Yet her face clouded, as he knew his had. What had become of the door? Where had Blacksmyth gone?
It hadn't occurred to him: where was the light coming from? Nor did it occur to her. He wondered if she saw the burnt torch-mark on the stone.
He watched her reach to the invisible wall, touch it. Push against it, move left, push again.
She may be imagining a different sort of stone, he thought, but she had created it just as hard, just as solid.
“Hello . . .” she said. “Can anybody hear me?”
The audience chuckled, of course we can hear you. We're right here!
Jamie Forbes didn't smile. About now, he had bee
n a little frightened.
Frightened of what? Why had he been afraid?
Trapped, that's why. Locked in stone. No doors, no windows, stone ceiling stone floor . . . bug in a teacup, no way out.
All of it wrong, he thought, watching. Blacksmyth had said to walk down the steps, had murmured something more. At the bottom of the steps was the door. Every minute as real as yesterday. Tonight he saw it differently—the stage, an empty stage with that poor woman walled by her own mind.
The audience smiled, fascinated, while it was all Jamie could do to keep himself in the seat, stop himself from bolting down the aisle to the stage, rescue her, save her . . .
From what, Jamie, he thought, save her from what? How do you unhypnotize someone sunk deep in knowing that massive walls which you cannot see are pressing in on her, imprisoning her, no food no water, air itself running out?
Who could have reached him, told him his walls were fantasy and made him believe it?
I wouldn't have seen rescuers, he thought. Not until they were close enough.
Close enough and then what? I'd see someone walking to me out of solid stone, this is a person I'm suddenly going to believe? He'll say it's all in your mind and I'm going to say oh, sure, thank you and my walls will disappear?
“Hello?” said Lonnie. “Mister Blacksmyth? Did you mean to leave me here? Mister Blacksmyth can you hear me? Mister Blacksmyth!”
Jamie looked at the hypnotist. How can he stand it, her screams? because in a minute she'll be screaming.
Lonnie threw herself against the curving stone of her mind, pounded on it so that her fists would bleed, before long.
Enough, Blacksmyth, he thought. There's enough, now.
A hush of whispers began in the auditorium, smiles gone, audience getting uncomfortable.
Perfect timing, the hypnotist walked to stand not five feet from his subject, every eye in the house upon him.
“Lonnie, there's a way out,” he said. “Can you tell us what it is?”
Her face was anguished now. “No,” she said, hopeless.
For God's sake, Lonnie, thought Jamie Forbes, walk over and punch the guy!
It would be years before he learned that Blacksmyth was to her what hypnotists call a negative hallucination—she couldn't see him, blocked as he was by the positive hallucination of the stone she saw close by, locking her in.
In that moment Jamie Forbes thought that nothing in the world could wake her but the snap of Blacksmyth's fingers, no matter she was starving, or dying of thirst. Not true, but that's what he believed, watching.
“Have you tried,” said Blacksmyth, “every possible way, to get out?”
She nodded, head down, both hands pushing against the stone of her belief.
“Give up?”