The Case of the Guilty Witch
Chapter 1: The Eyes Have It

Copyright© 2018 by blacknight99

Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Eyes Have It - The doctor encounters a sultry hypnotist who feels an overwhelming need to atone for her sins.

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Hypnosis   Mind Control   Reluctant   Lesbian   Fiction   Mystery   DomSub   FemaleDom   Oral Sex   Petting  

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 217 - DAY 1

Isn’t it odd how, when we have lived with a habit or disability for a long time, they cease to have the hold on our thoughts and consciousness that they once did? So it became with my “malady.” In the day-to-day course of my life, I was just an average man going about his business in the eyes of those around me; and after a long while, I sort of thought that way about myself ... even though I knew better, deep down inside. I was capable of acts no ordinary person would even think about perpetrating.

Oh, I suppose others DID know, or at least a few of them did. Loretta knew, of course; but she didn’t count. She was in love with me, and love invalidates all judgments. Rory Johnson, the carpenter and building supervisor who lived in the basement of our building, had seen me in action once; so he knew, though he didn’t seem to think it worth mentioning. I wasn’t too sure about his live-in girlfriend, Lauren. Pretty bright girl, Lauren. Actually, there should have been a comma there. Pretty, bright. Very much so in both departments. Rory might have told her ... I mean, they WERE lovers, after all. But, once again, if she knew, she didn’t seem to hold my sickness against me personally.

My clients knew, of course. Not my patients, but my clients ... the ones who were actually LOOKING for a mad evil doctor to do the things which they lacked the professional competence or backbone to do themselves. They, of course, didn’t count either.

But, then along comes someone who puts it all in perspective. And so it was that day, when Daphne, the guilty, green-eyed witch came to me, leading her trusting, innocent sex slave, Simone.

She walked into my office unannounced and without knocking, which sort of pissed me off, though she was right on time for the appointment she had made. Loretta ALWAYS announced my patients, and it didn’t make sense that she would fail to do so in this case; but Loretta herself was third in line in the procession that paraded in, even if she did so blushing furiously and with downcast eyes. The middle girl of the group was small, petite and cute. That’s how I think most people would describe her. One guy might say: “Look at those girls over there. I really like one of them.” And his buddy would ask: “Which one?” And the guy would reply: “The cute one.” And the second guy would know which one he meant. Cute.

And that leads me to a description of the witch herself. Alright, I don’t know why I thought that word when I first saw her ... or why the concept seemed to manifest itself as the first five seconds of our meeting progressed while she approached my desk with outstretched right hand. She was tall and rather stout, and she carried herself with authority ... the type of person who could demand attention when she called for it. The black and blue pants suit she wore was tailored perfectly, so as not to accentuate her bulk, but rather draw attention to her bust, which was perhaps the best physical feature she had below her nose. Her hair was so black that it seemed to reflect a faint purple, the lowest color in the visible spectrum, but she had a small shock of purest white just above her forelock. I would not have called her very pretty; but, now that I thought about it, she wouldn’t have been referred to as unattractive, either. And yet, due to one attribute in particular (yes, the one above her nose), she was not to be ignored. Her eyes practically radiated a bright, deep green, and as she got closer, I saw that her irises had what I would call a starburst pattern that drew a person’s attention toward their centers, which were black and fathomless.

I thought about sex. And, that was odd, because I wasn’t thinking about sex with HER; I was just thinking about sex in general. Perhaps it was Loretta’s submissive posture ... or Little Miss Cute in the middle of the group, who was also exuding sexually obedient behavior (or was that just my imagination?). As I stood to take her hand, I wanted desperately to adjust the overly-tight front of my trousers, but I steadfastly refused to either look down or shift my weight.

“Good afternoon, doctor,” she said, shaking my hand the way a man would, firmly. “Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. I am Daphne Ludwig.”

I tried to return her smile without letting it reflect my confused feelings. “I would like to take credit for that, but Loretta arranged for the appointment. I believe there might have been a cancellation. Loretta also announces my patients. Usually, that is.”

