Chapter 3: The Hunt
The Velvet Trance looked different in daylight. The neon sign was dark, a tangle of pink tubing against the gray afternoon sky. The door was locked, but Dev had called ahead, and a man with a gold tooth and a shaved head let them in without a word. He led them through the empty club, past the stage where Selena had worked her magic the night before, and into a private lounge draped in crimson velvet.
Mason sat on a low sofa that swallowed him whole. Dev paced behind him, hands in his pockets. The air smelled like sandalwood and old wine. A single lamp cast a warm pool of light on a round table between them.
"Relax," Dev muttered. "We're just going to talk."
Mason's jaw tightened. "You're the one pacing."
The curtain at the far end of the lounge shifted. Selena stepped through, and the room seemed to change shape around her. She wore a silk robe the color of blood, tied loose at her waist. Her hair fell in dark waves over her shoulders. She smiled, slow and knowing, and took the chair across from Mason.
"Gentlemen." She crossed her legs. "I heard you wanted to see me."
Dev stopped pacing. "You know why we're here. You hypnotized my roommate. We want it undone. For good."
Selena's smile didn't waver. She reached for a crystal glass on the table and took a sip of something clear and cold. "Mason came to my show of his own free will. He volunteered. No one forced him."
"You whispered something in his ear." Dev's voice was sharp. "Something that turns him into a whole different person. That's not a party trick. That's messed up."
Selena set the glass down. "It was a demonstration. A memorable one, I hoped. Your friend made a comment before the show, something about hypnosis being fake. I took it as a challenge." She looked at Mason, and her eyes glittered. "He taught me that doubt can be a wonderful thing. It makes the convinced all the sweeter."
Mason's hands were clenched on his knees. "I was wrong. You made your point. Now undo it."
"Undo it?" Selena tilted her head. "The trigger runs until midnight. Then it fades on its own. It's already designed to be temporary."
Jordan had said the same thing. Mason knew it, but he also knew what Jordan had warned, that each activation made the persona stronger. He didn't want to think about what a third time would look like.
"Temporary isn't good enough," Mason said. "I want it gone. Now. Today. Don't tell me you can't do it."
Selena studied him. The silence stretched. Dev shifted his weight, and the sofa creaked.
"I can do it," Selena said. "Removing a suggestion is the same as planting one. A little time, a little focus, and it's clean." She paused. "But it's trust work, Mason. You'd have to sit with me, alone, and let me work. And after last night, I'm not sure you trust me at all."
"Try me."
Selena laughed, a low sound that vibrated in the air. "I like that. But trust isn't a switch you flip. It's a muscle. And yours is badly atrophied."
Dev stepped forward. "What are you asking?"
Selena's gaze didn't move from Mason. "One more session. Private. You come back tonight, sit where I tell you, and let me work. If you do it honestly, if you let yourself go under, I'll remove the trigger completely. No tricks. No conditions. Clean slate."
Mason's stomach dropped. "And if I don't?"
"Then the trigger stays. It fades by midnight, but it returns every time the words are said, and each time, it comes back stronger." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Your friend said the phrase this morning. That made it deeper. More intense. Can you imagine what a third activation would feel like?"
Mason could. He could feel the phantom weight in his chest, the sway in his walk, the way his mouth had turned soft without his permission. The memory was splintered, but it was there, pulsing under his skin.
"You're threatening me," he said.
"I'm offering you a way out." Selena's voice was smooth. "But I appreciate your caution. Here's my other condition. You tell me, right now, that hypnosis is real. That I'm not a fake. That last night's show was not an illusion."
Mason stared at her. The words felt like swallowing a stone.
"Say it," Dev muttered. "Just say it."
"Hypnosis is real," Mason said. The words came out flat, but they came out.
Selena's smile widened. "Good boy. That's a start." She rose from her chair in a single fluid motion. "Tonight, then. Ten o'clock. Come alone."
She paused at the curtain, looking back over her shoulder. "And Mason, if you're thinking about skipping town, don't bother. The trigger is bound to your voice, not to a place. It follows you home. It follows you anywhere."
The curtain fell shut behind her. The man with the gold tooth appeared in the doorway, waiting to escort them out.
Dev grabbed Mason's arm. "You're not actually going to do this, right? She's clearly messing with you."
Mason pulled free. "What other option do I have?"
"We could find someone else. Another hypnotist. There are people who specialize in removing suggestions."
