Free Down the Rabbit Hole by Charlotte Abel

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
     
    by Charlotte Abel
     
    Smashwords
Edition
     
    Jonathan glanced
at the address scribbled on the back of Dr. Harrison’s card then at
the tiny cottage across the street. What sort of therapist worked
out of a house painted eggplant purple? The kind that claimed they
could cure phantom pain with hypnosis; that’s what kind. What was
he expecting? A high-rise office building?
    He gritted his teeth against
the pins and needles sensation in his left hand — or what his
nervous system still believed was his left hand. Pain meds helped,
but not enough. That’s why he was here, knocking on the
Pepto-Bismol pink door of Bluestar Morninglory’s Holistic House of
Healing.
    The door creaked open. A
black and white striped cat darted between Jonathan’s feet. He spun
around and grabbed it with his right hand. The crazy cat dug its
claws into Jonathan’s forearm. He gritted his teeth and turned
around to find a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She
looked pretty good for an old broad. Her faded jeans and old
Bolder-Boulder t-shirt from 2009 hugged her curvy body, but her
tanned-leather face and grey streaked hair kept Jonathan’s libido
in check.
    She took the cat and nuzzled
it against her neck. “Thanks.”
    Jonathan rubbed his arm and
glared at the cat. “You should keep an eye on that thing. He won’t
last long outside with the coyotes.”
    “What can I do for
you?”
    “I’m looking for a
hypnotherapist.”
    She narrowed her eyes.
“Why?”
    Jonathan held out his left
arm and rotated his myoelectric hand. The tiny gears and servos of
the robotic device hummed as he manipulated it. “The phantom pain
never goes away. My doc said hypnosis might help.”
    The woman’s eyes softened as
she lifted her gaze from Jonathan’s prosthesis to his face. “All
right. Come on in. But next time, call first and make an
appointment.”
    “I can come back later if
it’s more convenient.”
    “You’re here now. My name’s
Bluestar, but everyone calls me Blue.” She motioned for Jonathan to
enter with a sweep of her arm. “The first session is free, after
that, it’s a hundred dollars an hour.”
    Jonathan doubted he’d be
back as he followed Blue into a small, windowless room illuminated
by candlelight. Thin ribbons of smoke curled from the tips of
incense sticks. The cloyingly sweet scent of patchouli gave
Jonathan an instant headache. Floor to ceiling shelves held an
assortment of rocks, crystals and … animal bones? Maybe the
cat would be safer
outside with the coyotes.
    And maybe the main
qualification for a hypnotherapist shouldn’t be how close they were
to the Dillon Dam Brewery. Jonathan’s mouth watered as he thought
of the giant cheese burger waiting for him when he was done with
this woo-woo business.
    Blue nodded at a worn out
recliner. “Have a seat and get comfortable while I go brew you some
tea.”
    “Uh … that’s okay. I’m not
much of a tea drinker.” The pins and needles sensation in
Jonathan’s missing hand intensified. In a few minutes it would be
the smashing-his-hand-in-a-vise sensation. Phantom pain, my ass. There’s nothing phantom about
it.
    “It’s all natural, brewed
from organic plants I grow myself.” When Blue returned, she handed
Jonathan a steaming mug. “It’ll help you relax … which will help
with the pain even before I get you into a trance.”
    Jonathan took a sip. It
tasted like mint and dirt but with a ton of honey. He took another
sip. Blue sat on one of those inflatable exercise balls and rocked
back and forth as she talked about the coming ski season. Jonathan
hadn’t quite finished the tea when his eyes drifted shut. He
blinked them open and shook his head. Blue wasn’t kidding when she
said the tea would help him relax. “What sort of plants did you say
were in this?”
    “I didn’t say.” Blue took
the cup from Jonathan’s hand. A trail of pink light followed her
every motion. “It’s a secret blend.”
    Shit . Jonathan