She let go of my hand and took a small step back. “Please, that was entirely my fault. Don’t be cross with her. I was trying to make a point.”

I let my smile slip and replaced my features with unabashed scrutiny. “I couldn’t be cross with Loretta if I tried,” I told her flatly. “Also, I am completely unaware of why you are here, or whether it is to be a group session.”

She smiled almost sadly and sighed. “Again, doctor, I am at fault for the rather unorthodox manner of our meeting. Please, I beg you, let me explain why.” She turned and put her hand on her pixyish friend’s arm. “This is my very good friend, Simone Roderick. I brought her in here, along with your lovely nurse, to demonstrate my little ... um ... problem.” At the mention of “very good friend,” her companion lowered her eyes, smiled hugely, and blushed; her complexion now matching Loretta’s almost exactly.

I huffed a small laugh, letting my tension recede a little, and I again tried not to think about my erection. “Alright,” I said, “you’ve got me. I love a mystery. Won’t you ... all be seated?” I motioned toward the chair at the side of the room while glancing at Loretta, and she took it, though she wasn’t looking at me. Daphne led little Simone to the couch and they both sat there, leaving the big chair in front of my desk vacant. Again, I was taken aback by something out of the ordinary, but simply shrugged and sat down myself.

“Doctor Herringwick,” she said immediately, jumping right in, “I was at a party over the weekend...” She paused. “I go to a lot of parties. In point of fact, it’s how I earn my living; but we can get to that later. Anyway, I was at this party, and I met a man named Justin Ardly. I believe you’ve met him?” She didn’t let me comment, rushing on after seeing me start to nod. “I think he would have talked about butterflies and moths forever, but I changed the topic. I have this knack for leading a conversation in the direction I want it to go. We talked about his pretty wife, who is so pregnant that she looks like she’s about to pop. And, after awhile, that train of conversation seemed to lead to you, and how you helped him ... um ... achieve his goals in life.” She held up her hand before I could issue the angry comment I had intended. “Please, doctor. Don’t blame Mr. Ardly for breaking a personal confidence. Believe me when I tell you that it was not his intention to bring up his relationship with you. In point of fact, he has no recollection of doing so.”

That last sentence stopped me cold. “No recollection?”

“Before I get into what brought me here, I need to do a little demonstration. I promise you that it will be a small, innocent thing. Will you allow it?”

I sat back in my chair and swiveled it slightly, left and right, as I thought. Finally, I made a small gesture with my right hand, inviting her to go ahead.

She turned to the smaller woman beside her, and young Simone automatically turned as well, facing her companion. “I need to show him, dear. Don’t resist, okay?”

The girl blinked. “Here? But, why, Daphne?” She looked imploringly up into the woman’s eyes.

“Don’t argue, dear. And don’t resist. Now, relax. Just relax. That’s it. Very good. Be sleepy for me now. Excellent.” Little Simone’s eyes almost immediately lost focus. Her lips had parted, obviously with the intention of forming further words, but they were seemingly lost in her mind, along with all other thoughts, and her mouth now was slack, her expression blank. “Sleep now, my darling,” the woman ordered softly, and she reached up and grasped the girl by she shoulders, gently settling her unconscious body back into the cushions of the couch.

Without pausing to consider her handiwork, the woman rose and walked to Loretta’s chair. Nervously, automatically, my nurse rose and faced her. “And now it’s your turn, dear,” she said.

“I ... I ... no. Please, no.”

Daphne’s head canted slightly to the left, questioning. “But ... you want this. You want it. Why are you saying no?”

“I love him. I love him SO much. Please don’t take it away. Don’t make me want you instead. Please.”

The woman took a brief look in my direction. “The doctor, you mean? I would never take away your love for him. In fact, would you like to love him even more?”

Loretta’s head started to turn toward me, but she couldn’t break eye contact with the woman in front of her, so she allowed her face to resume its position. “I ... I don’t think that’s possible.” She sighed. “You can do that?”

