Midnight Surrender: A Paranormal Romance Anthology (6 page)

Learn more about Charlotte Abel and The Channie Series at:
www.CharlotteAbel.com

Jonathan glanced at the address scribbled on the back of Dr. Harrison’s card then at the tiny cottage across the street. What sort of therapist worked out of a house painted eggplant purple? The kind that claimed they could cure phantom pain with hypnosis; that’s what kind. What was he expecting? A high-rise office building?

He gritted his teeth against the pins and needles sensation in his left hand — or what his nervous system still believed was his left hand. Pain meds helped, but not enough. That’s why he was here, knocking on the Pepto-Bismol pink door of Bluestar Morninglory’s Holistic House of Healing.

The door creaked open. A mangy, black and white striped cat darted between Jonathan’s feet. He spun around and grabbed it before it jumped off the front porch. The crazy cat howled and dug its claws into his forearm. He gritted his teeth and turned around to find a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She looked pretty good for an old broad. Her faded jeans and work out Bolder-Boulder t-shirt from 2009 hugged her curvy body, but her tanned-leather face and grey streaked hair ruined the effect.

She took the hissing cat and tossed it inside without a word.

Jonathan blotted his bleeding arm on his t-shirt. “You should keep an eye on that thing. He won’t last long outside with the coyotes.”

“
What do you want?”

“
I’m looking for a hypnotherapist.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Jonathan held out his left arm and rotated his myoelectric hand. The tiny gears and servos of the robotic device hummed as he manipulated it. “The phantom pain never goes away. My doc said hypnosis might help.”

The woman’s eyes softened as she lifted her gaze from Jonathan’s prosthesis to his face. “All right. Come on in. But next time, call first and make an appointment.”

“
I can come back later if it’s more convenient.”

“
You’re here now. My name’s Bluestar, but everyone calls me Blue.” She motioned for Jonathan to enter with a sweep of her arm. “The first session is free, after that, it’s a hundred dollars an hour.”

Jonathan doubted he’d be back as he followed Blue into a small, windowless room illuminated by candlelight. The cloyingly sweet scent of patchouli gave Jonathan an instant headache. Floor to ceiling shelves held an assortment of rocks, crystals and … animal bones? Maybe the cat would be safer outside with the coyotes.

And maybe the main qualification for a hypnotherapist shouldn’t be how close they were to the Dillon Dam Brewery. Jonathan’s mouth watered as he thought of the giant cheeseburger waiting for him when he was done with this woo-woo business.

Blue nodded at a worn out recliner. “Have a seat and get comfortable while I go brew you some tea.”

“
Uh … that’s okay. I’m not much of a tea drinker.” The pins and needles sensation in Jonathan’s missing hand intensified. In a few minutes it would be the smashing-his-hand-in-a-vise sensation. Phantom pain, my ass. There’s nothing phantom about it.

When Blue returned, she handed Jonathan a steaming mug.

He took a whiff of it and frowned.

Blue rolled her eyes. “It’s all natural, brewed from organic plants I grow myself. It’ll help you relax.”

He took a sip. It tasted like mint and dirt but with a ton of honey. He took another sip. Blue sat on one of those inflatable exercise balls and rocked back and forth as she talked about the coming ski season. Jonathan hadn’t quite finished the tea when his eyes drifted shut. He blinked them open and shook his head. Blue wasn’t kidding when she said the tea would help him relax. “What sort of plants did you say were in this?”

“
I didn’t say.” Blue took the cup from his hand. A trail of pink light followed her every motion. “It’s a secret blend.”

Jonathan had never experimented with hallucinogenic drugs, but he’d had enough super-powerful pain meds in the hospital to recognize the effect. “Did you use psychedelic mushrooms or something?”

“
Listen to the sound of my voice. Let it carry you back to the day you lost your hand.”

The smell of diesel, melting rubber and dust burned Jonathan’s sinuses. Searing pain shot from his missing left hand up the length of his arm. Every muscle in his upper body contracted. He arched his back, pulling his shoulders towards his ears.

Blue’s voice sounded as if she were speaking from inside a tunnel. “Calm down. Go to a happier time. Relax. Breathe with me. In … out …”

Jonathan didn’t want to go back to a happier time, he wanted to get the hell out of Blue’s creepy house. But thanks to her magic mushroom tea he could barely keep his eyes open, much less crawl out of the chair. He knew he was in trouble when he couldn’t force himself to breathe out of sync with Blue’s commands.

“
Good job, Jonathan. Close your eyes. Let your mind wander, as you drift into the past. Where are you? What do you see, hear, smell…”

“
Lasagna. I smell lasagna. Mom’s cooking it for Franklin.” The double-edged sword of grief and guilt plunged into Jonathan’s heart. He tried to ignore it, but it was buried to the hilt. He dug his fingers into the recliner’s arm rest and tried to open his eyes but they might as well have been glued shut.

Blue’s monotone voice, soft as dandelion fluff, invaded Jonathan’s mind. “Relax. Let your emotions wash over you as you travel back in time. Embrace the pain, let it heal you.”

“
No.” He’d had enough of the ‘whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ bullshit from the army shrinks.

A rainbow of multi-colored lights exploded behind Jonathan’s eyelids as he floated on a patchouli scented cloud. “Whoa.”

He heard an echo of quiet laughter, then watched in awe as sound waves rippled the air around him. And then he fell … spinning, turning, around and around … down … down … down.

