Mr. Hollywood

  Giving a slight laugh, I nodded. “Got it.”

  “Before we start I need to ask you a couple questions for safety reasons. Is there anything you particularly dislike or have any kind of aversion to, for instance, a fear of falling, or drowning?”

  I considered his words carefully. “Not that I can think of right off the top of my head.” I chuckled. “I don’t care much for snakes, but I can deal with one if needed. We used to stumble across them on the farm occasionally and they always scared the shit out of me, at first anyway.”

  “That’s good to know. Now along the same vein, is there anything you find particularly peaceful? What do you find relaxing and soothing?”

  “Sunsets at the beach or on the ocean.” I didn’t even hesitate. “I own a small boat and I love taking it out on the water whenever I can. It’s incredible. Of course, I loved sunsets when I lived in Montana as well. I like nature and being outside.”

  “Perfect. That helps me a lot.” He jotted down several notes before staring at me again. “So if you feel resistant to anything I say, you have the power to reject that. Hypnosis can’t make you do anything you wouldn’t normally do. Since you seem to respond well to visual stimulation, judging from your answers to my questions, I will attempt to guide you into a trance state using visual cues. At times I will ask you questions. You will answer as best as you can. There’s no right or wrong answer. If we hit a wall that you can’t seem to break through, we’ll stop the session and try again later, if we find it necessary, or go around it altogether.

  “Despite all the Hollywood shows, which I have no doubt you’ve seen, I will not be putting you to sleep. You will be awake the entire time. You don’t have to close your eyes unless you want to.

  “Also, I need to know if you want to remember everything you experience or if you want to forget and have me break things to you later in a gentler manner.”

  I pondered this briefly. “I want to remember. No more trying to hide or ignore things. Let’s get it all out on the table.”

  “All right. Please be aware that you might feel strange when you’re brought back to a normal level of consciousness. People react in all manners, from disbelief, to feeling like the session never happened. As you know, since you signed the waiver, I record all my sessions like these so you as the patient can view it later if you so desire.” He pointed across the room to a camera set up on a tripod. I was used to being in front of cameras, so it didn’t bother me in the least. “Since you want to know everything, all my notes and questions will be available to you afterward, as well. You can even request a transcript if you’d like, so you can continue to review it.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Are you ready to get started?”

  Immediately my pulse rate increased. “I am.”

  “Good,” he replied. “Right now I want you to take several cleansing breaths. Breathe in as if you were drawing the air up from your toes and filling your body as well as your lungs. Concentrate only on breathing and how it feels going in and out. In and out.”

  Naturally closing my eyes, I did as he asked, taking in slow, steady breaths. Body responding, I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders beginning to relax.

  “Now, as you’re breathing, I want you to go to a safe place. Perhaps you are sitting on your boat, watching the dying rays of sunlight casting color across the vast waters of the Pacific Ocean as your vessel bobs gently up and down, lulling and rocking, lulling and rocking.”

  Zeroing in only on the sound of his voice, I let him paint the pictures for me.

  He continued. “You have no worries or cares at all, feeling completely at peace as you stare out at the beautiful sunset, breathing deeply, over and over, again and again.”

  His voice was soothing to me and I could feel more tension leaving. I continued to listen, visualizing the amazing sunset in my mind—the feel of the boat beneath me, the smell of the salt water in the air, and the way the breeze softly rippled the sails.

  “Now, as if you’re floating, you find yourself drifting to a new location. Slowly, gently, you glance around and find yourself on the family farm you grew up on. A soft breeze is blowing, causing the tall natural grasses to sway, back and forth. Back and forth.”

  It was mind-blowing. I was standing in the middle of the dirt driveway that led past the house toward the large barn in the back. Beyond that, fields of corn stood tall and proud, swaying gently in the breeze.

  Dr. Wilson’s voice continued speaking. “In the background are the sounds of animals. Cows are mooing, chickens are clucking, geese are gobbling, but you’re not worried about them, you’re simply enjoying the sunset and the way it washes the land and any buildings with golden color.”

  Everything was like I remembered it, but better somehow, as if things hadn’t yet been touched by the death of my mother. Casually, I moved forward toward the barn, glancing inside and finding everything in an orderly fashion. All the animals were in their correct pens for the night.

  Puzzled, I frowned. This couldn’t be right. I was at home, not on the Hart’s farm. We didn’t have any animals. Brent Hart rented our pastures from us. Whose animals were these?

  A high-pitched scream pierced the air and I flinched. Taking a deep breath, I turned toward the sound.

  “How could you?” my mom’s voice retorted shrilly, bouncing off every surface. She was standing behind the house yelling at my dad. “How could you do this, Dirk? To me? To our family?” I was shocked when she slapped him. Mom didn’t ever hit anyone—at least not that I’d ever seen.

  Dad’s head hung low. He couldn’t even meet her gaze as she glared at him. I didn’t blame him. Mom looked scary right now. I’d never seen her so angry and I wondered what was going on.

  Carefully, I snuck closer, trying to listen, not stopping until I was hiding at the corner of the house. I could see now that she was crying—wait. They both were. I’d never seen my dad cry in my life. Something was really wrong here.

