[Author's note: Harper James has turned to hypnotic scripts as therapy for her anxiety condition. However, they are opening up a new world of possibilities for her and her husband Peter.]
---
TRIAL RUN
The main street was busy, but Harper had Peter there by her side and the nerves hadn't surfaced. She was holding on to his hand tightly.
"Managing?" he asked.
Harper shot him a look, but there was only concern in her husband's bright blue eyes. He gave her hand a squeeze and then let go.
"I'll be behind you. Why don't you have a walk and see how you go?"
Harper looked from her husband to the bustling street in front of her. "Why not just walk with me?" she muttered.
"Because I'm a reassuring presence."
"You make it sound like you're my companion animal."
"I am your companion animal, babe."
Harper grimaced, staring fixedly ahead.
"You'll smash it," he offered.
"Maybe stop talking now, Pete."
Harper strode forwards, beginning to thread her way through the crowd. At first, she felt her pulse rate begin to soar, the familiar flickering of butterflies in her stomach at having all the bodies hemming her in. But then, a steadiness began to descend. She allowed herself a little smile.
It hadn't been a great test though. The town was small enough that her fear of crowds seldom surfaced anyway. She worked in a high-end clothes store which sometimes got busy, and she'd never had an attack there either. The hypnosis file could have been working, or perhaps there just weren't the right conditions to trigger her anxiety.
Harper had laid down on the bed before coming out and played the file again. She'd felt the familiar pull of the deepener, pulling her down into trance, and then the barely-recognised switch to her husband's voice telling her that crowded places were a source of fun rather than fear. It was easy to let the words slip by her conscious mind and lodge deep in her subconscious. She could tell how much effort Peter had put into the script.
She looked over her shoulder. "In here, Pete."
She was in front of the entrance to the little mall on the main street. Her husband gave her a look but he didn't protest as she went through the doors and into the gallery of shops. She would normally be working in the boutique on the second floor, but Margie had given her Saturday off today because Peter was back from his trip. As she'd expected, there was a line of people waiting for the elevator to the upper floors. Harper would normally avoid the elevator at all costs.
"You sure this is a good idea?" Peter muttered. "It's going to be packed. They have prams with babies in. I can't guarantee that I wouldn't freak out, let alone you."
"Just stay here. Companion animals are not required," Harper quipped and stepped into the open lift before her husband could react. She smiled at him, braver than she felt, as she squeezed between two mothers with little kids. The doors closed, trapping her inside.
The elevator began to move, but she could already feel the compression in her chest. It was okay. Crowds were fun. Crowds were just people, and people were fun.
And loud.
And close.
She felt her heart rate skip up, her palms itching, and she realised that she wasn't cured at all. Harper screwed her eyes tightly closed but one of the children was crying and the sound reverberated around inside her skull. Then, the elevator pinged and a hand closed around her arm. Her eyes flared open, ready for fight-or-flight, to meet blue eyes staring back at her.
She almost fell into Peter's arms. He wrapped her up in a hug, his chest heaving.
"I... shit, Harper... I nearly busted a... lung. You okay?"
He wrapped his arms around her head, and she nestled against him, an island of calm in the sea of people, their cacophony muffled by his body. He directed her to a little seat by a potted plant that overlooked the floor below. Eventually, she disengaged from him.
"You must have sprinted up the escalators," she said in a tiny voice.
"I saw your face through the glass as the elevator started to go up. I could tell you were freaking out."
Harper shook her head, angry at herself. She ran a hand through her long, dark hair.
"It's okay," Peter told her. "Maybe you just need more sessions. Maybe this was too soon."
"Sure. I just got cocky. I thought I had a grip on it. I thought I was like Germaine."
She was aware that Peter had stopped. She chanced a look at his kindly face, but she could see the confusion.
"It's, uh, she's a character in the story I'm writing, Pete. She's like a hard-boiled boss and she always gets shit done. I guess, huh, I was writing her as everything that I'm not. Germaine Priestly would have strolled into that elevator and got out on whichever the fuck floor she goddamn wanted."
"I see, I think."
"She'd have no issues at all boarding a flight and going anywhere in the world. She wouldn't even have to wait for fucking elevators because she'd just climb the outside of the building if she wanted to. She'd look fear in the eye and make it shit its pants."
Harper slumped forward. Pete put his arm around her shoulders.
"Such a complete fail," she muttered under her breath.
"Maybe you just need to be more like the heroine in your story," her husband suggested, gently. "She sounds like she can handle anything."
"You mean, be more like exactly the opposite of everything I am, Pete? That's really awesome advice to give your wife." Harper screwed her eyes closed again. "Sorry. I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean you were suggesting I..."
"I was, actually. If you were her, you'd be able to handle crowds, everything, right?"
She faced up to him, her face crumpling. "But I'm not."
