Down the Rabbit Hole

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 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 of being identical twins if we can’t use it to our
advantage?”

“What advantage? Why do you
want to be me?” Franklin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to
the side. “Or is there some reason you don’t want to be
you?”

“I need to talk to
Naomi.”

“So?”

“She won’t answer my calls
or texts or let me inside her house. She won’t even look at me.”
Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
“She un-friended me on Facebook.”

“Not my problem.”

“Come on Frankie. I’d do it
for you.”

“How is pretending to be me
going to change anything?”

“There’s a party out at the
mine tonight. If I can just talk to her—”

The wheels of Franklin’s
chair clattered across the hard wood floor as he pushed away from
his desk. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “You
mean seduce her.”

“No. I mean talk to her. I
just need her to understand how that whole thing with Harleigh was
nothing but a mistake. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was
doing.”

“That’s no excuse and you
know it.”

“If that doesn’t work, I’ll
do the concerned brother routine… I’m so worried about Jonathan.
Please, just talk to him. He may be suicidal.”

“You’re pathetic, but you
aren’t suicidal.”

“I can’t live without
Naomi.”

“That would be easier to
believe if you hadn’t boinked her best friend.”

“I didn’t boink Harleigh. I
just made out with her. And like I told you … I was
drunk.”

“And like I told you …
that’s no excuse.” Franklin turned back to his book. “Besides,
Naomi’s going out with Rich Blanchard now.”

Rich was a senior and the
state heavy-weight wrestling champion. He had the strength, thick
skull and temperament of a silver-back gorilla, but only half the
intelligence. There was no way Naomi actually liked him. “She’s
just trying to make me jealous.”

“Probably. She’s a
manipulative bitch that doesn’t care who she hurts as long as she
gets her way. Find someone else — half the girls at school are
already in love with you.”

True, but Jonathan didn’t
want anyone else. He didn’t want to start over either. It had taken
him two months to get his hands under Naomi’s shirt and another
three weeks before she let him unhook her bra. If he hadn’t messed
up with Harleigh, he was sure that he and Naomi would have had sex
by now.

Jonathan would have just
grabbed a pair of Franklin’s baggy jeans and one of his nerdy polo
shirts out of the laundry without asking if the neat freak hadn’t
already put his clothes away. He hopped onto Franklin’s bed and
bounced on his toes. He couldn’t think unless he was in motion and
he definitely needed to think of a new plan …

Jonathan dropped to his
knees, then bounced back to his feet. “I could talk to Heather
while I’m impersonating you. Ask her to homecoming or
something.”

It was ridiculous the way
Franklin turned bright red and stuttered every time he tried to
talk to the girl. There was nothing special about Heather Compton.
She wasn’t ugly or anything, but she wasn’t exactly hot either —
not like Naomi.

Franklin slammed his book
shut. “You can’t hit on Naomi and Heather at the same
party.”

He had a point. Jonathan
stopped bouncing. “Unless … you go to the party and pretend to be
me. Lay low until I ask Heather out for you and convince Naomi to
talk to me. Once I’m done, we’ll sneak inside the mine and change
clothes. You can hang out with Heather while I make up with Naomi
in the back of the Rover.”

The corners of Franklin’s
mouth did that subtle little twitchy thing that meant he was going
to start stuttering. No one besides Jonathan ever noticed the
twitch. They’d both stuttered as little kids. Jonathan out grew it,
Franklin didn’t. Stress made it worse, especially around girls.
“The f-first t-time I open m-m-my m-mouth, everyone is g-going to
know I’m n-not you.”