Mind Switch (23 page)

Fred said, “Maybe everything. Please, honey, just answer my question.”

“I’ve been having problems sleeping and I remember years ago my friend Jane Stanton went to a hypnotist and he seemed to cure her problem immediately. I decided to do the same and I found his phone number in the Yellow Pages. I called him and had one meeting with him. The night after I saw him, I had the best rest that I had in a year.”

Fred asked, “Did you see him more than once?”

Maureen said, “No, I didn’t have to. Whatever he did was effective and I’ve been sleeping like a baby since then.”

“Do you remember what he said to you while you were hypnotized?”

“No, and that’s normally the case. For the period one is under hypnosis, subjects don’t remember a thing.”

Fred said, “I understand but I need to know all you can tell me about hypnosis.”

“Do you think I have been hypnotized into believing I was on a cruise when I really wasn’t?”

“Yes, and much more. I believe you may have been put into some type of post hypnotic trance and you have been acting under the total control of someone else – specifically, Mr. Harry Ford.”

Maureen said, “I can’t buy that. I had one three hour lecture on hypnotism in grad school and half of that time was devoted to a hypnotist who came into the class and used our class room students as guinea pigs. At any rate it is true a hypnotist can induce a post hypnotic trance. But to the best of my knowledge, the process is fairly short lived.”

“How long is short lived?”

“I don’t recall if that was even brought up in class. In fact, in the exercise conducted in class, the post hypnotic suggestion was triggered by selective words that the hypnotist spoke during the initial trance. Then the subjects were awakened and subsequently brought back under a second trance at the time the trigger words were spoken by the hypnotist. The experiment was completed in a short time.”

“Did the students know how they were acting during the trance?”

“No, not at all, in fact they had no recall of the events whatsoever until the hypnotist told them what had happened.”

“Can…can …” Fred had a difficult time articulating what his mind told him that he had to ask. Finally he said, “Can someone do something under hypnosis that’s against their moral code?”

Maureen said, “Absolutely not. One’s lifetime values are not altered by being in a trance. For example if I was told to take off my clothes in front of an audience I would not do that, regardless of the level of the trance I was in.”

“Ok, let’s take this one step at a time. You said you thought a post hypnotic suggestion could only last so long, but suppose the post hypnotic triggering event or the conditioned response was the image of the hypnotist himself. In other words suppose a hypnotist, during the post hypnotic suggestion phase, imprinted on one’s mind, a post hypnotic suggestion that his appearance alone would create a new state of hypnosis. Would that work?”

Maureen thought a moment, then said, “I suppose; it’s my understanding that the trigger could be anything that was specified during the initial hypnosis.”

Fred paused, absorbing the new information that Maureen was providing. “OK,” he said, “Do you remember seeing Harry Ford at any time during the period you were at your parents?”

“No, and I certainly would remember if I had!”

Fred was not willing to concede this part of his theory. “Ok, but if during the post hypnotic suggestion phase you had been told by Mr. Ford that you would not remember anything during the period that you had been placed under the initial hypnosis, you would not have to remember seeing him. Isn’t that correct?”

“I guess if one were told they would not remember anything while under hypnosis, they would not remember.”

“Then let me ask this, could a series of new fresh hypnotic trances be induced by a repetition of the same triggering event, time and time again?”

“I suppose so, but as I told you I’m no expert on hypnotism.”

Fred felt any further interrogation of Maureen would do no good. He made two decisions—to interview an expert hypnotist to get the answers Maureen could not provide, and to put Maureen somewhere safe so her actions could no longer be controlled by an external force. Fred decided to take on the more urgent issue first.

“Maureen, I don’t want to go in great detail with what happened to you during your absence but suffice to say that your life was in great danger and most likely still is. Please trust me on that.”

“You know I trust you with my life.”

“Ok, now we need to find a place where you can be safe from external influences.”

“Maureen said, “You mean, such as police headquarters?”

Fred said, “Yes something like that. But frankly, so many strange things have been happening, I don’t even trust the security of the station any more.”

“Fred, I know an associate who runs a medical facility which treats all types of maladies from simple neurosis to full blown schizophrenia. Some patients are violent so they are kept securely isolated and under guard.”

“Maureen, I know this is difficult to ask of you, but would you be willing to enter that facility for a week for your own protection?”

Maureen, head lowered, said, “Yes.” “But,” she added, “please, not more than a week.”

Maureen called Dr. Clinton, the head of the facility. After they exchanged pleasantries, Maureen asked her question.

Dr. Clinton said, “I don’t fully understand what this is all about but, yes, I can help you out. Come over tomorrow morning, and we’ll have a place ready for you.”

* * *

That evening very little conversation took place between Fred and Maureen. It was obvious both were dreading the next day. Late that night Maureen packed her clothes; the next morning they left for Sleepy Meadows Sanitarium.

The Sanitarium was located near Naples, just a few miles off interstate 75. They left Sarasota before dawn and arrived at their destination within a couple of hours. As they turned onto the Sanitarium’s private road, three massive white Victorian buildings loomed out of the darkness directly in front of them. A massive iron fence surrounded the grounds. On it a large sign, notated
Sleepy Meadows
.
Sanitarium—Private,
was their initial introduction to Maureen’s temporary new lodging. Fred observed that the gates seemed large and strong enough to keep King Kong in.

Fred spoke his name into a small speaker device concealed in a moss covered granite stone column holding the entry gates. A voice from an unknown location responded, “Dr. Clinton told me to be expecting you, please come in.” The gates seemed to take an eternity to open. Fred proceeded about a half mile down the road to a small eight by eight guard house. The guard, a trim balding man, in what Fred guessed to be his early fifties, directed Fred and Maureen to the Sanitarium’s middle building.