"But if you could be?"
It took her a moment to swallow the sarcastic retort on her lips and instead ask, "How?"
"I went through the other hypnosis files on the site. There are some really weird ones. I mean, I don't know what the hell someone would get out of being convinced they're a living doll or a statue, but if a person can be convinced they're a dog or an airplane or fucking Napolean, then why not? Why can't you become Germaine?"
Peter smiled tentatively. Harper stared at him.
"Think about it. You could just switch. Let Germaine do the hard work. I mean, if you wrote her, you know her, right?"
"That's crazy."
"Might just work."
Harper stalled, but she could see the glint in her husband's eyes. "What do you need?" she asked.
Peter leaned back, arranging his long limbs carefully. She could see that he was working it out, his analytical brain kicking in.
"I need to know who she is, a whatever-you-call-it."
"A character synopsis."
"Yeah, and then I need to be able to tell you that you're her. I'd need a post-hypnotic trigger for you so you could switch."
He stood up, offering Harper his hand. She took it.
"Let's go home, babe," he told her. "I think it's time to introduce me to your kick-ass protagonist."
---
In the lounge at home, Peter had asked Harper to make herself comfortable. They were going to try something new.
Harper regarded her husband dubiously. "So, you've been researching?"
"It's called a rapid trance induction. You go under as normal and when you're there, I give you a trigger that lets you drop straight into trance."
"Wherever I am and whatever I'm doing."
"No. You need to be willing, otherwise it won't work."
Harper screwed her face up. "It had better not. I'm not sure I like the idea of my husband being able to put me under whenever he wants."
Immediately, Peter's expression changed. "Hey, I didn't mean that, I... we don't have to do it, if you don't trust me. I'm just trying to make it easier."
Harper regarded her husband coolly, watching him squirm.
"Look," he continued, "Just say what's on your mind. If this is all too weird, or you don't trust me, then we won't."
Harper remained silent. Peter was back-pedalling furiously but her thoughts were elsewhere. She'd done her research too, uncovering a world of mind control stories. At first, she'd been appalled, then that had given away to a kind of fascination, like slowing down to drive by a car crash. Peter had scoffed at the scripts that were designed to transform someone, give them a brief vacation from their lives. She also doubted the sanity of listening to a script designed to turn the recipient into a mannequin or a puppet, but there was something delicious about just being able to let go and be someone else, or something else.
Peter had triggered that little twist in her guts again, talking about dropping her straight into trance with a command. She'd imagined herself being picked up from work, getting into the car, and then her husband saying her post-hypnotic trigger word. There would be that divine sinking feeling, that pull taking her down and down into the soft, calm warmth of trance, her thoughts evaporating and leaving her head empty of all thought.
She'd come to love that sensation, that relief from the pressures of life. Then, her husband's words seeping into her mind, telling her over and over again that she was safe, that crowds were fun. Each reinforcement of her instructions burrowed a little deeper, made her feel closer to him, secure. Then, the wakener would play and she would bubble back up to the surface, open her eyes and Peter would be the first thing she saw and the only thing she wanted. Even now, she felt a little sweet twinge, recalling how it felt to make love to her husband straight out of trance, relaxed, her body and mind opened up, invigorated.
She could see Peter was concerned that he'd said the wrong thing, when in fact he'd said exactly the right thing. Being dropped into trance, trusting her husband with the trigger that would put her under, gave her an intense thrill. She forestalled his apologies.
"Pete, let's try it. Tell me what to do."
Her husband's mouth closed as he took stock. "Uh, okay. Then just sit back. We'll run the script and then I'll stop it when you're under and I'll implant the trance trigger."
Harper settled back into the chair, slipping the buds into her ears. "Seems simple enough."
Peter tapped her phone screen, and the familiar words began to play. She listened along, taking deep, slow breaths. She could feel it already, even after a few seconds. There was that urge to drop, almost impatient now to get to the point she knew so well, where she was told to sleep and the world dissolved.
Harper felt her limbs getting heavy when the voice told her that her limbs were becoming like lead. She wasn't able to move them, feeling herself sinking down into the soft upholstery. The voice told her how sleepy and relaxed she was feeling and she would have nodded in agreement if she still had control of her neck muscles. It droned on and on, repeating phrases, but Harper was just waiting for the command, already ready. When she heard the word 'sleep' she went under without a murmur of resistance.
Peter's voice was counting.
"Three, feeling more awake now, rising up."
She concentrated on his voice. It was warm and reassuring.
"Two, feeling the energy flowing back into your body, becoming more aware."
Harper felt the familiar tingle, relishing the energy bubbling up from within her.
"One, ready to be fully awake, fully refreshed when I tell you to wake."
Harper concentrated, feeling her body surging, her spine tingling, ready to spring back into the world.
