The Hypnotist’s Assistants

Ken continued to grapple with the inconsistencies as he and Beth followed the Jonas and Nita out into the lobby. There Ken and Beth separated, each going to the appropriate rest room.

Beth emerged to find Ken talking again to the old man in the ticket booth.

"I know this sounds weird, but…someone we know has the same wall paper as the bathroom here, but I can't seem to recall who. I know I have seen it some where before…," said Beth.

"Old wallpaper like this? Not likely," answered Ken as he glanced around the dingy room.

"Thanks for the use of your facilities. You are very gracious," Ken said to the old man sitting in the smoky booth.

"Anytime," coughed the old man.

"Now I'm hungry," whispered Beth.

"Chez Fred's will fix that," said Ken.

"Watch out for the man in plaid pants," said the old man.

As he pulled his BMW out of the parking lot and down the street, Ken felt himself slipping into a very pleasant daydream about Carmen Schafer, his boss' wife. First Carmen was walking on the squalid street, then suddenly on a lovely pink sand beach. Carmen's clothing changed also from the little black dress to tiny swimsuit as she drew closer to Ken. Only a few yards away from him now, Carmen reached behind her back and slowly the top of her swimsuit drifted away like a feather in the wind. Carmen's pendulous breasts, without sagging in the least, seemed to respond to their newly found freedom. They undulated slightly with each step. Perfect, round nipples stood at attention on the tip of each breast. A warm smile broke out on Carmen's flawless face. It was the same wicked smile that she had presented to the security camera…then came the wink...the same mischievous wink.

"Ken."

It was Carmen's full mouth that shaped the word.

"Ken, watch what you are doing."

Ken blinked his eyes and Carmen disappeared from sight.

"You almost ran a red light back there."

"Sorry, Beth, I guess I wasn't paying attention."

"You certainly were not," said Beth with a voice of exasperation. "Off in one of your reveries again, I'm guessing. Sometimes I wonder about you. Please don't do that while you are driving. It is dangerous, ok?"

"Yes, dear," said Ken.

Beth abruptly changed the subject. "You know, I sometimes think that Chez Fred's is really more of a Chinese food place."

"Why do you say that, dear?"

"Cause I'm always hungry after we eat there," said Beth.

"I know what you mean, baby."

Funny, thought Ken. I can't seem to remember what I had to eat at Chez Fred's tonight…something is not quite right…hmmm…

"We'll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when we get home," offered Ken.

"That sounds good," said Beth. "Strange…but, didn't we do the same thing last week?"

"I don't really remember," answered Ken. His comment caused a shudder to course though his body, but try as he would, he could not recall why he felt so ill at ease.

What did I have at Chez Fred's? thought Ken. Ice? Something about the ice…

Chapter 3

The Amazing Roger sat bow tie askew in his tawdry dressing room. He was tossing down his second Scotch. He looked anything but amazing. Darlene, looking even uglier in half-removed makeup, was ranting furiously.

"Why in the fuck do we pay Johnny if he can't control who comes in the door?" she screamed. "Our Mr. Kelly should never have been allowed in…much less allowed in with a fucking gun in his hand. We are lucky to be alive. Jesus H. Christ…just think of it…what if he had shot a customer? Or me? Or you? We would've had fucking police all over…oh my god, the questions. They would have asked all the questions that we don't want to have to answer!"

Yes, dear, thought Roger.

"We have a great thing going here, Roger…and Johnny fucked up badly…he almost fucked up the entire deal."

"I'll deal with Johnny," sighed Roger. "Right now I am much more concerned with what that gunshot might have done to the subjects. It might have brought them back to attention. If they did start attending at the wrong time, then they may have registered a memory. That would really fuck up them…and us…in the worst sort of way. That would make them completely useless to us. Subjects don't last very long as it is and finding new ones, the right ones, is very difficult."

Roger's forceful lecture lost some of its punch because of his tired expression.

"I can assure you that finding new subjects is a lot better than dealing with the wrong memories. Shit. What a fucking mess. Goddamn Johnny! This is his fault!" shouted Darlene.