Upon entering the main building, a receptionist, dressed totally in white, greeted them. She smiled as she saw Fred and Maureen approach, and said, “Joe indicated you were on your way.”

Fred assumed Joe was the gate guard, and that it was his job to notify the receptionist of the approach of all visitors.

“Please go directly into Dr. Clinton’s office.”

Dr. Clinton was seated behind a large tiger oak desk. The desk had seen better days. The yellow varnish was worn in several areas; one supporting leg had encountered a large crack at sometime in its extended life. Fred observed a set of dusty books hidden just beneath the desk was providing necessary structural support. Fred could see that money was not pouring into the sanitarium’s maintenance; he sincerely hoped that more was being funneled into security.

Dr. Clinton rose as they entered. “Maureen, what a delight to see you again!” Fred thought the strong social amenity was totally inappropriate for the occasion. Dr. Clinton shook her hand, grinning all over.

Maureen introduced Fred. Clinton said, “Oh, yes, Maureen, I remember you said you were married but I never had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Harris.”

Fred said, “Nice to meet you as well, but I respond better to Fred.”

“And I answer best to Matthew,” Dr. Clinton responded amicably.

After the pleasantries, Dr. Clinton said, “I realize you don’t want to go into any detail as to why you want to enter the facility and I fully respect your need for privacy. I certainly won’t try to pry it out of you. After you called last night, I checked the records and found a vacant area in the violent ward. I am sorry, but that seems to be the only part of my institution that meets the security needs that you advised me that you needed. You will, unfortunately, have to vacate your assigned area in a couple of weeks, because we have made arrangements to take in a rather unpleasant fellow who has proved to be too violent for the medical hospital in Venice. In the interim, I have made changes that might make your stay more appealing. Of course it will never be the Hilton, but maybe we can bump it up from one star to a star and a half.” He smiled; neither Fred nor Maureen returned the smile. “Come; let me show it to you.”

Dr. Clinton led them to a small passageway. A large muscular man whose arms appeared a size larger than the white shirt he was wearing greeted them from his desk. Next to the guard was a windowed entry door. Lying on the guard’s desk was what Fred guessed to be an entry log. The guard spoke thru a speaker next to him, advising the guard on the other side of the door that Dr. Clinton and his visitors were entering.

Fred asked if any of the guards carried weapons.

“No, much too dangerous,” Dr. Clinton replied. “They do carry clubs, but that’s all. We just don’t want to take the chance that one of our inmates might get his hands on a firearm.”

“What types of patients are confined —?” Fred started to ask. His question was interrupted by a cacophony of screams, cries and a barrage of curse words from an area somewhere down the hall. Dr. Clinton didn’t seem to notice the sounds.

“The patients in here are mostly psychotics,” Dr. Clinton stated, as if he knew what the end of Fred’s question would be. “They are the very violent type. Some were murderers, if you can use that word when a person is not really responsible for his actions. Other inmates displayed sadistic streaks to such a degree that the courts determined that they cannot function in society. We give them a daily concoction of the latest mind control drugs. Of course, the drugs treat only the symptoms and not the cause. They do moderate their behavior to a degree, but not to the extent they could ever be released back into society.”

“Maureen,” he quickly added, “don’t worry. You will be totally protected from any other residents.”

As they continued down the corridor they passed a nurses’ station on the right. To Fred, the nurses seemed overly stern; none looked up as they passed. Fred felt one had to take a jaundiced viewpoint of the world to spend eight or more hours a day working in such a facility.

A sturdy steel door faced them at the far end of the hall. A small glass window, reinforced with integrated steel strips, provided a limited view into the room. Dr. Clinton inserted two keys into what in Fred’s mind was functionally no different than a prison cell door. Dr. Clinton said, “We always use two locks just to make sure no one can escape.”

The room was small; the pale green interior was covered by thick cloth padding. The only light bulb in the space was at ceiling height, about fifteen feet above the floor. A sturdy wire cage enclosed the single bulb. Dr. Clinton noticed that his guests were looking upward at the distant light. He articulated what they had been thinking. “Of course, we don’t want inmates playing with the electricity. At that ceiling height not even an NBA player could reach the fixture; and the on/off switch is kept outside of the door.”

Dr. Clinton was apologetic that the accommodations were not very appealing, He looked at Maureen and said, trying to add a sense of optimism, “We added a desk and table for you as well as a small book shelf. We replaced the inmate bed with one that is the same type used by my staff. I’m sorry I can’t do more; but as you can see, our options and finances are extremely limited.”

Maureen, attempting to muster the best attitude she could, said, “Oh, this will be fine,” as if she were commenting on the accommodations at a five star motel.

She added, “Before you leave, Doctor, just one request. Please make sure that under no condition will you allow me to leave this place until my husband indicates I am authorized.”

Fred added, “And she is not to have any visitors unless I approve of each of them personally.”

Dr. Clinton said, “Of course, I understand,” although he really didn’t. He would ask Maureen what in hell this was all about after it was all over.

Fred kissed Maureen goodbye and promised he would visit her that evening. He hated to leave her under these circumstances but he rationalized, this is the only way I can insure that she is safe. At the same time, he feared that not even the dedicated security of the sanitarium could prevent the unknown assailant from getting to her if he tried hard enough.

Chapter 42

On the way back to the station Fred kept muttering, “Damn Harry Ford, Damn him! Fucking hypnotist!” He knew somehow he had to get him off the street to protect Maureen. But at the same time without any evidence of a crime, it would be difficult—extremely difficult. Fred had assigned a detail to continuously watch Ford’s office. There was only on entrance to the office; so whenever Ford left the premises he would be spotted and trailed. At some point he has to show his hand, Fred told himself.