“Relax for me now. Yes. Very good. Be sleepy for me. Feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier. Your arms, too. So heavy. You can’t hold them up. Just let them fall. Excellent. Now, tell me what you want, girl.”

“Please make me sleep,” Loretta pleaded dully. “Please make me love him ... even more.”

“Sleep, dear,” she ordered. She reached out with both arms, one around the small of her back, while her other hand went to the back of her head, and she pulled my nurse’s unresisting body against her own body, supporting her. “Very good, dear. Go deeper now. Twice as deep. Now, twice as deep again. Very good. Now, stand up, please, and look into my eyes.”

Loretta stepped back away from her and opened her eyes. The two women were of equal height, and their gaze was level. “I have heard that you are about to start renting out apartments in this building, is that right, dear?”

A big smile blossomed on my nurse’s face. “Yes. Rory is about to make all the code applications for the first one. Are you thinking about renting?”

“Look at Simone, please, dear. Yes, that’s it. The more you get to know her, the more you will realize that you would love to be her friend. She’s a wonderful individual. You would really like to show her around your building.”

Loretta was suddenly excited. “Can I introduce her to Lauren? I know Lauren would like her too!”

Daphne nodded. “Certainly. I’m sure you will all just love each other. Take all the time you want showing her around. Oh, and speaking of love, you have never felt more love for your doctor than you will when you wake up. Do that now, please.” And she snapped her fingers loudly.

Loretta blinked, suddenly reanimating after her hypnotic nap. She glanced longingly toward me for a moment, then said: “Miss Ludwig, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to say something to my ... uh ... to the doctor.” And she strode around the desk to me as I pushed my chair back and stood. She threw her arms around my neck and plastered her body against mine.

“Doctor ... Randy ... I love you,” she whispered into my ear.

I worked my arms up and grasped her by the shoulders, pushing her back slightly. “What? Did you just call me by my name?”

She pushed her head forward again and nuzzled my neck. “I love you SO much!” she mumbled. Then she shifted her lower tummy from side to side against my crotch. “Ooooh. And I think you want me, too, a little.” She ground herself against me again. “I can’t wait until we’re alone after work!”

I pushed her gently away from me. “Nurse, please!” I said in a fake, too-loud voice. “Try to control yourself!” But I smiled brightly at her, and she laughed gaily.

As we turned back toward the center of the room, we observed that Daphne was now on the couch again, whispering something in her companion’s ear. She, in turn, opened her eyes and stretched animatedly, her arms over her head and her chest arching forward while she yawned immensely, smiling as she awoke from her little nap. They both rose, Simone standing calmly as her taller companion put her arm around her, and they faced us.

“Tell the doctor what you’d like to do now, dear,” the woman urged gently.

I could see the thought burst into the younger lady’s mind, her eyes sparkling. “Can Loretta ... and her friend ... show me around the building now? Please, Daphne? Can we?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, darling. The doctor and I need to discuss something, anyway. Off you go now, both of you!”

Loretta rushed around the desk to the smaller girl; and, hand-in-hand, without another word being spoken, they left the office, closing the door behind them. Daphne drifted over to the chair in front of my desk and settled herself, facing me.

Frowning slightly, I sat. “That was quite a performance.”

“But inconclusive.”

I nodded. “Your ... um ... young thrall has obviously been conditioned.”

“As has Loretta,” she replied. “I hadn’t anticipated that ... you having a thrall of your own.” She paused a beat. “I had actually never thought of using that word, but I suppose it’s ... accurate. And, I imagine you’re right. My little demonstration has been rendered moot.”

I regarded her with all the scrutiny I could muster. Her eyes were distracting, to say the least. “And what had you intended to demonstrate? That you are capable of imposing a degree of mind control over those around you? I’m sorry, but I deal only in scientific actuality, not speculative psychological conjecture. The imposition of a stronger will over a weaker one is not evidence of...”

She held up her hand to silence me. “I was not trying to prove anything of the sort, doctor, believe me. The world uses too many terms for things that are only concepts: mind controller, hypnotist, strong-willed, weak-willed. Thrall.” She shrugged. “I don’t care. Such terms hold no meaning for me. I only know that I’ve taken this condition, and I’ve...” She paused and looked at me, obviously wondering if she needed to explain something.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember the name of the syndrome,” I confessed. “A German name. Starts with a ‘W.’”

