Free Down the Rabbit Hole by Charlotte Abel Page A

had never experimented with
hallucinogenic drugs, but he’d had enough super-powerful pain meds
in the hospital to recognize the effect. “Did you use psychedelic
mushrooms or something?”
    “Listen to the sound of my
voice. Let it carry you back to the day you lost your
hand.”
    The smell of gasoline,
melting rubber and dust burned Jonathan’s sinuses. Searing pain
shot from his missing left hand up the length of his arm. Every
muscle in his upper body contracted. He arched his back, pulling
his shoulders towards his ears.
    Blue’s voice sounded as if
she were speaking from inside a tunnel. “I need to get to the very
root of your pain but let’s go back to a happier time. Relax.
Breathe with me. In … out …”
    Jonathan didn’t want to go
back to a happier time, he wanted to get the hell out of Blue’s
creepy house. But thanks to her magic mushroom tea he could barely
keep his eyes open, much less get out of the chair. Jonathan knew
he was in trouble when he couldn’t force himself to breathe out of
sync with Blue’s commands.
    “Good job, Jonathan. Close
your eyes. Let your mind wander, as you drift into the past. Where
are you? What do you see, hear, smell…”
    “Lasagna. I smell lasagna.
Mom’s cooking it for Franklin.” The double-edged sword of grief and
guilt plunged into Jonathan’s heart. He tried to ignore it, but it
was buried to the hilt. He dug his fingers into the recliner’s arm
rest and tried to open his eyes but they might as well have been
glued shut.
    Blue’s monotone voice, soft
as dandelion fluff, invaded Jonathan’s mind. “Relax. Let your
emotions wash over you as travel back in time. Embrace the pain,
let it heal you.”
    “No.” He’d had enough of the
‘whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ bullshit from the
army shrinks.
    A rainbow of multi-colored
lights exploded behind Jonathan’s eyelids as he floated on a
patchouli scented cloud. “This is nice.”
    He heard an echo of quiet
laughter, then watched in awe as sound waves rippled the air around
him. And then he fell … spinning, turning, around and around … down
… down … down.
    Jonathan’s bare feet sank
into soft, warm carpet. What happened to his shoes? He opened his
eyes and wiggled his toes. He recognized the hunter green carpet
immediately.
    “What do you want,
Jonathan?”
    “Frankie?” Franklin was
alive — sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest, frowning.
But he wasn’t frowning at Jonathan. He followed Franklin’s gaze and
saw a younger version of himself. Unscarred. No prosthesis. Two
hands.
    Jonathan ignored his
doppleganger and wrapped his arms around Franklin. But they passed
right through him, leaving behind a trail of blue and purple light.
He might as well have been a ghost. Am I
dead?
    The room slipped sideways.
An invisible force pulled Jonathan forward and shoved him into his
other body; his perfect body, with two hands.
    He wanted something … He
wanted Franklin to do something …
     
    Jonathan ran his left
hand over the shiny gold figure perched on top of Franklin’s latest
trophy. It was almost as tall as he was. Between the two of them,
they had more trophies, ribbons, and awards than the entire
athletics department at Lake County High.
    Franklin was seated behind
his massive oak desk with his head bent over a book. He didn’t even
look up when he said, “Stop molesting my trophy and get out of my
room.”
    Jonathan leaned over
Franklin’s shoulder to see what he was reading … “Lord of the
Rings? Again? Ya know, Bro, they made that into a movie. You don’t
have to read it.”
    “What do you want,
Jonathan?”
    “Can I borrow a shirt and a
pair of jeans?”
    Franklin put a finger in the
middle of the page, under the word ‘Aragorn,’ then twisted sideways
to look at Jonathan. “Why? You hate my clothes.”
    Jonathan knew better than to
lie to Franklin. “You know why.”
    “Then the answer is
no.”
    “Come on, Frankie, what’s
the point