  “You make me sick!” she continued on, her face mottled with rage. “I gave you everything and this is how you repay me? I stayed in this god-forsaken place because you asked me to. The money my father left me is what funded everything you see here.” A horrible gut-wrenching sob escaped her. “I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. Now I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole area.”

  “I do love you. I swear on my life, I never meant for things to go down this way,” my dad said, almost in a whisper. “You’ve got to believe me, Dorothy.”

  She snorted, clenching her hands into fists. I could see the defined muscles in her arms, made strong from all the manual labor she’d done. “I can’t believe anything you’ve ever told me. Everything I thought we had is a lie.” Clenching her jaw, she glanced in my direction and I ducked back around the corner, afraid she’d seen me eavesdropping. But if she did see me, she didn’t come to me.

  Instead she continued speaking. “How long have you known?”

  Silence.

  “How long have you known?” she shouted even louder, and I peeked again.

  “Since I was a teenager.” His words were so low the breeze almost swept them away from me.

  “Excuse me?” Mom’s face reddened even more.

  More silence.

  “Does his wife know?” She was shaking.

  “He’s supposed to be telling her now.”

  “Perfect. Just perfect. So what happens from here? You run off into the sunset with your boyfriend and the two of you simply leave us behind with the children to rot?”

  “Dorothy, I swear I’ll do everything I can to help you out financially. I just need to stop lying to myself. It’s time I start being the man I really am and embrace my differences. I want to be happy, and I want that for you, too. Don’t you get it? Your life isn’t the only one that’s been a lie. Someone else is out there for you. Hopefully someone who will actually love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

  “Fuck y
ou, Dirk!” She stormed inside the house, slamming the door loudly behind her.

  Dad sank into a crouch, slipping his hat off his head and holding it near his chest, weeping sounds leaving him in terrible, quaking shudders. I watched him for several moments, too scared to move.

  BANG! Jumping, I covered my ears, glancing about wildly, searching for the source of the sound before staring at my dad. Lifting his head in alarm, he flew to his feet.

  “Dorothy?” he shouted, his voice filled with panic. Running toward the house, he flung the door open. “Dorothy? Oh, God! No! No! Dorothy! Please, no! Not this!”

  Scrambling toward the door, I halted as I stared at the scene inside. Blood was everywhere, splattered across the floor and thick chunks of slimy looking gray stuff was sliding down the wall into a puddle at the base.

  “Dad?” My voice trembled and he shifted revealing my mom, who was missing part of her head.

  “Get out, Zane!” Dad shouted, tears streaming down his face. “Run to the Hart’s as fast as you can and stay there. You hear me? RUN, BOY! Don’t look back!”

  Turning, I raced away as fast I could, as if the very hounds of hell were chasing me and my lungs felt like they were going to burst with the strain.

  “Zane, listen to me.” It was Dr. Wilson’s voice. “Calm down. Keep breathing. Slower, Zane. Breathe slower. You’re safe now. Nothing here can hurt you.”

  I did as he asked, attempting to slow my breathing as I hurried down the road in front of me. The Hart’s farmhouse was in the distance and it seemed so far away.

  “I’m going to bring you out now, Zane. I want you to focus on the sound of my voice as I bring you back to consciousness. Remember you are safe. Nothing can harm you. Things are moving at a pace comfortable to you.

  “You’re floating back to your boat on the ocean, settling into a comfortable position to watch a relaxing sunset. Everything you’ve seen today is just a distant memory, now. It’s okay to acknowledge your feelings, but they have no power over you. All you’re required to do is breathe. Keep breathing in and out, in and out.”

  Wrestling with the horrific images running through my head, it took extreme focus to brush them aside and see only the sunset before me. Gradually, the bad images faded away, replaced by the serene ocean view. I focused in on it.

  “When you’re ready, you can wake up, and you will remember everything you’ve just seen. Whenever you’re ready. Just keep breathing.”

  Immediately my eyes snapped open and I gasped, shaking my head and trying to stabilize myself enough to get rid of the disoriented sensation. The room and everything in it was exactly how it looked a couple minutes ago.

  “You’re safe, Zane. You’re back in my office and we just completed a forty-five minute session. Do you remember anything?”

  Forty-five minutes? I was so confused. Hadn’t I just sat down five minutes ago?

  “Zane?” Dr. Wilson questioned. “Are you all right?”

  Suddenly all the memories were in my head, playing out in full, brutal, awfulness. “It wasn’t an accident,” I blurted out. “My mom killed herself. She found out my dad was having an affair with another man and he was going to leave her. She killed herself.”

  “Did you think differently?”

  I nodded. “Dad always said it was an accident, that she was cleaning a gun and it went off. But it’s not true. She killed herself. How did I forget this?” I felt like the worst son in the world.

  “The mind often searches to place the things it doesn’t understand in certain categories so it can protect itself. It’s completely natural. You saw something you couldn’t accept, so your mind protected you from it. How old were you when she died?”

  “Six years old.”

  He nodded. “I can see where the mind of a six year old would want to hide a memory like this away forever.”