She smiled. “Waardenburg Syndrome. Very good, doctor.”

“Forgive me, but I thought that resulted in pale blue eyes.”

She nodded. “Or eyes of different colors, like one brown eye and one blue. Yes. However, I was blessed with a trifecta of genetic abnormalities. Heterochromia iridum, or irises that radiate their color outward; and that little gene deficiency usually comes in green. And then, there’s distichiasis. Ever heard of that one?” She paused while I shook my head. “A double row of eye lashes, blended together, making them double-thick, sometimes called the ‘Elizabeth Taylor Syndrome,’ because she was the most famous person with that condition. They are each very rare. I wouldn’t doubt it all if I were the only person in the world with all three.”

I winced with sudden understanding. I almost made a comment about that, but I chose to remain silent. She picked up on it, though.

“Yes. You’ve just realized that there are other little ... gifts ... that usually come with genetic disorders. I’ve had two surgeries to repair heart valve defects; which, fortunately, have done their work, though I have to take daily medications. My mouth is too broad, my nose too small.” She shrugged. “I don’t really care. People can overlook plain facial features. But ... they cannot ignore my eyes. Ever.”

“And you’ve ... used that to your advantage.”

Again she shrugged her shoulders, making her breasts bounce. My erection, which had abated to some extent, was back.

“Do you believe The Bard was right, doctor? Or whoever actually said it ... Do you think they are the windows to the soul? Do you think I am capable of letting you see my thoughts and feelings by letting you look into them?”

I didn’t answer, but I took her challenge and gazed directly into the centers of those spectacular orbs. I used every ounce of my willpower to keep my features stern and professional, and I felt that I was maintaining that facade ... until my cock jerked and throbbed, seemingly of its own accord. Still, I kept my face in its deadpan mask.

But she knew. And she smiled. “It’s not control on my part, doctor. It’s nothing mystical or paranormal. In fact, I think it’s perfectly natural. People look into one another’s eyes, and they know things ... they sense things. They communicate. Joy. Sadness. Distrust. Longing. Waardenburg Syndrome can cause increased brain activities and emotional states. It’s that way with me. I think about sex. I think about it almost all the time. It’s with me constantly. Always. I’ve learned to live with it, but it’s not that way with everyone else. THEY don’t think that way, nor do they have to live with those thoughts ... until they look into my eyes. I believe that I communicate those feelings; I pass them on to others; all through my eyes.”

“And you ... use that.”

“Oh, yes. Quite effectively. You see, while you might not actually think about sex, you are always READY to think about it. When a sexual thought or feeling seizes you, you almost never try to reject it. Quite the opposite, in fact. You try to nurture those thoughts and sensations. And so, when a person looks into MY eyes, and when he or she starts having those impressions, they accept them. They want to have MORE of them. They open themselves up to other thoughts and other feelings.”

“Which you nurture.”

“Exactly. They welcome the feelings of sexual excitation, so why not allow themselves to feel other things that I suggest, as well? Before they know it, they are relaxed; then sleepy; and finally they are in the grip of a comfortable, deep hypnotic trance.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“For as long as I can remember. It became a joke between my parents. One of them would come into my bedroom to tuck me in, and the other one would come in later to find us both asleep. I was probably about six at the time.”

“Surely, you were not having deep-set sexual feelings at that age,” I interrupted.

“No. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but it led to a realization that I could control my parents. And ... it also led to my first rule. I forced myself to stop using my eyes to get my way ... at least with my family and friends. Because when someone looks directly into them...”

Our gazes were locked as she trailed off. I refused to turn my head away from her, but I silently admitted defeat, and I closed my eyes. Slowly, I took a breath and reopened them. “And what do read in MY eyes?” I asked.