Mason shook his head. "She said it best. It's trust work. I doubt any stranger is going to dig into my brain without me lying down and letting them. And the trigger gets stronger each time. I can't risk leaving it."
Dev's face was conflicted. They walked through the empty club, past the velvet curtain that hid the stage, past the rows of empty chairs where the audience had laughed at Mason's chicken impression the night before.
"The show was tonight at eight," Dev said. "She's doing another one. You going to watch?"
"No." Mason pushed the door open, letting the gray afternoon light wash over them. "I'm going to show up at ten, let her do her thing, and get my head fixed."
"And then what?"
Mason stopped on the sidewalk. The question hung in the air. He didn't have an answer. He had a strange, crawling feeling in his gut that tonight was going to be worse than the show.
"Then I forget any of this ever happened," he said. "That's the plan."
They walked back to the car in silence. Mason's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Jordan had sent another message: any word from selena yet. He typed back quickly. She wants a private session. Tonight. Jordan's reply came fast. is that a good idea.
Mason didn't answer. He locked the phone and slid into the passenger seat, watching the Velvet Trance shrink in the side mirror as Dev pulled away.
The afternoon crawled. Mason tried to eat, but the food tasted like cardboard. He tried to nap, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the crimson curtain and Selena's knowing smile. At eight, he heard the rumble of the crowd through the wall, the muffled bass of the club's sound system. Dev had gone out, giving him space, and the apartment felt too quiet.
At nine forty, Mason put on a clean shirt and stood in front of the mirror. His own reflection looked back at him, tired and pale. He thought about the trigger, about the words that could turn him into someone else. He thought about his voice saying them, and the way the room had turned pink and soft around the edges.
"You're doing this because you have to," he told his reflection. "You're doing this because you're not scared of her."
His reflection didn't argue. It just stared back at him with those same haunted eyes.
He walked out the door and hailed a cab. The driver asked him where to, and Mason said the Velvet Trance. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You going to the hypnosis show? I heard that lady's something else."
"Yeah." Mason's voice was dry. "That's me."
The neon sign was glowing again when they pulled up, pink and sickly bright against the night. The line outside was already long, couples and groups laughing, the promise of a good time buzzing through the crowd. Mason paid the driver and walked past them, past the bouncer who recognized him from the morning, into the darkened club.
The show was in full swing. He could hear Selena's voice through the curtains, low and rhythmic, the crowd's murmur responding to her cues. He didn't stop to listen. He moved through the shadows toward the private lounge, where the same man with the gold tooth stood guard.
"She's expecting you," the man said. "Go on in."
Mason pushed through the curtain. The lounge was lit by candles now, their flames throwing long shadows on the crimson walls. Selena was there, already seated in her chair, wearing something black and liquid that caught the light. She smiled when she saw him.
"Right on time." She gestured to the low sofa. "Sit."
Mason sat. The cushions swallowed him, soft as a mouth.
Selena leaned forward. "Before we begin, I want you to understand something. This session isn't about removing what I planted. It's about showing you how deep suggestion can go."
Mason's heart stuttered. "You said you'd remove it."
"I will." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "But first, I need to teach you something. You came here doubting me. You called my work fake. You said, in front of a room full of people, that hypnosis wasn't real." She tilted her head. "I think, before I let you go, you need to believe me with every part of yourself."
"What do you mean?"
Selena's voice softened. "I mean that when I'm done with you tonight, you'll know exactly how real this is. You'll feel it in your bones, in your blood, in the way you think. And you'll never, ever doubt me again."
She reached out and took his hand, her fingers cool and dry, and Mason felt the room tilt around him.
The room tilted. Mason felt it in his inner ear, a slow lurch like standing on a dock. He gripped Selena's hand, and her fingers closed around his, steady and cool.
"Good," she said. "That's good. You're already relaxing. I can feel it in your grip."
He loosened his hold. She was right, he hadn't noticed the tension in his fingers until she named it.
"Now close your eyes." Her voice dropped an octave, smooth as poured oil. "There's no need to watch anything. No need to do anything. Just let the sound of my voice do the work. It's easier that way, isn't it?"
Mason kept his eyes open. "I came here to get you to remove the trigger. Not to be put under again."
"And you will. But I told you, trust is a muscle. You came here asking me to work on your mind. You have to meet me halfway." She squeezed his hand, a small, patient pulse. "Close your eyes, Mason. Just for a moment. Let me show you how easy it is."
