Under A Rest Pt. 05

As he focused on that visit, his memories began to coalesce around it. Something in that voice of hers had melted away his defenses. He remembered his notepad, the sharp, pointed observations jotted down, the last lines of which grew looser and shorter as she began working on him even before hypnotizing him proper. He'd forgotten almost everything on that page of notes, and it felt so good to close his eyes and forget about those sordid details that he'd made a real habit of it...

"Please, try to stay with me, Detective," Marcus continued, shutting off the recording. The detective snapped to attention, somewhat embarrassed. He hadn't even realized he'd drifted again, nor that the recording had still been playing. "Don't feel badly. I can tell she worked tirelessly on you. She is a consummate professional, you must keep that in mind. Even her office is designed to ensnare, every bit of it. Maybe you remember. Down to that air freshener, which probably has God-knows-what in it."

"Ugh," Detective Berman groaned, rubbing his eyes and recalling in newfound clarity that eerily calming pine scent. "God, I don't know. I know I sat down in that chair...she got to talking about her little meditation technique or whatever, and..."

"Lights out."

"An understatement," he said, more details slowly seeping back. "I knew it, I really did, I think. But for some reason I think I just decided nothing real could come of it. So I went into it normally...and next thing I know, like you said, she's shaking me awake, and I was...I don't think quite the same. Everything went a little funny after that."

"That's how she gets you."

"Oh, I wouldn't say she got me. It doesn't prove anything other than she managed to hypnotize me exactly once," he lied.

"Then why is the case shelved?"

"Happens all the time, unfortunately. It was a pretty clean scene, very little evidence of interest. Victim had no other female contacts we know of, no clear homosexual inclinations that I can remember. No family."

"That may be so, Detective. But I'll ask you something."

Mildly irritated, he shrugged.

"Shoot."

"How long have you been a homicide detective?"

"Fifteen years, now."

"Then tell me something. Why do people kill?"

He blinked and looked at the wall. He shrugged again and pursed his lips.

"What are the seven deadly sins?"

Marcus blinked, hesitating.

"That wasn't rhetorical, I'm asking. I'm sure you know them," the detective coaxed.

"Uh...greed, envy...pride...lust...wrath...which am I forgetting?"

"Gluttony and sloth. Though those tend to not be as motivational as the others. Unless you're trying to eat someone or, I don't know, shoot them 'cause they won't move from in front of the TV."

"Right."

"But yeah, there are your reasons. Any reason for murder can be boiled down to one of those. Money, sex, prestige, vengeance, you name it. What was your point again?"

"Fair enough. My point, Detective, is that I believe one or more of those applied in this case. I may not know what her motive was, but I am convinced she had one, something lusty in particular, or maybe greedy. I am here, on that man's behalf, in front of you now, asking you to give that woman just one more fair look. The only woman I ever saw James Walter get involved with was her. And knowing her, I just know there's something more to it. Please."

The detective sighed.

"Look...I still think you're barking up the wrong tree, sir," he said, shaking his head. "But how about this. I'll look into it one more time, take some notes on it, alright? No guarantee of anything."

"Oh, I would greatly appreciate it," Marcus said, a glint in his shining black eyes.

"You're welcome."

He paused.

"...Then she gave you a recording, didn't she?"

Detective Berman hummed in thought.

"Well...actually, I think I might've...huh," he said, chuckling. "God, I gave myself one, how about that. I sometimes record investigatory interviews, that's standard op, and it was some attempt at insurance, I guess, should she try something fishy. Tsk. Look how well that turned out."

Marcus snickered. The detective continued, working to recollect the crumbs of memory left in his mind.

"Then, I think...God, I can hardly remember now. I don't even know what I don't remember. But I think she suggested that I listen to it as much as I could. Which, I mean, I did, of course, and gladly, too, since I thought I'd be able to listen back on that little activity objectively and tease apart her MO. In reality, just listening to a recording of her had me nodding along, as you say. And, uh. Just saw."

"Indeed. Do you still have that recording?"

Detective Berman paused thoughtfully, then opened his phone to check.

"Nope. All gone."

"Was afraid of that," Marcus murmured.