She smiled sadly. “You are a man with demons,” she said simply. “And, like most men, you give them too much credit. They do not control you. You control them.” She shrugged yet again. “You are the psychiatrist. I suppose YOU could give them names, and cower in their presence. And yet, you do not. Cower, I mean. I’m sure you have assigned them their proper names, every one. But ... you are an honest man. You are a man of integrity. That is what I am after. You will do.”

“Do for WHAT, Miss Ludwig? What is it you want?”

“I need you to punish me, doctor.”

In all of my professional career, I don’t think I’ve ever been more surprised by any single sentence uttered by any patient more that I was by that one. I could only blink at her in staring befuddlement. “What?”

“I’ve done something ... improper. I’ve done something ... evil. I need to atone. I need to be punished.”

I sat back too hard in my chair, and it tilted precariously, forcing me to overcompensate and lean too far forward again. I wanted to show her my anger, but instead, I’d looked like a buffoon. Still, I glared at her. Too loudly, I said: “You want to think of me as nun in parochial school with a ruler? You want me to rap your knuckles for thinking impure thoughts? I’m sorry, Miss Ludwig, but whatever I might have thought you were, I expected more from you than that!”

Her smile was pure bemusement. “Hmm. I suppose it’s natural to associate guilt with religion. But, no. Evil is its own entity. Religion holds no patent on it. Perhaps they each define immorality in their own terms; but, once again, you do not have to be religious to be moral. All you have to do is live within your own personal ethical guidelines.”

“And you have exceeded your ethical guidelines.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“You’ve done something wrong.”

That made her frown. “Well ... you can do something wrong without meaning to.”

“You’ve done something wrong that was premeditated.”

She brightened. “Yes. Exactly.”

“What, exactly, did you do?”

She sat back in her chair. “Oh, I don’t think I should tell you that.” She took in my shocked look and added: “That is, I don’t think that I should be the one to explain it to you. It would be a biased representation. I don’t want you to judge the ... um ... impropriety ... just based on my point of view. You should make that determination based on what actually happened. I will arrange for the person who was wronged to tell you the events, and you can piece together how it all came about.”

I took a breath. “Why don’t you just try to right whatever wrong it is?”

“I can’t.” She hesitated. “Well, I guess I could, but I don’t want to.”

“And so, you are willing to live with the results of your crime, but you are seeking absolution.”

She shook her head violently. “No! Certainly not! It’s not forgiveness that I’m looking for.”

“It’s punishment.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

I puzzled over this for awhile. “And just what punishment would you deem appropriate?”

“I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to you.”

“What if I decide that the only just penalty should be death?”

She never hesitated. “Then I will comply with that.” She studied me. “Could you carry out such a punishment yourself?”

From her reaction, I suspect that my eyes were as cold as I tried to make them. “No, but my demons could.”

She nodded. “Very well then. I will have the wronged individual contact you within the week with a written statement.”

She rose, and, as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Before I could answer, Loretta opened it, though she was forced aside as Simone pushed past her and rushed to Daphne, grabbing both of the woman’s hands in her own.

“Oh, Daphne! The apartments are HUGE! They’re twice what we have now! They’re WONDERFUL! You have to come look! And there’s an exercise room! And a laundry! And, oh, by the way, this is Lauren. Isn’t she great!? And I’ll introduce you to Rory. He says the leases should be ready to sign in a couple weeks!”

“We weren’t quite finished in here!” I barked to the room, which was suddenly filled with women.

Daphne turned to me and extended her hand, which I shook automatically. “Yes,” she said softly, “we were. I will make another appointment with Loretta. When I return, I will follow whatever orders you have for me, and allow you to do whatever you wish. I will put myself completely in your hands, doctor. Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

And the chattering herd of females left me alone with my frantic, swirling thoughts.

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 217 - DAY 6

It had been Loretta’s idea, the new intercom. I guess it wasn’t an “intercom” at all ... it was just one of those newfangled communications gizmos. I mean, it was that period in history when people could stay “connected” with other people all around the world better than they could stay in touch with those in their own households, so this thing filled that particular marketing void. It connected through our wifi system, and it ACTED like an intercom system, only with video. My nurse argued that being able to see her facial features while she spoke to me would mean more to me ... would help her to communicate her feelings to me more efficiently. The way she described it, it made sense.