  Had I been protecting myself? Was that all it was? “What if there’s more? I need to go back.” A frantic feeling pulsated through me.

  Dr. Wilson shook his head. “Not today, Zane. You need to process this. We will have another session in a few days, if you feel up to it, but first you need to come to terms with this before we even consider moving on.”

  I knew there was no changing his mind, but still hated being left up in the air like this. Clearly, I had repressed memories, and I wanted to know what other secrets might be hiding inside me.

  “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  “Is it a Love Child? Sources say Z McCartney is Father of Aubrey Hart’s Son!”

  ~LA Metropolitan~

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aubrey

  Closing the door on him was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. Leaning against it, I listened as he continued on, walking out of my house and softly shutting the front door behind him.

  Moving back to my bed, I collapsed into a heap, curling up into the fetal position and let the flood of tears release. Body shaking, I sobbed into my pillow, desperate to muffle the aching sounds being torn from inside me so I wouldn’t disturb Dustin.

  Thinking of him made me cry even harder. He’d be devastated when he woke up in the morning and found Zane gone. I needed to make sure that he understood Zane wasn’t abandoning him.

  I wasn’t angry with Zane. No, instead my heart was breaking for him over the trauma he’d been through, both at his own hands and the hands of others. Pain and misery had been etched into his features as he’d poured the truth out to me. Vivid imagery raced through my mind as he described the horrific events, and I wondered if my response would’ve been the same.

  I didn’t think so. It would’ve been a huge wake up call for me.

  Still, I wasn’t Zane, and I couldn’t even begin to fathom how traumatic all of this must’ve been for him, nor the man who’d awaken with him.

  But even that wasn’t what bothered me the most. What bothered me was the fact that despite the terrible things that had happened to him as a direct result of using, quitting substances had never even crossed his mind.

  Didn’t he remember how annoyed he used to get with his father? After his mom died, Dirk was a drunken mess. It was like everything about him died with Dorothy. He quit working the farm, or receiving visitors, letting everything lapse into disrepair—even Zane.

  Zane had run to our house after his mom was shot in a freak accident, and had practically lived there the rest of his childhood, except for late evenings and nights when he went home to sleep in his own bed.

  Several years later, I remembered hearing my parents speak in hushed tones about how worried they were about him and what was going on with Dirk.

  “I think Dorothy was the love of his life,” my mom said sorrowfully. “When she died in that accident, so did he.”

  “Such a shame,” my dad replied, shaking his head. “I wish I knew how to help him.”

  “You are helping him,” Mom countered. “You’re raising his son.”

  Dad paused, considering her words. “I guess I am, aren’t I?”

  It was the truth. Once Zane was old enough, Dad taught him how to work the farm and started renting out pieces of the McCartney’s farm to help Dirk pay his bills. The older Zane got, the more he took over running things for his dad, until Dirk was simply a man who lived there and spent his entire day searching for the bottom of a bottle.

  I used to be afraid of him. He never left that chair he sat in, staring blankly into the television with red-rimmed eyes. I didn’t ever speak to him, unless I absolutely had to, and I never got too close. He smelled bad and often wore the same clothes for days without showering.

  Now, as a nurse, it was easy to see the man had been suffering from deep depression and probably needed to be institutionalized. No one really knew what to do for him though, so he slowly wasted away into nothing, until he finally died.

  My parents had still tried to help him. Clear until the end, Dad had continued renting his farmland, even after Zane had gone.

  Sadly, I didn’t really
feel bad when the news of Dirk’s death reached me. I was already in LA by that time and was aware that Zane’s dad had told him to leave after he won the contest. He wanted Zane to live his dreams and not stay behind for him. Zane hadn’t needed much coaxing, either. He’d dreamed of getting off that farm his whole life, not wanting to end up like his dad, so when Dirk encouraged him to go, he did so without hesitation.

  Well, it looked like that hadn’t worked out very good for either of them.

  A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

  “Mama? Are you okay?” Dustin’s sweet voice carried through to me and I quickly wiped my eyes and sat up.

  “You can come in, sweetie.”

  The door opened a crack and he peeked inside. “I can hear you crying in my room.”

  “I’m okay. Come here.” Holding out my arms, I gestured for him to join me on the bed and he did so, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

  “Where’s . . . my dad?”

  This was going to be difficult. “I asked him to leave and stay away for a bit, while I think some things over.”

  “Is he coming back?” He sounded worried.

  “I hope so.” I released a long breath, not sure how to approach this. “Daddy is sick, sweetie. He needs some special help right now.”

  “Oh.” He glanced up at me with concern etched in his eyes. “Is he gonna die?”

  A burst of laughter escaped me and I squeezed him even tighter. “I hope not.”

  That wasn’t the right answer apparently because Dustin looked at me in alarm and I rushed to explain.

  “Zane . . . your daddy . . . he has what’s called an addiction. It means he drinks a lot—way too much to be healthy—and he also uses other medicines and drugs that aren’t good for him. Those things are making him sick. He’s been getting treatment at the place where I work. That’s how we found each other again. He’s really trying to get things together, but it’s going to take some time. Lots of time.”

  “And we don’t get to see him anymore?” The poor kid sounded broken hearted.