Dave Zeltserman - Bad Thoughts

“Yes,” Shannon answered, his speech no longer slurred, “I’m in a basement.”

“Where?”

“In Roxbury.”

“That doesn’t make sense…” Bennett started, confused. Horwitz figured it out. She told him Shannon was leaping forward to when he came out of his blackout. Bennett moved Shannon backwards, minute by minute, until he was out of the basement and back at the bar. He tried it again, and Shannon again skipped from the bar to Roxbury. The time that existed between those two moments passed by without any awareness, as if it never existed to Shannon. Bennett narrowed down the moment when Shannon blacked out to six-thirty-six. He tried some more to crack into Shannon’s blackout and then gave up. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he told Horwitz.

“Okay,” he sighed as he rubbed a hand across his face. “Let’s go back to when you were thirteen. You’ve just come home after playing street hockey with your friends. This is the day your mother has been murdered. You’re at the front door. What do you see?”

Shannon sat silently, his brow furrowed, thin lines of concentration spreading out from the corners of his eyes. “The front door’s not locked,” he said in a thin, nervous voice. “And all the lights are out. It’s not right. Mom never leaves the door unlocked when she’s not home.”

“What happens next?”

“I open the door and walk in. I’m in the family room.”

“What do you see?”

“It’s a mess. There are grocery bags on the floor. Food all over the place. A carton of milk has spilt out. The carpet’s wet… Something bad’s happening… I can hear it.”

“What do you hear?”

Shannon didn’t answer.

“What do you hear?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try to explain it.”

“It’s just a noise.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the kitchen.”

“What do you see?”

Shannon shook his head, his lips pressing hard together.

“Tell me what you see.”

Shannon’s lips became thin, bloodless lines as they pushed harder together.

“What are you doing in there?”

No answer. “You’re doing something,” Bennett accused suddenly, the words rushing out of him. “Your dad knew about it, too, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Answer me!”

Elaine Horwitz blinked stupidly at him. Bennett seemed taken aback by his own question.

“What are you doing?” Horwitz demanded.

“I don’t know.” Bennett leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands cradling his head. He dropped one of his soft, white hands over his eyes and squeezed the flesh around his temples. “I really don’t know why I asked that.” And he didn’t; the thoughts had just bubbled out of him. He had a strange sensation that they had been whispered to him and that other things had been whispered to him. He felt a sudden chill.

Shannon still had his eyes closed. His breathing had become more shallow, to the point of being nonexistent.

“Get him out of it,” Elaine Horwitz ordered.

“I’m really sorry, Elaine, I have no idea what made me say those things-”

“Please, just bring him out of it!”

Bennett looked helplessly at Horwitz. He wanted to explain what happened but there was no explanation, at least none that made any sense. Reluctantly, he turned to Shannon to talk him out of his hypnotic trance. Nothing happened. He tried it again without any response.

“What’s wrong?” Horwitz asked.

“Sometimes it takes a few times,” Bennett lied. He had never had that happen to him before. He had never even heard of that happening before. The golden rule of hypnosis is they always come out when you tell them to-no matter how deep they’re in it they come out. No matter what, they come out. He went over it a half dozen more times without any reaction. A panic overtook him. Without realizing it, he grabbed Shannon by the shoulders and started shaking him.

“Stop it!”

“Give me a moment, Elaine-”

“Let go of him now!”

He turned briefly but before he could respond Shannon caught him in the mouth with a left jab, and then a hard right into the middle of his forehead. The hypnotherapist staggered back a few feet and then Shannon was on top of him, sending him crashing to the floor. Shannon’s hands found his neck. As his air was cut off, Bennett’s face turned a mottled red, his tongue thickening as it pushed its way out of his mouth. As Shannon increased the pressure, Bennett’s tongue pushed further out.

Elaine Horwitz watched in horror. She stood paralyzed until it fully hit her what was happening and then she moved quickly, grabbing Shannon around his chest, trying to pull him off. The dullness disappeared from his eyes. He looked puzzled and then disappointed as he stared into Bennett’s face. Recognition seeped in and he released his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he got off the hypnotherapist.

Bennett started to cough and then rolled onto his knees, vomiting. The bruises along the side of his throat stood out like a knife wound. Shannon stared blankly at them and then sat back down in his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

After a while the vomiting stopped. Bennett tried to stand but his knees buckled under him and he fell back onto the floor. As he lay in kind of a sprawl, he put a hand to his mouth where he’d been hit and pushed at his teeth with his thumb.

“They’re loose,” he said.

Horwitz tried not look at him. “Should I call an ambulance?” she asked.

He pulled his hand away from his mouth. “Oh, God,” he groaned as he looked at it. “I’m bleeding.”

Horwitz called for an ambulance. When the attendants came, they noticed the bruises along Bennett’s throat and looked suspiciously at Shannon. One of them asked what happened.

“There was an accident,” Horwitz explained weakly.

They didn’t seem to like that explanation until Shannon showed them his police badge. Then they put Bennett on a stretcher. After they left, Elaine Horwitz found she couldn’t stop shaking. In a voice that didn’t sound quite right to her, she told Shannon not to blame himself for what happened.

“You were someplace pretty awful, weren’t you?” she asked.

Shannon didn’t say anything.

“You were back with your mother. But you weren’t alone, were you, Bill? He was there with you.”

Shannon murmured that he didn’t know what she was talking about.

The adrenaline of the last twenty minutes caught up to her. “I’m not stupid,” she said, her voice cracking. “I saw the way you attacked Mark. I saw the look on your face. You haven’t been telling me the truth about how your mother died.”

She paused, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she told him she couldn’t see him anymore. “I can’t treat you if you’re going to lie to me,” she said stiffly.

He looked up at her briefly, then without saying a word, got up and walked out of her office. As the door closed behind him, Elaine Horwitz felt a chill run through her. She grabbed herself and leaned forward, trying to keep from shaking. She couldn’t stop it, though. It went through her like an electric current. It made her teeth chatter. And then she got hysterical.

The bartender gave Shannon a tired, well-practiced smile. “What can I get you, buddy?”

Shannon asked for a bourbon. He was sitting at the bar at the Black Rose, sitting at the same stool he had sat on before blacking out a week earlier. The bartender poured him a shot and slid it in front of him. He asked if Shannon wanted to start a tab.

Shannon nodded. He didn’t recognize the guy but that didn’t mean anything. He held out his hand and introduced himself. The bartender, a bit dubiously, accepted it and gave back his name as Tom Morton.