Roger threw off his tie and cummerbund, and then poured another drink for himself. Darlene continued her tirade while covering her face with green cleansing cream. After a moment, she literally looked as if she had come from another planet. The cream, however, did not slow her acrid speech.

"Just be glad that you got them all back under control as quickly as you did," Darlene continued. "And, thank god, you were able to convince the audience that it was all part of the show…that extemporaneous lecture on seeing and not seeing, the 'powers of perception' bullshit was a bit of genius. Did you deal with Mr. Kelly afterward?"

"Yeah," said Roger, "he won't be joining us anymore. Too bad, he was a good subject and his wife had great tits."

"He was a loose-cannon from the start. And, her ass was too wide for her boobs…in my opinion."

Roger chuckled at Darlene's off-handed remark. Quickly, however, reality returned and his smile vanished.

"None of that matters," he muttered. "Remembering—subjects remembering—does matter…big time. I will stay fucking worried until we can get the Smiths and the others back in here and deal with what they might remember from tonight."

"And you should fire fucking Johnny! Ok?"

*****

By all appearances, the following week was like every week in Ken Smith's life—routine, nothing different, nothing out of place. Yet, something troubled Ken profoundly, an itch that he couldn't scratch, something that would not seem to let go even though he could not identify it. It became so troubling and distracting that he actually was late for an appointment on Tuesday! That had never happened in Ken's entire professional life.

By Wednesday, Ken's sense of confusion and uneasiness had grown into stifling fear, a debilitating terror of something unknown, something just beyond his mind's reach. He felt constant panic and couldn't concentrate at all on his job or anything else.

Wednesday…golf day, thought Ken. The last thing I feel like doing is playing golf.

As was the case every Wednesday afternoon, it was time for Ken to go to the golf club. On this day, instead, he sat in his office staring at the ceiling…and tried desperately to get his nerves under control. He didn't want to golf, yet, the thought of canceling also unnerved him because, in Ken's well-ordered life, he always played golf on Wednesday afternoons…at least almost always.

Ken's orderly schedule had included two choices on Wednesday afternoons—golf followed by a poker game, if the weather was fair; or just poker if the weather prohibited the golf. This worked great for the Smiths because Beth always attended her Bible study class on Wednesday nights.

The more Ken stared at the ceiling, the more his anxiety grew. He was convinced that something was horribly wrong. Finally out of sheer panic, he called Beth.

"Hi, honey." Beth's voice was its usual calm. "I didn't expect to hear from you this afternoon. Anything wrong?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I'm just leaving for Bible study, dear. No problem here. Just an ordinary Wednesday. Are you ok?"

"I just felt funny, don't know why, and I was concerned about you, baby."

"What a sweetie, you are. Well, I'm fine. So, go and have fun with the guys…and don't lose too much of our money playing poker. I love you a bunch."

"I love you too, baby."

Ken put the receiver in its cradle, and then picked it up again.

"Hello?"

"Larry, this is Ken Smith. Listen, I'm gonna have to miss our golf game today…sorry."

"Jeez, Ken. I've never known you to miss. Hope you aren't sick or something."

"No, nothing like that…just have some other things to take care of, that's all. Sorry."

"Ok, see you next time."

Ken went down to the parking garage and, for perhaps the first time in his life, started his car without having any particular destination in mind.

*****

Always hungry after Chez Freds.

The thought popped unprovoked into Ken's head. Ken looked up and suddenly realized that he was at the turn off to Chez Fred's.

Can't remember what I had to eat…always hungry. Something about Chez Fred's is not right. Perhaps that is the place to start.

Spontaneously Ken wheeled his car toward Chez Fred's. In a few blocks, the restaurant with its signature wooden sign out front appeared on the left side of the street.

Nothing strange, thought Ken. Nothing different…same old Chez Fred's…

Ken walked through the familiar front door just as he remembered he had done every Friday night for at least a year.

Nothing strange…nothing different. Wait, he thought, that is not quite accurate…

The matre'd stand had been moved to the other side of the entrance.

"You moved your station, Armand," said Ken.

"Sir?"

"Your podium…it used to be over there."

"Oh, yes, sir…about six months ago. It must have been a while since you last visited us, sir."

