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She finished her cigarette, smushed it out in an ashtray, then immediately lit another one.
“Have a seat,” said Dr. Pickle.
She sat down on the couch.
“Look into my eyes,” said Dr. Pickle.
The woman stared into his deep, penetrating eyes.
Dr. Pickle held up a gold chain. At the end of the chain was a green stone that was almost transparent, but not quite. It looked like a pickle.
Hence, his name.
“Watch the pickle,” he said, as he gently moved the chain.
The pickle went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
The woman’s eyes went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
“Put down your cigarette,” Dr. Pickle said in a strong but gentle voice.
The woman set her cigarette in the ashtray as she continued to stare at the pickle.
“You are getting sleepy,” said Dr. Pickle. “Your eyelids are getting heavy.”
The woman blinked her eyes.
“When I count to three,” said Dr. Pickle, “you will fall into a deep, deep sleep. One … two … three.”
The woman’s eyes closed.
Dr. Pickle put down the pickle. “Can you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the woman, in a low voice from deep inside her.
“You will do what I say,” said Dr. Pickle.
“I – will – do – what – you – say,” the woman repeated.
“I am going to count to five,” said Dr. Pickle. “And then you will wake up. And, as usual, you will want to smoke a cigarette.”
“I – will – want – to – smoke – a – cigarette,” the woman repeated.
“But when you put the cigarette in your mouth,” said Dr. Pickle, “it will feel just like a worm. A wiggling, slimy worm.”
“A – yucky – icky – worm,” repeated the woman.
“Good,” said Dr. Pickle. “Now just one more thing.” He rubbed his beard and smiled. “Whenever your husband says the word ‘potato,’ you will slap him across the face.”
“When – Fred – says – ‘potato’ – I – will – slap – his – face.”
“Good,” said Dr. Pickle. He counted to five.
The woman woke up.
“So do you think you can help me?” she asked in her normal voice, as she reached for her cigarette.
Dr. Pickle shrugged.