"You know, the funny thing is...everything, all those words of hers...are in here," he said, leaning forward and tapping an index finger to his temple. "I know it. But I couldn't tell you a single one now. Not if you put a gun to my head."

Marcus shook his head gravely, mouth set in a deep, sympathetic frown.

"She really did a number on you. Surely this constitutes something illegal, doesn't it? Exerting such a profound influence on a law enforcement officer. Obstructing justice. You look like you've been put in the microwave just thinking about it."

"Unfortunately..." the detective said, splaying his hand over his lips in thought. His own behavior in this mess could cost him his job. These were uncharted waters. He wasn't sure if he could even trust his own memory, nor this man in front of him.

But now, neither was he certain he could trust his newfound companion, scintillating as she was.

Detective Berman took a deep breath, attempting to steel himself against the chaos now coursing through his veins. More than anything else right now, he was sure of her innocence, but could in no way think himself around the hardcoded confines of his mind's methodical nature. To give into his emotions in his work was nothing short of treason. As strongly as he felt that she had nothing to do with such a ridiculous case, his instincts forced him to at least look into it one more time.

Nevertheless, his affections for her were so undeniable that he was still left conflicted about the prospect of arresting her. Their numerous trysts, their late-night conversations lying side-by-side in her bed, talking about everything from life's big questions about love to whether the Showa Japan category that night on Jeopardy! had been too easy. She had also been so eager to help him with his investigation at first, despite knowing full well that she could be incriminated by any findings she made.

He thought back to those moments with a sad fondness, for if she did indeed commit the crime in question, then perhaps all he'd been enjoying, falling for, chasing the entire time was naught but--

"...Unfortunately?" Marcus said, urging him to continue his cliffhanging opening.

An illusion.

"Look...even if we could take this to a district attorney, even if we could somehow convince a jury that hypnosis, in theory, let alone practicum, is powerful enough to move people like this, to move a senior detective away from a trail, let alone a person to suicide. Then convince them that her command is just that strong--still, all we have is a whole lot of circumstance. We need irrefutable hard evidence, and as it stands now, if I go up there and testify in front of her...I'm telling you, the only thing hard in that courtroom is gonna be me."

Marcus let out a rare, brief chuckle.

"Well, is that not in itself your hard evidence, Detective?" he said, tongue in cheek. The detective snorted and shook his head.

"No, really, uh...I'll see what I can do about it. I'm just now getting back up to speed, recalling some of this stuff. Feels like I'm at the scene for the first time," he continued, leafing through the case file on his desk. He spied a photo of her already inside. His heart skipped a beat. "For all I know, I could just have a head injury. And there's no guarantee I can remember what I need to. Even if I do, I can hardly think straight about it now."

"That doesn't surprise me. Unfortunately I know well what you mean. But just...do what you can. I'd appreciate every bit of it," Marcus said, rising and glancing at his watch. "I'm afraid I have an appointment, so I've got to run. But I'm very glad we had this meeting. Here's my card. Oh, and Detective..."

"Yeah?"

"I advise you stay away from her. At least for the time being."

Without thinking, the detective pouted slightly. He didn't want to stay away from her. But the tiny, suspicious inkling inside of him assented.

"...Looks like that's how it's got to be, doesn't it."

Marcus nodded curtly.

"Keep in touch."

He left. The detective rubbed his eyes and slumped in his chair. His eyes stung. His everything stung. The weight on his shoulders from which he'd enjoyed a vacation had made its return. He ran his hand through his hair. He wished it was hers.

"Hey, Sergeant," Detective Berman called out, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. "Joshua. In here, please."

"Yes, sir?" he replied, poking his head into his office.

"Open up the Walter book. I want you to call, uh...God, what's his name," he said, leafing through the book. "Paul Kuklinski. His number's in there somewhere I think, ask him what he can recall about the guests at his last birthday party. But don't be too direct, we don't want to alarm him. And, uh, I want a warrant for the house."

"It was cleaned months ago, sir. Think the bank is looking to make a sale."

"Oh. Hm. Well, I want one anyway. The thing about 'clean' is it's never as clean as you'd think. Have we got any of his devices, computer, phone, anything like that?"

"Laptop, cell phone, and tablet in the locker."

"Superb. I want a look."

"Gotcha. Anything else?"