"What? Armand, it's me, Ken Smith. I come here every Friday night…with Beth…my wife…"

"I'm sorry, sir. I guess I didn't recognize you. Table for one?"

Ken looked into the man's eyes.

"You still don't recognize me, do you?" Ken said quietly.

"Ah, you'll have to pardon me sir, but…I am embarrassed to say…no."

"Do you have standing reservations on weekends for regular customers?"

"Oh, yes, sir! We certainly do. Folks come back to us again and again," replied the matre'd proudly.

"Would you check on a standing reservation for Smith? On Fridays?"

"Certainly, sir, but I know we have no such reservation. I write all standing reservations in each time we change reservation books. See for yourself."

Armand spun the reservation book around and leafed back through several Friday's. There was no Smith on any of them.

"A table, sir?"

Ken felt as if he had been hit directly in the solar plexus. The smiling matre'd and room began to slowly spin round and round as Ken fought to regain his breath. He turned on his heels, stumbled toward the door, and plunged back out into the late afternoon sun, bumping into walls and bystanders as he ran.

Beth! he thought. I have to find Beth.

The sleek BMW burned long, black stripes in the street as Ken headed for the Second Baptist Church. Other cars and pedestrians ducked out of his way along the route. The sun was sinking lower in the sky as he swerved into the church parking lot. A large hand-written sign on an easel in the foyer spelled a sense of relief for Ken. It read "Bible Study Group" with an arrow pointing left.

Ken burst into the room filled with a large number of people seated in a big circle. Conversation halted when he entered.

"I'm looking for Beth Smith," Ken said breathlessly.

"I don't think we have a Beth Smith here," said the leader sheepishly.

Ken looked frantically around the room. Beth was nowhere to be seen.

An older man with a kind face suddenly spoke. "I remember a Beth Smith," he said, eyes twinkling. "She used to come here, but I haven't seen her in…gosh…a long time now…several months."

The faces of the curious church people seemed to begin swirling around Ken.

"Is something wrong?" the leader ventured.

"Yes…ah…no…thank you," stammered Ken as he backed out of the room.

Soon Ken was seated in his parked car, again with no destination. He pressed his face to the steering wheel in front of him and struck the dash board with his fist. Sweat poured off his forehead. His heart pounded. Breathing was difficult. Nothing made sense.

Finally, he started the car and simply drove. A lump in his pocket entered his awareness. It was his cell phone. He dialed his home number while he drove.

No answer.

After calling again for at least the sixth time, Ken suddenly found himself passing by his own office building. He had no idea how or why he had ended up there.

She's not at home, not at church, never been to Chez Fred's…God, where is she? Where am I? Where? Nothing strange, nothing different…everything different…everything strange…something is wrong with the ice in my glass…what glass? Fuck, where's Beth?

Ken screeched to a halt at a stoplight. He was back at the all-too-familiar turn off to Chez Fred's, except this time he had driven without realizing it into the right turn lane. A sickening feeling of déjà vu swept over him like a cold, damp breeze and without thinking further he turned right, instead of left! Immediately he sensed that he had made a poor judgment. He was in a very shabby neighborhood. Yet, the tattered neighborhood seemed somehow familiar.

How can that be? I would never have a reason to come here. Yet, I think I know where I am going.

Without warning, an old garish sign caught his eye. It read "Klub Kasbah."

Chapter 4

Fireworks seemed to go off in Ken's head over and over again. The "Klub Kasbah" sign forced little bits and pieces of memories to jumble together in his mind.

This has something to do with finding Beth, Ken thought, I know it…all this does, this street, this building is relevant, but I don't know how…or why…

Ken's BMW eased past the curb just as a weather-beaten man with brown teeth and wearing a smiley-face tee shirt was placing a "Full" sign across the parking lot entrance. He gave Ken a very strange look.

He knows me! That man recognized me! That's it…the reason I feel like I have been here before is…because…because I have been here…at least I think so….

More images flashed in his mind like a television's channel changer gone mad.

A laughing man taking a piss…people naked…the wallpaper in the ladies room…Beth has seen it before…why doesn't Jonas mind me seeing his wife's breasts…who the hell is Jonas?…they know me here…I have to be very careful… I have to be unseen…I have to find the answers…most of all, I have to find Beth!

