She took a seat opposite me in her leather desk chair. “We’ll deal with paperwork later. I’ll email it to you, and you can send it back the same way. I don’t want to waste time with red tape when we can be getting down to business.”

“Is that how you always work?”

She shook her head. “Usually I email the paperwork in advance, but this appointment was only made today.”

“Right.” I looked around, twisting my head to look behind me. Her credentials were on the wall behind me, clearly part of her focusing plan. The patient couldn’t stare at the doctor’s myriad degrees on the wall. Dr. Woolcott had an M.D. from the University of Vermont. Not Harvard, but not bad. She also had several certifications in hypnotic therapy. Good. Good.

“I assure you I’m highly qualified.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. Every new patient does it. My partner and I have had countless other professionals accuse us of practicing voodoo, but hypnosis is real, and it’s very effective.”

I said nothing.

“Have you been having any symptoms?”

“Like what? I’m in perfect health.”

“Stress, Mr. Wolfe. Nervousness? Rapid heartbeat?”

“No. Not really.”

She scribbled some notes on her pad.

“What can I help you with today?”

“I need to find something.”

“Something you lost?”

“In a way. There’s something in the back of my mind. Something I don’t quite recall, but I know it’s there.”

“And you feel it’s important that you recall this event?”

“Yeah. My family’s wellbeing may depend on it.”

“Do you want to explain that further?”

“I think you probably know. My father died under…odd circumstances. Everyone in the family has been implicated in some way. None of us had anything to do with it.”

“And you think this buried event might help your family prove that?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I really don’t. But I feel very strongly that I need to bring it to the surface, and I need to do it now. It’s tormented me for far too long.”

“How so?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“You’re talking to a psychiatrist, Mr. Wolfe. I’ve heard it all. Try your best to put it into words.”

“Pardon my language, but the only thing that describes it accurately is a mindfuck.”

“Again, I’ve heard it all. Speak your mind, and don’t worry about profanity. It won’t upset me.”

I nodded.

“Can you describe this mindfuck?”

“That’s just it. I can’t. But it’s there. Always. I suppress it most of the time, but it never goes away. It’s always there, hiding in the back of my mind, and I can’t root it out. I can never find the key.”

“So you want me to help you find the key.”