The Dance of the Pheasodile by Tim Roux

Author:Tim Roux
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: bodyswap, hull, crime, gangster, criminal, criminology
Publisher: Tim Roux
Published: 2010-05-12T02:36:18.475759+00:00

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Chapter 13

The setting where I most feared revealing my secrets was also the one where I had the greatest expectations of salvation – the office of Brenda Starbright, the hypnotherapist. On the one hand, she might return me to the land of Keith McGuire, Wokingham, his career and his familial bliss. On the other hand, the next time I visited her was on the day before we were due to kidnap the boy, whichever boy that might end up being. If I didn’t escape the appointment, I might blab. In theory, anything I said to her was privileged, and she was forbidden, on pain of being struck off, to divulge any aspect of our session to the police. However, if she were to learn that I was about to kidnap a child, she might decide that her moral duty was to prevent me from doing so at almost any risk to herself. Besides, once the police had caught us red-handed, how could I prove that she had told them anything, and who would doubt the appropriateness of her judgment?

I could not refuse to attend the session as it was a condition of my remand order that I visit her every two weeks and, if nothing else, I didn’t want the police snuffling around trying to find out what I was up to or where I had got to. What I could do, I assumed, was to refuse to co-operate. I had never seen the remand order, but I doubted that it insisted that I should succumb to hypnotic suggestion during each and every visit, without fail, or else.

I decided to hijack the agenda by firing loads of questions at Ms. Starbright about how I could possibly have switched bodies with Harry Walker last time around. Her immediate response was to attempt to bluster and bully her way through my thorny thicket of defences, asserting that it was her right to be in control of what took place in her office, and that she therefore insisted that we proceed with the session as she envisioned it. I countered this demand by arguing that she might have every right to impose her treatment on Harry Walker, who would be there by order of the court, but not on Keith McGuire, who had never appeared in a criminal court in his life.

“But you are Harry Walker,” she protested.

“I am Harry Walker on the outside, but can you prove that I am Harry Walker on the inside?”

“Harry,” she smiled condescendingly, “I don’t need to.”

“Brenda,” I replied in kind, “I know who I really am, and who I really am is Keith McGuire. Now I want to know why I am here, and you could help me discover the answer to that. Wouldn’t it be more fun to explore that as an issue? Why don’t you just go with the flow of my conceit, and see where it leads us?”

It was immediately obvious that Brenda Starbright was not in search of fun, especially at the seasoned hands of a notoriously slippery con-artist.

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