Jonathan’s bare feet sank into soft, warm carpet. What happened to his shoes? He opened his eyes and wiggled his toes. He recognized the royal blue pile of the area rug in front of Franklin’s bed immediately.

“
What do you want, Jonathan?”

“
Frankie?” Jonathan’s heart leapt into his throat. Franklin was alive — sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest, frowning. But he wasn’t frowning at Jonathan. He followed Franklin’s gaze and saw a younger version of himself. Unscarred. No prosthesis. Two hands.

Jonathan ignored his doppelganger and wrapped his arms around Franklin. But they passed right through him, leaving behind a trail of blue and purple light. He might as well have been a ghost.
Am I dead?

The room slipped sideways. An invisible force pulled Jonathan forward and shoved him into his other younger body; his perfect body, with two hands.

He wanted something … He wanted Franklin to do something …

Jonathan ran his left hand over the shiny gold figure perched on top of Franklin’s latest trophy. It was almost as tall as he was.

Franklin didn’t even look up. “Stop molesting my trophy and get out of my room.”

Jonathan leaned over Franklin’s shoulder to see what he was reading. “Lord of the Rings? Again? Ya know, Bro, they made that into a movie. You don’t have to read it.”

“
What do you want, Jonathan?”

“
Can I borrow a shirt and a pair of jeans?”

Franklin put a finger in the middle of the page, then twisted sideways to look at Jonathan. “Why? You hate my clothes.”

Jonathan knew better than to lie to Franklin. “You know why.”

“
Then the answer is no.”

“
Come on, Frankie, what’s the point of being identical twins if we can’t use it to our advantage?”

“
What advantage? Why do you want to be me?” Franklin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Or is there some reason you don’t want to be you?”

“
I need to talk to Naomi.”

“
So?”

“
She won’t answer my calls or texts or let me inside her house. She won’t even look at me.” Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “She un-friended me on Facebook.”

“
Not my problem.”

“
Come on Frankie. I’d do it for you.”

“
How is pretending to be me going to change anything?”

“
There’s a party out at the mine tonight. If I can just talk to her—”

The wheels of Franklin’s chair clattered across the hardwood floor as he pushed away from his desk. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. “You mean seduce her.”

“
No. I mean talk to her. I just need her to understand how that whole thing with Harleigh was nothing but a mistake. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“
That’s no excuse and you know it.”

“
If that doesn’t work, I’ll do the concerned brother routine… Please, just talk to him. He may be suicidal.”

“
You’re pathetic, but you aren’t suicidal.”

“
I can’t live without Naomi.”

“
That would be easier to believe if you hadn’t boinked her best friend.”

“
I didn’t boink Harleigh. I just made out with her. And like I told you … I was drunk.”

“
And like I told you … that’s no excuse.” Franklin turned back to his book. “Besides, Naomi’s going out with Rich Blanchard now.”

Rich was a senior and the state heavy-weight wrestling champion. He had the strength, thick skull and temperament of a silver-back gorilla, but only half the intelligence. There was no way Naomi actually liked him. “She’s just trying to make me jealous.”

“
Probably. She doesn’t care who she hurts as long as she gets her way. Find someone else — half the girls at school are already in love with you.”

True, but Jonathan didn’t want anyone else. He didn’t want to start over either. It had taken him two months to get his hands under Naomi’s shirt and another three weeks before she let him unhook her bra. If he hadn’t messed up with Harleigh, he was sure that he and Naomi would have had sex by now.

He hopped onto Franklin’s bed and bounced on his toes. He couldn’t think unless he was in motion and he definitely needed to think of a new plan …

Jonathan dropped to his knees, then bounced back to his feet. “I could talk to Heather while I’m impersonating you. Ask her to homecoming or something.”

It was ridiculous the way Franklin turned bright red and stuttered every time he tried to talk to the girl. There was nothing special about Heather Compton. She wasn’t ugly or anything, but she wasn’t exactly hot either — not like Naomi.

Franklin slammed his book shut. “You can’t hit on Naomi and Heather at the same party.”

He had a point. Jonathan stopped bouncing. “Unless … you go to the party and pretend to be me. Lay low until I ask Heather out for you and convince Naomi to talk to me. Once I’m done, we’ll sneak inside the mine and change clothes. You can hang out with Heather while I make up with Naomi in the back of the Rover.”

The corners of Franklin’s mouth did that subtle little twitchy thing that meant he was going to start stuttering. No one besides Jonathan ever noticed the twitch. They’d both stuttered as little kids. Jonathan out grew it, Franklin didn’t. Stress made it worse, especially around girls. “The f-first t-time I open m-m-my m-mouth, everyone is g-going to know I’m n-not you.”

“
You don’t have to talk. Just grab a beer, park your butt against a tree and act broken hearted. I guarantee at least one hot chick is going to try to console you by cramming her tongue down your throat. Just don’t let Naomi see you. I’m already in enough trouble.”

Frankie wrinkled his nose and frowned. “I’m not going to start drinking just so I can make out with some random fan-girl of yours. And get off my bed.”

Jonathan grinned and started bouncing again. Heather was the perfect bait. All Jonathan had to do was set the hook and reel him in. “Just smile and nod your head while they jabber at you. It’ll be good practice for when you go out with Heather.”

“
Do you really think H-Heather w-would go out w-with me?”

“
Why wouldn’t she? You’re almost as good-looking as I am.”