The Hypnotist stared at Pennebaker's brown teeth, feeling the first inkling of anxiety himself.
Pennebaker was prepared. He stared at the slow pendulum of the watch, heard the muted ticking of the second hand, and waited.
As he anticipated, nothing happened.
"Listen to the sound of my voice," the Hypnotist said. "Keep your eyes on the watch."
"I'm watching."
"Listen to my voice," the Hypnotist repeated. "There is nothing else but my voice. Are you listening to my voice, Mr. Pennebaker?"
"Yes."
Pennebaker took a long, deep breath. The air in the interrogation room smelled like sweat and urine. Prior to the Hypnotist's arrival, Pennebaker had studied the walls. They were stained. Some of the stains were blood. A few of the tiles bore long, jagged scratches that had presumably been made by desperate fingernails. Still, Pennebaker controlled his fear. He took another long, deep breath.
"The room will dissolve, Mr. Pennebaker. It is just you and me. Nothing else remains."
Another long, deep breath. Pennebaker's pulse slowed. To his left and write, the walls tipped and fell backwards like cheap sets in a stage play, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. Behind the Hypnotist, the broad one-way glass wall leaned precariously and fell. There was no sound, not even an echo. Everything was silent.
Nothing remained but Arnold Pennebaker, the Hypnotist, and the spartan metal table between them.
"What do you see, Mr. Pennebaker?"
"Nothing," the prisoner said. "There is darkness around us. Only darkness."
"Do you see anyone?"
"Only you."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
"I want you to visualize someone for me."
"All right," Pennebaker said. His pulse was not floating around a zen-like 40. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His eyes had not grown heavy. Or perhaps they had.
"I want you to visualize Mary Ellen Palmer. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes."
The Hypnotist's silver watch continued to swing. And tick. And swing.
Pennebaker closed his eyes. He could feel a bright flower of victory begin to bloom in his chest.
"Can you see her now?"
"Yes, I can see her."
The Hypnotist looked around the darkness, a frown appearing on his face for the first time. The watch continued. Tick… tick… tick…
"You can see Mary Ellen, Mr. Pennebaker?"
"Yes."
"Show her to me."
The Hypnotist moved his eyes around the darkness of this new space. He waited for the silhouette of a young woman to emerge. Hair, eyes, arms, legs.
Nothing emerged from the darkness.
"Mr. Pennebaker…"
"Yes?"
"Show me Mary Ellen. Show me Ms. Palmer."
"I can see her," Pennebaker said.
"Yes?"
"She is not for you, Hypnotist."
The watch continued. Tick… tick… tick...
"Show her to me," the Hypnotist said. "I command you."
Pennebaker smiled and took a deep breath. "You heard what I said, magician."
"I control this world," the Hypnotist interrupted. "You will do as I command. Show me Mary Ellen Palmer."
"You created this world," Pennebaker corrected, feeling something changing inside of himself. "But that does not imply control."
"Mr. Pennebaker…"
Tick… tick… tick…
"Yes?"
"I am in control. Not you."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am sure. Now show me–"
The watch stopped ticking. The swinging continued silently for a moment before the Hypnotist snatched it from the air.
"What?" he said softly. "What did you–"
"You are mistaken, magician," Pennebaker said. "You are not in control. I am in control."
The Hypnotist opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut short.
Things were emerging from the darkness, but they were not Mary Ellen Palmer…
No comments:
Post a Comment