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“What?”
“What, what?” He mimics me again. “How long do you have to spend around me to ‘know’ me? What, exactly, do we need to do together?”
He seizes me and kisses me on the mouth.
“You already know me because you answered the question right, while everyone in town answers it wrong. I didn’t murder my wife. And you knew it, you felt it.“
He kisses me softly, warmly.
“Does that feel like a killer, like someone who would rip you apart? Some things can be felt, they can. Fucking try to find the killer in me.”
He kisses me deeply, passionately, hungrily even…but he pulls back without hurting. He’s dancing with me, he’s in control.
What does that mean? Is control an on-off switch?
Or is a monster always leaking through the seams of his suit?
Dane feels good, I can’t deny it… He’s a kind of good I’ve never touched before—the kind where each new sensation turns over hot and molten, his lips on my jaw, his hand on my breasts…
It all feels better, more intense, more pleasurable than it has any right to…
Is that a guarantee of good or a sure sign that it’s wrong?
Don’t believe anything that’s too good to be true…
But then…are we allowed to believe in any good things?
It feels so fucking transcendentwhen he kisses me.
Who told me to resist that kind of feeling? My body seems to think it’s exactly what I need…
Dane lets go, and the room spirals back with a jolt.
“I’m not going to make you do anything,” he says. “But if you want, this time I’ll set up a camera. You can watch the whole thing.”
This is a new, intriguing option.
If I never try again, I’ll never know what happened.
But if I film a session…I’ll see it with my own eyes.
What did I just tell Dane?
I don’t want to lie to myself.
“Show me,” I say. “Show me what I do when I’m hypnotized.”
* * *
“You’re on a beach,”Dane says. “At the ocean. See the water. See the waves.”
There’s a rhythm in his voice, almost music…
Low, clear and smooth, like a bell…
Thoughts go out, and then…they come back…
Each different, and yet…always waves…
