Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 5-6.

by BigBird74

5

Sitting in waiting rooms can be a great form of therapy for the troubled mind. It forces a moment of quiet reflection as you watch the minutes tick by. So it was for Dahlia on another visit to the dreamy psychologist. As you may guess from that last sentence, Dahlia’s relationship with the Dr Jacobs had moved on, at least in her own mind. The pleasant fluttering in her stomach confirmed a hidden reason for her visits on top of wanting to get control over her anxiety attacks.

The previous few days had been difficult. Melissa’s fit of anger the other night was still raw, with both sisters forming an uneasy truce which had seen the normally pristine home descend into an untended anarchy. Neither wanted to seek a truce just yet and the situation was getting difficult. Just that morning Dahlia had almost – almost – broken and thought of clearing away the clutter.

Of course, she had considered just telling her sister to go. That was always an option after all. But something in her pulled her back from that particular place, opting instead to wait. After all, it is typically the threat of pulling a trigger that focuses minds, not actually doing it!

Bang on time, the doctor appeared, looking as handsome as ever. He could see from Dahlia’s pallid complexion that she was not in the best of spirits. That was only to be expected. He had learned a great deal from his sessions with her sister. At first he had been uncomfortable about taking her on as well. Dahlia was a rich client and a good paying one at that. He was sure he could earn enough out of her to keep him in clover for years and did not want anything to spoil it.

Something stirred within him. A moment when his thoughts returned to other, darker ideas he had been entertaining. It is not every day, a shrink like him picked up a client as prestigious and attractive as Dahlia Western. And he would not be a man if her arousing presence had not affected him somewhat. But people are complicated and so was the doctor.

For as much as he may find Dahlia attractive, he was keenly aware of how wealthy she must be and that was his preoccupation right now. As he motioned her into his office, he went through the motions, displaying his ‘attraction’ to her: the slight touches, eye contact, shared moments of understanding and empathy. Oh yes, he knew how to pull every one of those emotional heart strings.

When Melissa had walked into his room, his ambitions had grown from an overly qualified gigolo to perhaps getting it all. He understood people’s minds and had an array of tools at his disposal. All this was going to need was to bring certain, hidden emotions and feelings to the surface and he felt he could have a conditioned, former model eating out of his hand.

It only took a few minutes for their conversation to drift onto the sisters’ recent bust-up. Dahlia had proven remarkably simple to put into a trance. But then, it is not as hard as people imagine. This was no stage act after all. She was not going to get on all fours and bark like a dog, no matter how thrilling that might have been for the deviant within him. No, that would never do. This was therapy after all.

Dahlia assumed her position laying on the couch and it began again, those comforting waves of relaxation she felt when with him. It was always like this. She wondered if he felt it to. She was so at ease, able to discuss everything with him and it all flooded out. Gone was her early reticence to discuss the inner workings of her life. Now she was only too happy to talk about anything with him. Those early embarrassments as they discussed her early life were gone.

She revelled in telling him about her childhood, her early adolescence. Even discussing her earliest fumbles in the dark with boys made her giggle and not feel mortified as she might have expected normally. Okay so she had no idea he was using the black arts on her, but he justified it to himself that ultimately she would be happier with a simpler life.

The gems of information he had mined from Melissa’s cruder outlook provided many back doors into Dahlia’s subconscious. Hypnotherapy only really works if a deep level of trust can be formed and if the subject wishes to change. Nothing can be done against the person’s willpower. In Dahlia’s case, he had found a subject willing to change, open to suggestion and Melissa was providing him with the keys. Melissa herself was the opposite. Unchanging, stubborn, unwilling to try new things. Mentally she was like a rock. However she had proved useful in her own way.

So it was that Dahlia spent happy hours with the handsome doctor. He suggested how good his visits made her feel and, soon, she was coming twice a week. As his influence over her grew, so did his schemes. Today though he had a particular job to do. Next week saw Dahlia’s latest ‘comeback’ show and he had to lay down the latest step in his plan.

6.

The cavernous room where the fashion show was to be held was dark and brooding with menace. At least that is how Dahlia saw it. As she nervously gazed at the monitors lining the dressing area, that inner dread seemed to build inexorably, pushing her towards what she feared was a breaking point. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of the various mantras the doctor had drilled into her in an attempt to calm herself. She focused on her breathing, slowing and calming the fluttering in her stomach that was fuelling so much of her discomfort. For a moment she felt better. But as the loud pulsating music started up, she almost jumped off her chair, her nerves again shredded.

It might have been reasonable for her to have questioned the value of the ‘help’ she had been receiving of late. After all, so little had changed since her last show. The nerves that had gripped at her then seemed just as strong now. But Dahlia had an enormous crush on the doctor that seemed to be getting stronger by the day. Rarely did an hour go by without her mind somehow recalling his handsome, chiselled looks. She could almost forgive him anything.

She gazed at herself in the mirror. What looked back was a model of the highest repute, poised and primped to perfection. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her impossibly beautiful face, framing what many would term a near perfect work of art. The lighting and her foundation helped to remove the traces of age that had now started to creep gently onto her face. While to many a model, those lines would be a dreadful harbinger of the end of a career, Dahlia had almost come to see them as a ticket out of her problems. After all, once her agent and the obsequious devotees that surrounded her lost interest, she could escape. So many depended on her for their livelihoods and Dahlia, deep down, felt trapped by this realisation.

Her chaperone for the day was signalling that it was almost time to go. Dahlia looked mournfully at herself one last time and got up. Her outfit, like her hair and makeup was impeccable. Some lackey at the designer studio had obviously poured their soul into it and the short ensemble made Dahlia look like a goddess. Her long legs and lithe model frame showcased everything to perfection.

As the clock counted down to that dreaded moment, she had a nagging sensation that something was different. All her usual tricks seemed to have failed her. Nothing the doctor had taught her seemed to be working either. The panic continued to well up inside of her, risking to burst forth. Dahlia spun around. She had one last resort, something the doctor had slipped her for just this sort of emergency.

Dahlia had never been one for taking medication. The whole idea strongly appalled her. She had seen a number of friends become hooked on various illicit drugs and she crudely equated all drugs as equally damaging. After all, her body was a temple was it not? But, something was not right. The panic inside of her would just not quit and risked turning into a tidal wave that would wash her right off that stage. As she grabbed at the small box of pills in her bag, feeling her guilt build. ‘Just this once,” she promised herself and, with that, the little pill was inside her.

The rest of the night went by just as planned, even if a little hazy. Dahlia took the applause in her stead, feeling as though she did not ‘deserve it’. That was to be expected. At least it was to the doctor when Dahlia next visited him and relayed her experience to him. Something inside of Dahlia seems to have broken during the show and, as she lay on the couch, the doctor could see the fruits of his surreptitious labour borne out completely. When he had met her, Dahlia had already been questioning her sense of self-worth and weeks of hypnotic suggestion were reinforcing that belief inside of her. 

That moderate sense of self-loathing he had exposed had grown into something more consuming. Not that the doctor had any real difficulty. He found himself pushing at a half-open door, nurturing the seeds of doubt that had culminated in what Dahlia saw as that shameful moment when she popped the pill. That was the moment something inside of her had broken and the self-loathing took reached a new pitch.

She would never have felt that way had she a fuller appreciation of just how the doctor had been undermining her confidence subconsciously. Her unbridled fear that day was a result of his efforts to make the anxiety attacks worse. Now as she spoke of her ‘failure’ to control her rising panic, she looked to him for help, completely unaware of his ulterior motives. His response came as a surprise and yet chimed perfectly with Dahlia’s now twisted thinking.

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