The Cure for Dreaming(76)

“That’s my hope.”

I sorted out the money, and in a matter of seconds I clutched a ticket between my fingers. The Rhodeses purchased their southbound fares and tucked the papers in their coat pockets.

Henry peeked at my ticket over my shoulder. “Your train leaves soon. We had better walk you out to the platform.”

I nodded and ventured outside the depot with the two of them by my side.

A black locomotive breathed white steam on the northbound tracks, while arriving travelers climbed out of the green passenger cars in their winter hats and traveling coats. Porters in blue jackets and caps lugged large leather bags and pointed the lost in the correct directions.

“Henry.” I grabbed his arm before we strayed too far from the bright terra-cotta bricks of the main building. “Don’t forget, I’m still under hypnosis.”

“Ah.” He swung around to face me. “I was wondering if you wanted to let go of that one lingering part.”

“Of course I do. I don’t want to keep seeing the world the way it truly is.”

He cocked his head. “Are you sure about that?”

“Help her, Henry.” Genevieve pushed at his shoulder. “Don’t you dare leave her stuck like that.”

“I want my mind to be entirely my own,” I added.

“Olivia ‘Scorcher’ Mead . . .” Henry cracked a smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “There’s no doubt at all that your mind has remained your own this entire time.”

“Do it quickly, eh, before she needs to go.” Genevieve backed away with her plump black case—the smallest of their bags. “I’ll even leave you two alone for a few minutes if you want to be by yourselves.”

“You don’t have—”

“Do it.” Genevieve turned and wandered off to the opposite side of the platform.

Henry lowered their two larger bags to the ground beside him, which prompted me to set my Gladstone next to my feet alongside my skirt. We stood up straight and faced each other.

“Close your eyes—they’re exceptionally heavy.” He cupped my cheek, and my eyes fell shut, as if lead lined my lashes. “Keep them closed,” he said in a voice soft and lush, and he pulled my body toward him. “Your lids are now stuck together. Try opening them.”

I couldn’t.

“Good. Very good. I am now going to stroke the back of your neck with my free hand, and each caress will send you deeper and deeper into hypnosis.” He rubbed his palm down the base of my neck, over the topmost vertebrae. “Do you feel that wonderful sense of relaxation?”

“Yesss,” I whispered from somewhere inside a deep, delicious pocket of darkness.

“Now, listen carefully, because what I am about to say is extremely important.” His breath warmed my ear. “You will see the world the way it has always been. You will ensure your mind remains your own and never, ever allow a hypnotist or a domineering suitor or your father—or anyone else—to alter your thoughts beyond your control. Do you understand?”

“Yesss. My mind . . . will remain . . . my own.”

“You will not allow people like Percy Acklen to make you feel as though you’re lesser than they.”

“I . . .” I tried to reach my fingers up to Henry’s hand on my cheek, but my arm was built of limp rubber.

“Will you promise, Olivia? Don’t let people like him make you feel like dirt.”

“I promise.”

“Your mind will remain your own.”

“Yesss.”

I heard him swallow. “I am going to wake you up now. Are you ready?”

I nodded on the wobbly hinge of my neck.

“I’ll count forward to ten—we’ll take it slowly. One . . . two . . . three . . .”

“I want . . . to make sure . . . you’re going to be . . . all right, too.”

He lowered his hand from my face. “Pardonnez-moi?”

My eyes stayed shut, still too thick and dense to unseal, and my tongue remained heavy and cumbersome. “I feel . . . the urge . . . to tell you . . . things. Waking up . . . might change . . . my boldness.”

“It won’t.”

“You’re only . . . eighteen. Hospitalized . . . chest pains. Fatigue. Collapsed. Just eighteen. I can’t . . . be with you . . . need to be . . . on my own. But . . . I care . . . about you.”

“I’m all right.”

“No. Not convinced.”

He was silent, and for a moment I just stood there with my arms dangling by my sides, relaxing in the mesmerizing hold of peaceful blackness.

“Are you ready to wake up now?” he asked.

“Swear . . . you’ll take care . . . of yourself.”

“I—”

“Swear. Let me speak . . . with less heaviness.”

His thumb traced my jawline. “All right. You’re easing upward to a lesser stage of relaxation. Keep rising up . . . up . . . up. Your tongue is no longer heavy. You can talk with clarity.”

My tongue loosened and stretched inside my mouth. I licked my drying lips.

“What did you want to say?” he asked with hesitation.

“There’s beauty in this world, Henry, and not everyone dies young. There’s so much hope. There’s so much work, too—ridiculous amounts of work—but above all, hope. I’ve seen it out there, alongside the darkness. Look at Frannie and what she did. Look at the times we had together.”