"See if you can scare up any other patients of a Doctor Maria Angelos."

***

Early Friday Evening

The empty house was indeed still in appalling shape, even by Detective Berman's lackadaisical standards. Fading beams of sunlight streamed through dirty windows in which motes of dust shimmered visibly. Somewhat unsettling wind chimes rang from the back patio. Cobwebs lay strewn in corners. Clumps of hair and dust peppered the carpets. Cracks lined the drywall. A musty smell permeated the space. Unfathomable amounts of clutter still crowded the tables. Moths batted about.

When Sergeant Joshua said it'd been cleaned, Detective Berman figured he either hadn't seen it at all or had frightful notions of cleanliness.

Detective Berman shook books. Looked under desks. Sifted through laundry piles, papers, mildewy stacks of Popular Mechanics. His brain felt hot. Surely, and perish the thought, should his madam have truly been responsible in some way...she must have at least had a sensible motive. The thought of her doing something so cruel so senselessly sickened him.

Really, the entire investigation had begun to sicken him. He should've been at her house by now, spending every moment, both waking and sleeping, with her. But though his legs ached to bolt out of this house and run to hers, he couldn't, and for some reason, she hadn't even reached out. No calls, no texts on the only Friday evening in recent memory that he could recall not spending with her. He couldn't help but feel stung, further spurring his zeal to investigate.

The detective rolled up his shirtsleeves, readjusted his gloves, and powered on the laptop with a sigh. He could've just accessed it at the station, but he'd brought it with him; something about accessing the device in the victim's space always made things click for him more easily. He couldn't really explain it. It was just one of those things.

The laptop--a crusty thing, making him thankful for his gloves--took what felt like ages to boot. He inserted a thumb drive, executing a program to index and analyze the entire filesystem. Sifting through the information, he saw scores of files and folders, probably confidential: Chyron blueprints, CAD files, 3D renders. Elsewhere, he found programs James had written, as well as various texts both fiction and nonfiction. Large amounts of personal research. Some books. Some photography. Some memes. Entirely too much hentai.

All mentions of Maria Angelos had been wholly scrubbed. Anything regarding her name, and to that extent, hypnosis, had been completely nuked. He bit his lip and then pressed them together, unable to believe that such a thing could be. Feeling oddly lost, he began aimlessly scrolling through the victim's internet search history. It was an unlikely venture, but there could be something there, some clue, some hint, something right underneath his nose, taunting him, taunting him like she did, like her terrible, jade gaze taunted and haunted--

sechuan

sechuan near me

Did you mean: szechuan?

Detective Berman's eyes widened, his mind sparked into roaring, inspired pyre, zeroing in on the innocuous typo amongst James Walter's search queries. Immediately, his fingers flew along the keys.

Angelo. Angelis. Marie. Mmariw. Angelous. Anglos.

Anglos. One result found, a recycled text file. He recovered it, thankful that the data was only partially corrupted. There it was, in plain English, detailing the workings of her plans, her abuse of hypnosis violating and manipulating at least several known patients. Her methodical erosions of powerful minds to the ends of providing herself with benefits, cash, and several powerful positions. Names, ones even he recognized. A call to have her medical license revoked.

Detective Berman's blood ran hot and cold. Hot, because that was always what he felt when finally finessing the edge of his blade into an impossibly-tied knot, cold because it confirmed his worst suspicions--the ones that had nagged at him, the ones that had been shoved into the deep, dark recesses of his mind time and again, fastidiously covered in increasing layers of warm, blank, silly little bubbles.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed, saving the relevant documentation and continuing his search, yielding no other leads. He continued searching different permutations of typos, stumbling upon a single audio file.

"Hpynotic induction," Detective Berman murmured aloud, examining the misspelled file title. "18:47 long...28 megabytes...wav file." Curious, he hit play.

Hello, I--

Startled, the man slammed the space bar, pausing the recording. He caught his breath and gulped, hearing his heart pounding in his ears.

"The hell'd you expect, dumbass," he breathed to himself.

He looked around. The sun was setting, the house growing dark. The wind chimes outside had stopped. All was eerily quiet and still. Hesitantly, against all better judgement, he plugged a pair of earphones into the laptop's headphone jack and pressed play once again.

