Life on the Preservation, US Edition by Jack Skillingstead Page A

You’ve got me curious.”
    Vanessa’s office wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet. A print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night failed to transcend its mass-produced-image status. On another wall there hung a framed license or certificate. Ian slumped in the tan loveseat, far from relaxed. He tried to ignore the disagreeable scent of drugstore potpourri. Vanessa dialed down the lights then pulled her chair close and sat facing him. Music from the Lava Lounge next door thumped through the wall.
    “Have you ever been hypnotized?” she asked.
    “Nope.”
    “Not everybody can be,” she said. “But we’ll see. Are you ready?”
    “I guess so. I don’t like losing control.”
    “You don’t have to lose control, Icky. Take a few deep breaths, hold them here in your diaphragm.”
    She placed her hand flat on her own diaphragm to demonstrate.
    “Good. Release slowly, and breathe again. As you’re breathing I want you to imagine yourself in a safe place, a safe and peaceful place. It doesn’t have to be a real place. It could be a garden of your imagination, or a quiet room. But in your mind fill the space with peace and light. And keep breathing and concentrating on your safe place, Ian. Make it as real as you can. Now begin to relax your body, start with your toes and work your way up until you are completely, blissfully, relaxed...”
    Vanessa’s voice soothed him past his initial resistance. Concentrating on it, he was able to shut out the Lava Lounge. After a while even her voice seemed to fade. He thought : is this what it’s like? He felt that if he wanted to he could stand up at any time and it would be over, the spell broken. But he didn’t want to; he wanted to stay in the room he’d made, the peaceful place of rose colored walls, rounded smooth, no sharp corners, a fire in the deep hearth, and round hobbit windows looking out on blue sky. Was he describing this to Ness? Now he didn’t seem to be hearing any words at all. He was in the rose colored room gazing at a fire, watching the flames, listening to their soft crackle as they consumed a log. There was a door behind him. He couldn’t see it yet, but he knew it was there. In a moment he would stand up and turn around and open it. The moment arrived. He stood, turned, and approached the door. Above the lintel was a gold plate engraved with the word: TOMORROW. Ian opened the door. White emptiness lay beyond. Suddenly his peaceful feeling evaporated. Light dimmed and the room became cold. The crackle of the fire ceased. Ian was afraid to turn around. The great white emptiness yawned before him on the other side of the TOMORROW door. He could neither go forward nor turn back. Then the world began to dissolve around him.
     
     
    I AN FOUND HIMSELF walking down the hallway outside his apartment, his mind blank. Seconds passed. He didn’t feel fully connected. It was like riding inside an automaton, watching as it withdrew a ring of keys from its pocket and slotted one into the apartment door. When it turned the key over, Ian entered fully into himself and felt the key between his thumb and finger. He crossed the threshold then fell back against the door, panting, slamming the door shut behind him. He had no memory of anything happening after his safe place dissolved. “Jesus Christ,” he said, almost sobbing.
    The apartment was dark. He fumbled for the wall switch, and the furnishings leapt out of the dark, dead things briefly animated by sudden illumination. Ian touched his forehead, which was damp with cold sweat. He got his cell phone out and searched for Vanessa’s number, found it and called her. She picked up after a couple of rings.
    “Hello?”
    “It’s me.”
    “Icky, are you all right?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I was worried when you left.”
    “Ness, I don’t remember anything , except you hypnotized me. What happened?”
    “That’s very strange,” she said. “We talked for quite a while after I brought you out of the trance. You