each with a large TV screen mounted high on the far wall. I noticed they were all tuned to the same news channel. When we reached the last office, I suddenly stopped. Nathan didn’t notice at first and kept walking, but after a few feet he realized I wasn’t beside him. He turned back and found me standing still, staring at a TV through the glass wall.

“Isn’t that Uncle Brent?” Nathan asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and surprise.

Taking a second to answer, I said, “It sure looks like him,” as I pushed open the door to the office and stepped inside. As we moved closer to the TV, I noticed a few people in the waiting room glancing at us, then at the screen, and back again. It was apparent that it was indeed my brother—or someone who looked very much like him—his name captioned beneath the image of him shielding his face from the camera lights. The news station looped the clip a couple of times, Brent’s voice ringing out clearly: “Absolutely not! That’s a lie! I have kids to get back to!”

“Uncle Brent has kids? Do I have cousins I don’t know about? That could be cool...” Nathan asked, sounding like a kid for a change.

“Um... I have no idea. But from your reaction, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”