But, there was more to it than that. Like when I saw her face on the device, and I wondered if, while she was announcing a new patient, she was actually thinking about the previous night, and our little foray into the depths of anal sex (if you’ll pardon the pun) ... or if she could tell that that’s what I was thinking about as I answered her. In the past week, she had somehow acquired the raw need for more and more outlandish sexual acts ... like the thing she had thought up three nights ago with that length of soft nylon rope; and how, after following her directions, I had had her so hogtied and helpless, it had been superbly easy for me to keep both of our orgasms at bay until I guided us, dominantly but inexorably, to our mutual, shattering conclusion.

But, now I could see that her radiant smile, which burst onto the tiny screen of the thing, was the result of someone else. “Doctor, Simone Roderick is here to see you! You remember Simone! She’s the one who...”

“Yes, Loretta. Of course I remember Miss Roderick. Please send her in.”

I had been grading papers, and I leaned back and stretched the kinks out of my arms and back. So. That answered that. The mysterious, guilty, green-eyed witch had just lost one of her adjectives: she was mysterious no longer. I could think of a few other monikers, though. Grandiosity, psychotic guilt complex, paranoia, persistent depressive disorder, perhaps even bi-polar; though I’d have to have her in treatment for awhile before I could really diagnose any of those properly. However, the perceived REASON for her guilt was obviously here, walking meekly up to me now, as Loretta hovered almost protectively behind her.

I held out my hand to her, and the girl blanched, shrinking from the physical contact for a moment, though she and Loretta had been touching when they entered. Hmm. She was afraid of men. I didn’t change my posture, but I tried to smile a little; and eventually, she was forced to reach out her own right hand and take mine in greeting. Her hand conveyed her perceived weakness and lower status, but I relinquished it after only a moment, and she gratefully backed away from me.

I motioned toward the chair in front of my desk. “Please, Miss Roderick, sit down. I’d like to talk to you.”

The thought seemed to horrify her. “I ... I just came to deliver...” She held out a stapled document, perhaps two dozen pages. It had been done on a computer and printed out.

“Sit!” I barked firmly, loudly, authoritatively.

Instantly, she sat. She was perched on the forward edge of the cushioned seat, her back perfectly vertical, her knees together, her free hand on top of those knees and the hand clutching the papers on top of that. Her eyes regarded the floor in front of her in mute dismay. She wore a dress of dark material that might have been black or navy, but it was covered in bright, multi-colored flowers. Sitting, the hemline hit just above those bare knees. Her feet were in patent leather black shoes and white socks that made her look even more little-girlish, small and meek.

I sat as well. “Loretta, please leave us for awhile. I need to talk to her alone.” I then returned my attention to the girl in the chair for many long seconds before I realized that the command to my nurse had been patently ignored. My assistant remained standing in the spot midway between the door and the seated girl, and her countenance took me a long time to read. Ah. I was being too harsh with Loretta’s new comrade. I purposefully softened my tone. “Loretta, please. Your friend needs me. And I have to speak with her alone. Please.”

She refused to look at me, but she nodded. Again ignoring my demand, she took the two steps to the girl and bent her knees, squatting until her eyes were level with her companion’s. “It’s alright,” she said quietly, forcing the young woman to look at her. “I don’t know why he’s being so forceful, but it’s okay. He’s a fine, decent man. I love him. I love him more than life itself. He’s good, and he’s gentle. Please trust him. For me. Okay?”

Not waiting for the girl to change her wide-eyed countenance, Loretta rose; and, without casting a single glance my way, she marched out of the office and shut the door a little too firmly behind her. Simone finally let her questioning eyes turn to regard me. I found that the stern expression I had manufactured had slipped into one of awed concern toward my nurse. I pasted it back on now, but alas, I’d been caught; so I let my lips drift into a sort of bemused smirk at my own ineptitude.

