Down the Rabbit Hole Read online

  Down the Rabbit Hole

  Down the Rabbit Hole

  Midpoint

  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.”

  “You don’t have to talk. Just grab a beer, park your butt against a tree and act broken hearted. I guarantee at least one hot chick is going to try to console you by cramming her tongue down your throat. Just don’t let Naomi see you. I’m already in enough trouble.”

  Frankie wrinkled his nose and frowned. “I’m not going to start drinking just so I can make out with some random fan-girl of yours. And get off my bed.”

  Jonathan grinned and started bouncing again. Heather was the perfect bait. All Jonathan had to do was set the hook and reel him in. “Just smile and nod your head while they jabber at you. It’ll be good practice. For when you go out with Heather.”

  “Do you really think H-Heather w-would go out w-with me?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? You’re almost as good-looking as I am.”

  Franklin rolled his eyes but his grin was so wide it looked like it hurt. “We’re identical, you moron.”

  There was a small parking lot at the trailhead that meandered past the old McKnight mine, but it was already full. Jonathan didn’t want to park on the side of the road so he pulled in behind Rich Blanchard’s souped up Dodge Ram and cut the engine.

  Franklin said, “You can’t park here. You’re blocking three cars.”

  Jonathan set the emergency brake and said, “I can park wherever the hell I want.”

  “You know who owns that truck, right?”

  “Quit whining. Rich isn’t going to want to leave before we do. In fact he’ll probably get so drunk he won’t be able to find his truck before daylight.”

  “And if you want anyone to believe you’re me; quit saying ‘hell.’ I don’t swear.”

  “Okay, Mom … it’s no big f—”

  “Hey!”

  “—freakin’ deal.”

  Jonathan laughed and hopped out of the Land Rover, slamming the door behind him. “Keep your chin up and head straight for the keg—”

  “I already told you, I’m not going to drink.”

  “Then grab a beer out of one of the coolers—”

  “I said I’m not—”

  “Calm down. I didn’t say you had to drink it. Just hold it and pretend to take a sip occasionally. Can you do that?” Jonathan’s patience was wearing thin.

  “Okay, but remember the only kind of beer you can drink is root-beer.”

  Jonathan was definitely going to need a couple of real beers if he was going to get through the next hour without popping Franklin in the mouth. He’d just have to be discreet about it.

  About twenty people milled around the bonfire in front of the mine. Another half-dozen or so jostled each other to get to the keg. Music blared from someone's portable audio system. It was amazing what you could do with a car battery, an amp and a couple of speakers. The thump, thump of the heavy bass reverberating in Jonathan’s gut lifted his mood. He had to remind himself not to move to the beat as they walked up the trail. Franklin could dance as good as anyone, but he never did it in public.

  That needed to change. Jonathan punched Franklin’s shoulder. “Loosen up, bro. Try to relax. You’re supposed to be excited to be here.”

  Franklin huffed and rolled his eyes.

  They were about half-way between the parking lot and the bonfire when Naomi and her current top three friends spilled out of her Prius. Great. How was he supposed to talk to her with those three hanging around? They openly dissed him in front of Naomi, then came on to him behind her back.

  Jonathan turned to Franklin, hoping he could enlist his help to distract Naomi’s friends for a few minutes, but he should have known better.

  Franklin was already twitching. Jonathan lowered his voice and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Go grab a beer and pretend to drink it … now.” He stepped in front of Naomi then dropped his gaze to his feet. Franklin would never have the courage for direc
t eye contact with any girl, much less a hottie like Naomi. “H-h-hello, N-Naomi. H-how are y-y-you?”

  She stopped and did a little double-take. “Franklin?”

  Jonathan chanced a quick glance at Naomi’s face. She curled her upper lip back so far it practically touched her nose. What the hell was her problem?

  “C-can I t-talk t-to you for a m-minute?

  She made that half-grunt-half-coughing noise in the back of her throat that she usually reserved for thespians and members of the chess club. “What are you doing here?”

  “Jonathan’s been so depressed since you b-broke up with him. If you w-would j-just t-talk to him—”

  Naomi interrupted him with a cruel laugh. It was nothing like the musical giggle that always warmed Jonathan’s heart. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand and looked down her nose at him. He hardly recognized her. It was as if someone had transformed his Disney princess into a monster. She actually sneered at him. “How the hell did that cheating, scumbag brother of yours ever talk you into this? Did he threaten to st-st-steal your t-t-teddy b-b-bear?”

  Jonathan’s world shattered. No one made fun of Franklin’s stutter. No one. Not even hot ex-girlfriends. Did she treat Franklin like this whenever Jonathan wasn’t around? He glanced over his shoulder. Franklin was leaning against a tree with a goofy grin on his face, staring into the fire. If he’d heard Naomi’s mockery, it would have devastated him.

  She needed to be taken down a notch or two. And Jonathan knew just how to do it. “Jonathan told me I could have one of his rejects tonight. I was hoping Harleigh would show up, but since she didn’t, I guess you’ll do.” He sighed and grabbed her hand. “Come on. I have a sleeping bag in the back of the Rover.”

  Naomi jumped back and hissed like an angry cat. Her friends giggled and snorted behind their hands. She was still spluttering incoherently when Jonathan turned his back on her and walked away. It was time to sneak into the mine, snag a couple of beers, and light up the blunt hidden in his pocket.