Hello. I'm Doctor Maria Angelos, a licensed psychiatrist and therapist. Today, I'll be guiding you into what's called a hypnotic state...

Since Marcus Chiang's visit, Detective Berman had reluctantly attempted some self-hypnotic work of his own. Research, exploration, deprogramming files, all attempts to carefully comb through his mind and poke at her insidious influences. Visiting another hypnotist in his scenario was out of the question, but he liked to think he'd started doing a rather decent job himself all things considered. Her influence had at least felt less real, less powerful, less intimidating. His thoughts had begun to clear. His memories had begun to return.

But hearing her again made it all pale in comparison. Nothing worked on him like she did. His mind went silent at the mere sound of her voice, his response to her words nearly instantaneous and entirely involuntary. Shivers went down his spine contemplating the depths to which she controlled his mind. He hated it.

He hated that part of him didn't hate it.

He couldn't help but feel an unshakeable stone in his stomach. She'd betrayed him, sure. But worse, he'd betrayed himself. Vignettes of his own body betraying him over and over bled back--in her office, on her doorstep, in her living room, in her bedroom. His cursor moved sluggishly towards the window's X button.

And there it stayed, unclicking. Her voice poured interminably into his ears and for the life of him he could not bring his helplessly frozen index finger to move the slightest millimeter. Any second now she'd begin her induction and he'd be even worse off, so the time to close it was now. His brain sprung into action, sending electrical impulses to his finger.

They resulted in no more than helpless, imperceptible little twitches, none firm enough to depress the button fully.

You're probably already familiar

with that dreamlike state

that beautiful haze between waking and sleeping.

That relaxing blur

focused while unfocused

attentive while inattentive.

You may find yourself awake and alert

thinking normal thoughts, at normal speeds

and that's completely okay, of course.

but you may, too, find your mind drifting pleasantly

thinking of things a little more fanciful, a little more subdued

thoughts of pleasant abstraction

pleasant confusion

pleasant dissociation

letting your thoughts slow

letting your body slump

letting yourself sink

deeper

and deeper

down...slow...relaxed...

His eyelids fluttered closed, his breath growing shallow, limbs leaden, his aching heartbeat quickening, then slowing, longing for her. Like trained little soldiers, his thoughts fell in line, slowing to a gentle halt awaiting her instructions. Mechanically, he doffed his right glove.

Feeling so good

feeling so relaxed...

A strong, pleasurable notion of agreement washed over him. His hand dropped heavily into his lap, slowly making its way towards his fly and lazily undoing his pants.

Sinking deeper

feeling the pull

feeling your muscles releasing tension...

His clumsy, slumbering hand massaged his stiff cock, becoming harder and harder as his fingers brushed up and down, up and down, feeling nearly as though someone else was tending to his swollen head. Her voice filled his ears, and with a satisfying sigh once again sent him into the clouds.

Enjoying this wonderful state.

Enjoying restful relaxation.

Taken off guard at the unwitting usage of his trigger, he dropped deeper, harder, his body collapsing and sinking further into the chair with an uninhibited sigh as he continued stroking, caressing himself, feeling wonderful pulses of ecstatic pleasure course through him, allowing her voice to once again soothe his tired, aching mind.

Wonderfully blissful.

Wonderfully blank.

The tiny voice in his head begging him to stop only quieted as the waves of pleasure took hold, rendering him overwhelmed as sweat began to bead on his forehead and moans began to escape his mouth. He felt himself slipping further and further away, his body becoming lusciously limp as he surrendered, every stroke sending a flurry of delightful sensations throughout his body. His breathing grew heavy, loud, and labored.

Wonderfully hypnotized.

Wonderfully aroused...

Listening to my every word...

The more he listened, the more he obeyed, the more intense those waves of blissful pleasure rose within him. There was no laptop, there was no chair, there was no house, there was no case. Only her. Only her honeyed words mainlined straight into his veins.

He bit his lip as he finally rounded the corner. His head fell back onto the chair, and with a satisfied, guttural moan, he finally allowed stars to erupt before his eyes, releasing himself into her embrace.

As the acute ecstasy slowly began to fade away into peaceful quiet, Detective Berman realized he heard a dull thud sounding through his mind, though he thought nothing of it.