He closed them. The candlelight left orange ghosts behind his lids. The room sounds settled around him, the hum of hidden speakers, the rustle of her robe as she shifted in her chair.
"Good. Now take a deep breath, down into your belly. Feel your shoulders drop when you let it out."
He breathed. The air tasted like sandalwood and candle smoke. His shoulders did drop, an inch, maybe two.
"Again. Slower this time."
He breathed again. The orange ghosts behind his eyes faded to black.
"I'm going to talk for a while," Selena said. "You don't have to listen to every word. In fact, it's better if you don't. Just let the words drift over you, like water over stones. Let them wear you down. Let them smooth you out."
Her voice fell into a rhythm, a pulse that matched the slow throb of his heart. She spoke about warmth, about heaviness, about the weight of his body sinking into the sofa. She described his legs going soft, his arms going loose, his jaw unclenching. Each description matched what he felt. He was sinking, sinking, the cushions swallowing him like they had been waiting for him all day.
"Do you remember the show last night?" she asked.
"Yes." His voice came out thick, distant.
"Good. Remember the lemon. Remember how I told you to bite into it, and you tasted the sour on your tongue, even though there was nothing there. That's the power of suggestion, Mason. The mind doesn't know the difference between real and imagined when it's told something with enough certainty."
The lemon ghost sat on his tongue. He tasted it, sharp and citric.
"You're doing beautifully," she said. "Now listen. I'm going to check in with you, the way I check in with my volunteers on stage. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to answer them honestly. That's the agreement. That's the trust. When I ask, you'll answer, and the words will come easy, straight from the part of you that doesn't think."
"Okay."
"Have you ever been so tired that you couldn't think straight?"
"Yes." His voice was barely a whisper.
"Have you ever wished that someone else could make the decisions for a while? Just take the wheel, so you could rest?"
The question hovered in the dark behind his eyes. He felt the truth of it in his chest. "Yes."
"Then let that happen now. Let the decisions go. Let the worry go. Let Mason go, just for a little while. There's nothing he needs to handle tonight. Nothing he needs to protect. He can float, and I'll catch him. I'll always catch him."
The room hummed. Mason felt his face slacken, his mouth fall open. He was warm all over, heavy and light at the same time.
"Such a good subject," she murmured. "I knew it the moment you stepped on stage. The way you walked. The way your eyes followed my hands. You wanted this, didn't you? Deep down, under all that skepticism, you wanted to be convinced."
"Yes." The word came out of him, and he didn't know if it was true until he heard it.
"Open your eyes."
He opened them. The candles had burned down a quarter inch. Selena was closer than before, leaning forward, her face a mask of calm interest. The lamp light pooled in her dark eyes.
"Now we can talk properly," she said. "You're in a light trance. Aware, but deeply relaxed. Suggestion works best in this state. The critical part of your mind, the part that says fake and illusion and parlor trick, it's resting now. Can you feel it? That quiet space in the back of your head where the doubt used to live?"
He could. The space was there, empty and dark.
"I'm going to deepen the trigger," she said.
Mason's stomach clenched. He tried to summon his resistance, but it was like pushing a wall with a finger. "You said you'd remove it."
"I said I'd show you how deep suggestion can go. And then I'll remove it." She smiled, and the candlelight caught the edge of her teeth. "But the removal won't hold if there's a seed of doubt left in your mind. You need to believe, truly believe, in what I can do. Otherwise you'll always wonder. You'll always test it. And testing a trigger, even a faded one, can be dangerous."
The logic slithered through his relaxed mind and coiled there, comfortable.
"So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to strengthen the words. Make them brighter, sharper, faster to respond. When I say them, you'll feel the shift immediately. You'll fall into Bianca like a feather falling into a pool of warm milk. No hesitation. No resistance. And when I say them again, you'll fall back. Just as fast. Just as clean."
"I don't want to be Bianca," Mason said. His voice was small, like it belonged to someone else.
"I know you don't. And that's exactly why we're doing this. You need to feel the full weight of what you're asking me to remove. You came to me as a skeptic. You leave as a believer. That's the deal."
She reached out and took his other hand. Now both of his hands were in hers, warm and still.
"Close your eyes again."
He closed them.