The more he thought about these seemingly random ideas, strangely the better Ken felt. Somehow he knew that he was about to have answers about why he felt so confused…more importantly, he was about to have answers about the whereabouts of his precious wife!

Ken swerved into a small alley beside the Klub Kasbah and parked behind a smelly garbage container. The entire place reeked of long rotted refuse. A broad window stood open above the dumpster and yellow light flooded out of it. Ken climbed atop the dumpster and peered inside the lighted window. He was looking into the once glamorously gilded men's restroom of Klub Kasbah.

Ken stared at the old fashioned urinal and a memory of a laughing man suddenly popped into his mind.

Hypnotist gets ordinary people naked…maybe it will get my wife hot-to-go when we get home…he has people sucking and fucking right in front of everyone.

Ken awkwardly climbed in the window and made his way to the door. He peeked out into the broad, mostly empty Klub Kasbah lobby. An old man shrouded in cigarette smoke was talking intently to a young man and woman. Using skills long ago entrenched by the military, Ken quietly and unobtrusively sneaked past the old man by moving among a group of noisy strangers. They led him through a set of large padded doors into a familiar room roaring with excited, talkative patrons.

Far to one side, Ken spotted an empty seat in one of the back booths and casually headed for it. A fashionable young couple already seated in the booth barely acknowledged his presence upon entering. Ken slouched down in his seat just as a raspy voice, somehow familiar, announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen…welcome to the Klub Kasbah…"

Ken slumped in his chair and peeked flabbergasted through his fingers as the Amazing Roger and Darlene's act began to unfold before him. Peculiar, disjointed memories flooded back into his mind with Roger's every gesture and word. Quickly, however, Ken found himself beginning to focus completely on Roger's voice. A familiar chill ran down Ken's spine. At once, he pressed his hands to his ears and moved further down in his seat.

A voice deep inside Ken seemed to say, don't listen, don't listen…

Ken tried to direct his attention to other things in the room. He struggled to make sense of everything, but the scene on stage coupled with flashes of memory was too much for Ken to comprehend. The most severe shock came when volunteers began to come from the audience to the stage. A set of uncomfortable, awkward, giddy participants found places in the folding chairs arrayed across the stage. They seemed all too familiar to Ken.

Roger called one last person up from the front row. Ken's eyes widened when he saw the person's familiar profile.

"Oh, my god, no…oh god, no," Ken began to moan aloud.

The young couple across the table gave him a strange look. Ken clasped his hand over his mouth when the last "volunteer" turned and took her seat on the stage.

Oh my god, it's Beth!

Ken felt as if the top of his head was about to blow off. He fought to stave off the nausea welling up within him. Out of nowhere, pangs of jealousy, outrage, and hurt suddenly struck him. The bilious taste in his mouth almost caused him to gag.

Bible study, my eye, he thought.

A mad urge to run full speed to the stage and sweep Beth away appeared suddenly within him, but then as quickly disappeared only to hide lurking just under the surface in the face of more distrust.

What the fuck is she doing here? She told me she was at Bible study? But, no, she obviously is here…has she come here every Wednesday? On the phone, just today…she lied…how could she do this to me? How could she lie to me?

Ken rubbed his temples and a new, perhaps better logic started to force its way into his mind.

Maybe she doesn't know that she is here…maybe Beth is hypnotized…maybe she has been from the moment, she walked up on stage…maybe even before she ever arrived at this building…my god…that's it…Beth somehow was hypnotized before she ever got here.

So maybe…oh my god…maybe I was too! l…I have been here before…the man recognized me…was I with Beth?...I must have been…and…and neither of us knew it. How long has this been going on? They have not seen us in weeks at Chez Fred's…because we haven't been to Chez Fred's! Oh my god…we've been here instead…so, we have been here more than once…so...oh, Jesus…has Beth done this before? Regular people naked, the man said…oh my god! NO! Not Beth! Not my Beth!

Frantically Ken looked around the room mentally planning an escape plan and route when Beth, now fully asleep, arose from her chair and was escorted off stage by Darlene, the hypnotist's assistant.