Page 60 of In Her Dreams
“No,” he whispered, even as his body betrayed him, rising from the floor with the jerky movements of a poorly operated marionette.“Don’t answer it.Don’t let her in.”
But the posthypnotic suggestions planted while he was under the influence of ka’lutma were too powerful.His legs carried him out of the bedroom, into the living room.
The intercom buzzed again as Anthony approached it, his arm reached out against his will.His finger hovered over the button, trembling with the effort of his resistance.
“Anthony?”Dr.Summers’ voice came through the speaker, deceptively gentle.“I know you’re there.Let me in, please.We need to talk.”
He pressed the button.
“I’ll be right up,” she said, satisfaction evident in her tone.
He found himself moving to the door, his body once again betraying his mind’s frantic commands to run, to hide, to fight.He stood there, hand on the doorknob, waiting helplessly.
Anthony Walsh knew his time had run out.
***
Olivia Summers assessed Anthony with clinical detachment as he opened the door.The hypnotic suggestion was working precisely as designed.Fear had hollowed him out, making him malleable.Perfect.Or was it?
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.“Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the sofa.
Walsh moved to the couch, his movements stiff and mechanical.
“You’re fighting it,” she observed, settling into the armchair opposite him.“That’s unusual, but ultimately futile.”
“What do you want?”Walsh managed to ask, the words seeming to scrape his throat raw.
“I thought I made that clear.I need three more patients from you—specifically, those struggling with significant phobias.The Chantico Rite requires new participants.”
Walsh’s face contorted.“No more.They’re dying because of us.”
“Because of their inability to transcend,” Olivia corrected him firmly.“They weren’t strong enough to face their fears.”
“I can’t,” Walsh said, each word clearly requiring immense effort.“No more patients.No more deaths.”
Olivia leaned forward, her intensity filling the space between them.“The Zaltican shamans understood what modern psychology refuses to acknowledge—true transformation requires confrontation with our deepest terrors.What we’re doing is revolutionary.”
“What you’re doing is murder,” he whispered.
Olivia felt a flicker of annoyance.She hadn’t expected this level of resistance after the posthypnotic suggestion.
“You seemed to have developed a rather inconvenient conscience, Anthony,” she said, her voice cooling several degrees.“When we met, you were desperate for relief from your phobia.I offered you a path few will ever experience—direct communion with the subconscious through ka’lutma.Now you want to renege on our agreement?”
“I’m going to reach out to Sheriff Graves,” Walsh said, his voice stronger now.“I’m going to tell her everything.”
Olivia tilted her head, examining him like a curious specimen.“Are you?How interesting that you think you can.”She paused, watching realization dawn on his face.“You physically cannot tell them, Anthony.”
His expression collapsed, the momentary strength draining away.“They’re figuring it out anyway.The dreamcatchers—”
“Where is yours?”Olivia interrupted.
Walsh’s mouth worked silently for a moment, fighting the compulsion to answer.Then, defeat: “Bedroom.”
Olivia rose.“Show me.”
“No.”The single word seemed to cost him tremendous effort.
“Show me your dreamcatcher, Anthony,” she repeated with the same hypnotic cadence she had used during the ritual.
