The Hypnotherapist

Chapter One: The Challenge

The air in Dr. Victor Kane’s office was thick with the scent of sandalwood and confidence. I sat across from him, my notepad balanced on my knee, pen poised like a weapon. My blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, a deliberate choice to project professionalism, not distraction. I’d built my career as a journalist on tearing down frauds, and Kane, with his slick smile and reputation as the world’s premier hypnotist, was next on my list.

“You’re wasting your time, Ms. Harper,” Kane said, leaning back in his leather chair. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth, like he was already trying to lull me. “Hypnotherapy is real. I’ve helped thousands—phobias cured, habits broken, lives changed.”

I smirked, scribbling arrogant in my notes. “That’s what they all say, Doctor. Every guru, every snake-oil salesman. I’m here to prove you’re just another con artist with a good pitch.”

His dark eyes glinted, unperturbed. “Bold words. Care to test them?”

I leaned forward, matching his intensity. “Name your terms. I’ll let you try to hypnotize me. Do whatever you want, for as long as you want. If I walk out of here unchanged, I write the exposé that ends your career. If you succeed…” I paused, letting the weight of the gamble settle. “I’ll admit hypnotherapy works, and whatever you make me do will be your industry’s best advertisement. Front-page material.”

Kane’s lips curled into a smile that sent a shiver down my spine—not fear, I told myself, just adrenaline. “A deal, then. One session. If I can’t bend your will, you get your story. If I can…” He let the sentence hang, his gaze locking onto mine. “You’ll see.”

I nodded, ignoring the flutter in my chest. I’d sat across from liars and charlatans before. Kane was no different. “Let’s do it.”

He gestured to a plush recliner in the corner. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I settled in, my skepticism a shield. The room dimmed as he lowered the lights, his voice softening into a rhythmic cadence. “Focus on my words, Elise. Let everything else fade away.” His tone was a velvet current, pulling at the edges of my mind. I resisted, cataloging his techniques—low lighting, soothing voice, classic manipulation. But my eyelids grew heavy, my thoughts sluggish, like wading through syrup.

“Deeper now,” he murmured. “Let go.”

I wanted to laugh, to call him out, but my body betrayed me, sinking into the chair. His words wrapped around me, tighter, inescapable. My last coherent thought was a flicker of defiance—you can’t break me—before the world dissolved into a warm, endless void.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the recliner, sunlight streaming through the window. Kane sat at his desk, sipping coffee, as if nothing had happened. My head felt clear, my resolve intact. I checked my watch—only an hour had passed.

“Well?” I said, standing, smoothing my blazer. “That was a nice nap, but I’m still me. No dancing like a chicken, no barking like a dog. Looks like I win.”

Kane’s smile was infuriatingly calm. “Are you sure?”

I scoffed, grabbing my bag. “I’ll have the first draft of my exposé ready by Monday. Enjoy your last days in the spotlight, Doctor.”

As I stepped into the elevator, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my editor, Sarah: How’d it go? I typed a quick reply—Bust. He’s a fraud.—and hit send. The elevator dinged, and I stepped into the bustling lobby of Kane’s Manhattan office building. My phone rang, Sarah’s name flashing on the screen.

Without warning, my hands moved on their own. My fingers unbuttoned my blazer, letting it fall to the marble floor. My blouse followed, then my skirt, pooling around my heels. I stepped out of my shoes, my underwear sliding down as if guided by an invisible ****. In seconds, I stood naked in the crowded lobby, my arms shooting straight up, rigid as flagpoles.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones were raised, cameras clicking. My heart pounded, but my body wouldn’t obey. I walked forward, hips swaying, arms high, every inch of me exposed to the stunned onlookers. My mind screamed—stop, cover yourself!—but my feet kept moving, carrying me through the revolving doors and onto the busy sidewalk.

The city blurred around me—horns honking, pedestrians staring, some laughing, others whispering. I strutted down Fifth Avenue, naked as the day I was born, my arms locked skyward. Humiliation burned through me, but something else flickered beneath it—a strange, electric thrill I couldn’t name.

An hour later, the spell broke. I snapped back to myself, standing in the middle of a crowded intersection, cars swerving around me. My clothes were blocks away, likely gone. I wrapped my arms around my chest, my face flaming as I ducked into an alley, praying for a way to cover myself.

My phone, somehow still in my hand, buzzed again. Another call. My fingers twitched, and dread flooded me. I wasn’t free. Not even close.