“You love her, too,” the girl stated flatly.

That caught me a little off guard. “Well ... yes. Of course, I do.”

“You’re everything she just said you are.” Again, it was a statement ... an idea that had popped into her head, verbalized.

“Uh ... She might be just a wee bit prejudiced.”

She tilted her head a little to the left, thinking. “So, why were you being so stern with me?”

I shrugged. “I need to know something. I need to make certain it’s the truth. I sensed that, due to your submissive personality type, firmness on my part would ensure that.” What I didn’t say was that I now hoped truthfulness might do the job instead. For once, I’d gotten it right.

She relaxed and slid her body back into the chair. “I always tell everybody the truth. Everybody. It’s a trait I have that’s often gotten me into ... unpleasant situations.” That last had been said with some introspection, but she looked pleadingly into my eyes now. “Please. Please don’t bully me. I realize that it’s something that’s easy to do. I’ve been bullied my whole life.”

“Does Miss Ludwig bully you?”

Her eyes went wide, as if she’d just received an unexpected slap. “What? No! No, never!”

I let that pass. “What did you write?” I asked, pointing abstractly toward the document in the her hand. When she hesitated, I followed up on the question. “You DID write it, didn’t you?”

“Um ... I...”

It’s something I hadn’t considered. “She didn’t let you remember,” I said, more to myself than to her.

“No! She did. I mean ... I DO remember. It’s just that...”

“Simone,” I said as gently as I could, “I need you to think about that question. It’s important to how I’m going to regard what I’m about to read. Please. Take your time and give me your true impression.”

She took a deep breath and regarded a spot somewhere on the floor between us. “It’s ... um ... hard to explain. I remember writing it, but I don’t remember what I wrote. Does that make sense?” She didn’t give me a chance to comment. Now that she’d begun verbalizing it, she couldn’t stop. “Have you ever had a dream? A dream about the past? And you’re doing something ... something you would do in that past period. But in your dream, you KNOW! I mean, even in a dream, you can’t forget what’s happened in your life, no matter if it happened after the period when dream takes place, right?” She paused for half a beat. “But ... in my dreams during the past week, I’m writing this ... and it’s as if I’m writing just after one of those past periods in my life ... and I DON’T KNOW! Do you see what I mean? It’s as if I was REALLY there ... without knowing what would happen after that! Do you see what I mean?”

I couldn’t help but smile warmly. “Yes, I see exactly what you’re saying. You explained it very well.” Weakly, she smiled back at me. “But,” I continued softly, “you know why you feel that way ... why you think that way. You know why, don’t you, Simone?”

Surprisingly, her soft smile didn’t recede; it broadened. “Yes. Of course. She made me think that way.”

“She hypnotized you.”

“Yes. Of course. She hypnotizes me all the time.”

Again, her smile didn’t recede as mine slipped away. “Doesn’t ... knowing that concern you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just the way we are. It’s just ... what we do. Are we going to be friends?”

I blinked. “What?”

“What Loretta said was true. You’re ... nice. I like you. I want to be friends.”

Wow. I took a deep breath, tried hard not to show any confusion, and I stood up and walked around to her chair, reaching out with my right hand. Still smiling, she handed me the document. That made me smirk a little, and I tucked the papers under my left arm and then extended my right hand again. She laughed and took it, letting me help her up. With a gentle touch to the small of her back, I guided her to the office door and opened it for her.

“Loretta,” I said to my expectant assistant, “it’s lunchtime. Why don’t you take my new friend out for a bite to eat?”

The nurse was already to us, and she was touching Simone gently on the arm. Finally, she smiled at me. I’d been forgiven.

“Would you like to join us, doctor?” the younger girl asked.

“No. I have some reading to do. I’m going to stay here, thanks. Have a nice lunch. And please: my friends call me Randy.”

She stuck out her right hand toward me, smiling, and I took it. “I’m pleased to meet you, friend Randy.” And she shocked me by pulling me toward her with the hand, leaning up on tiptoes, and giving me a peck on the cheek.

Then she giggled, and they left.

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