Read Online The Adept by Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Kurtz, Deborah Turner Harris
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You don’t need to see for a while anyway. I want you to take a deep breath and concentrate on your heartbeat. I’m going to count your pulse, and I want you to count with me.” He pressed his fingertips against Peregrine’s wrist and felt the pulse, strong and steady.
“Take a deep breath and concentrate on your heartbeat,” he continued. “Feel the pulse and rhythm of your life gently taking you even deeper and more relaxed as we count down from ten—nine—eight—seven—”
He could see Peregrine’s lips moving, continuing the counting, and he could feel him slipping deeper, hardly even whispering the final “One.”
“Good,” Adam replied, half-breathing the word himself. “Very relaxed . . . very deeply relaxed. And now, as my hand touches your forehead, I want you to sink into an even deeper—sleep.”
At the word “sleep,” he shifted upward to touch his subject lightly between the eyes. A quiver of eye movement registered briefly beneath the lowered lids, but then Peregrine drew a long, even breath and exhaled on a shallow sigh, his head lolling forward slightly, nodding.
The response was precisely what Adam was looking for. Leaning down to take one of the slack hands, he lifted his subject’s arm to shoulder level and stretched it out straight, running his free hand down it several times from shoulder to wrist.
“Now imagine that your arm is becoming as stiff and rigid as an iron bar,” Adam said, testing at the lock of the elbow for emphasis. “It’s becoming so rigid that neither you nor I can bend it, and you cannot lower it. Try if you wish, but you cannot bend your arm.”
Peregrine did seem to try. Adam could see the consternation on the younger man’s face, but the arm did not budge. Quickly, before Peregrine alarmed himself or did move the arm, Adam stroked along its length again.
“That’s fine, Peregrine. Your arm is going back to normal now it’s no longer stiff. You can stop trying to move it, and relax. Let your arm return to your side. It’s perfectly normal now, and you will have no aftereffects. Sleep now. Deep sleep.”
Silently Adam considered what to do next. He could simply try to regress Peregrine to a past life, hoping to find some clue to his problems in the present; but there was a quicker way, and one far more certain. It was hardly a usual psychiatric procedure—most of his medical colleagues would be scandalized—but then, there did not seem to be much that was usual about Peregrine Lovat.
“Now, Peregrine,” he finally said, “you’re doing very well indeed. You’ve achieved a very useful level of deep trance, and in a moment I’m going to ask you to go deeper still.
“For now, however, I have further instructions for you. For reasons I’ll eventually explain, you’re to remember nothing of what is about to happen, when you wake up later on. But if and when I ask you to recall it at some later date, it will come back to you in full detail. I have my reasons for asking this, but it isn’t appropriate for you to know them just now. So you will retain no conscious memory of anything you might hear or experience in the next little while, for your own well being. Nod if you understand and accept this.”
When Peregrine nodded, Adam drew his own chair closer to the rosewood table, reducing the distance between himself and his subject.
“Thank you. I will not betray the trust you’ve given me. Now, I want you to go very, very deep—twice as deep as you are now. Go so deep that nothing you may hear with your ears will register on any conscious level until I touch your wrist like this and tell you to come back.” He briefly pressed Peregrine’s wrist between the first two fingers of both hands.
“Only if real physical danger should threaten, such as a fire, will you counter this instruction and come out of trance. Now lean your head back and sleep. Sleep deeply, hear nothing, and remember nothing. Deep sleep.”
When he was satisfied that
“Take a deep breath and concentrate on your heartbeat,” he continued. “Feel the pulse and rhythm of your life gently taking you even deeper and more relaxed as we count down from ten—nine—eight—seven—”
He could see Peregrine’s lips moving, continuing the counting, and he could feel him slipping deeper, hardly even whispering the final “One.”
“Good,” Adam replied, half-breathing the word himself. “Very relaxed . . . very deeply relaxed. And now, as my hand touches your forehead, I want you to sink into an even deeper—sleep.”
At the word “sleep,” he shifted upward to touch his subject lightly between the eyes. A quiver of eye movement registered briefly beneath the lowered lids, but then Peregrine drew a long, even breath and exhaled on a shallow sigh, his head lolling forward slightly, nodding.
The response was precisely what Adam was looking for. Leaning down to take one of the slack hands, he lifted his subject’s arm to shoulder level and stretched it out straight, running his free hand down it several times from shoulder to wrist.
“Now imagine that your arm is becoming as stiff and rigid as an iron bar,” Adam said, testing at the lock of the elbow for emphasis. “It’s becoming so rigid that neither you nor I can bend it, and you cannot lower it. Try if you wish, but you cannot bend your arm.”
Peregrine did seem to try. Adam could see the consternation on the younger man’s face, but the arm did not budge. Quickly, before Peregrine alarmed himself or did move the arm, Adam stroked along its length again.
“That’s fine, Peregrine. Your arm is going back to normal now it’s no longer stiff. You can stop trying to move it, and relax. Let your arm return to your side. It’s perfectly normal now, and you will have no aftereffects. Sleep now. Deep sleep.”
Silently Adam considered what to do next. He could simply try to regress Peregrine to a past life, hoping to find some clue to his problems in the present; but there was a quicker way, and one far more certain. It was hardly a usual psychiatric procedure—most of his medical colleagues would be scandalized—but then, there did not seem to be much that was usual about Peregrine Lovat.
“Now, Peregrine,” he finally said, “you’re doing very well indeed. You’ve achieved a very useful level of deep trance, and in a moment I’m going to ask you to go deeper still.
“For now, however, I have further instructions for you. For reasons I’ll eventually explain, you’re to remember nothing of what is about to happen, when you wake up later on. But if and when I ask you to recall it at some later date, it will come back to you in full detail. I have my reasons for asking this, but it isn’t appropriate for you to know them just now. So you will retain no conscious memory of anything you might hear or experience in the next little while, for your own well being. Nod if you understand and accept this.”
When Peregrine nodded, Adam drew his own chair closer to the rosewood table, reducing the distance between himself and his subject.
“Thank you. I will not betray the trust you’ve given me. Now, I want you to go very, very deep—twice as deep as you are now. Go so deep that nothing you may hear with your ears will register on any conscious level until I touch your wrist like this and tell you to come back.” He briefly pressed Peregrine’s wrist between the first two fingers of both hands.
“Only if real physical danger should threaten, such as a fire, will you counter this instruction and come out of trance. Now lean your head back and sleep. Sleep deeply, hear nothing, and remember nothing. Deep sleep.”
When he was satisfied that
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