"Now listen to my voice, and only my voice. There's nothing else in the room worth hearing. There's nothing else in the world worth thinking about except the sound of my words and how good they feel as they slide into your ears and work their way down into your chest."
The rhythm returned. She built it slowly, layer on layer, and with each layer Mason felt the trigger settle deeper into him, like roots spreading through soft soil. She anchored it to his breath. She anchored it to the beat of his heart. She told him the words would live in a place below thought, below memory, below anything he could reach with his conscious mind.
"The words will be like a key in a lock," she said. "You turn, you open, you close. Arch it clean. Arch it bright. The only one who holds the key is me."
Her voice softened until he had to strain to hear it.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe?"
He paused. The doubt was still there, small and far away, buried under the weight of her suggestions. He reached for it, and it slipped away like a fish in dark water.
"Yes."
"Good boy. When I say sleep tight, princess, you'll wake up as Mason, sitting in this chair, wondering why the candles have burned down so far. And you'll feel the trigger waiting in you, patient and deep. You'll know, without a doubt, that I can call Bianca up whenever I want. And you'll know, too, that I can let her rest whenever I choose."
He heard the words. They settled over him like a blanket.
"Now when I count from three to one, you'll open your eyes. You'll be fully awake, clear-headed, yourself. Three. You can feel your arms and legs returning to you. Two. The room comes back into focus. One. Open your eyes, Mason."
He opened them.
The candles had burned down nearly to the table. Selena sat across from him, her hands folded in her lap, watching him with a calm, satisfied expression. The back of his neck was damp. His mouth was dry.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Like I just woke from a nap." He swallowed. "Did it work?"
"Did what work?"
"The removal. The trigger." He looked down at his hands. They were his hands, steady, familiar. "Is it gone?"
Selena smiled. The smile had a curve to it that he didn't like, a private amusement. "Try it," she said. "Say the words yourself. See what happens."
Mason stared at her. "That's a trick."
"Is it? If the trigger is gone, saying it won't do anything. You'll be safe. You'll have your proof. The phone in your pocket will still work. Your roommate will still be waiting at home. Say the words, Mason. Say sleep tight, princess."
The phrase sat in the air between them. His tongue felt heavy. He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to test it. But her eyes were on him, and the logic she had planted coiled warm and persuasive in his chest.
"Sleep tight, princess," he said.
Nothing happened. The couch stayed solid. His body stayed his. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
"It's gone," he said.
Selena nodded. "Clean as a whistle."
"Just like that."
"Just like that." She rose from her chair, fluid as water. "You doubted me again, you know. A minute ago, when I told you to say it. There was that little question in your mind. Is she lying? Is she tricking me? But you said it anyway. That's the trust I was looking for."
Mason stood up. His legs felt steady. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She walked to the curtain, paused with her hand on the velvet. "The trigger is gone. But the memory taught you something tonight. It taught you that hypnosis is real, that suggestion has weight, that your mind is open in ways you never imagined."
"I know."
"Do you? Then you know that any good hypnotist can put that knowledge to use. Not just on stage. In private. With a willing subject." She looked back at him, and her smile was a blade. "I'll be here, Mason. If you ever want to explore that further."
He walked out of the lounge. The man with the gold tooth was gone. The club was empty, the crowd long since dispersed. He found himself on the sidewalk, the neon sign buzzing above him, the night air cool on his face.
His phone buzzed. Jordan. What happened. Is it done.
He typed: it's done. trigger's gone.
Jordan's reply came fast: you sure.
Mason stared at the words. He tried to remember the session, the feel of her hands, the weight of her voice. The memory was smooth and blank, like a polished stone. He remembered sitting down. He remembered the candles. He remembered saying the trigger and feeling nothing.
He was sure. He was sure.
He typed: positive. going home.
He pocketed the phone and started walking. The Velvet Trance shrank behind him, its pink glow fading with each step. He felt light, unburdened, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
It wasn't until he was three blocks away that he noticed it. A small, private warmth in his chest, like a coal still smoldering in a cold fire. He touched his sternum through his shirt. The warmth pulsed once, twice, and settled.
He stopped. Turned. Looked back at the neon sign, distant and pink.
It was probably nothing. Nerves. Adrenaline, unwinding after the night. He shook his head and kept walking, but the warmth stayed with him, patient and patient, humming a low bass note under his skin.
The silence of the night street wrapped around him. He was sure. He was sure the trigger was gone.
He didn't say the words again.