Under A Rest Pt. 06

His mind urged him to obey.

He was so certain his attempts to deprogram his mind had worked, but as he felt his body sliding forward in his chair, bit by bit, his head now resting comfortably against its hard, wooden back, vision unfocusing, thoughts drifting deeply down as her voice poured into his ears, a sinking, loathsome realization overtook him. His body had the awareness to recognize what his mind refused to believe.

Thus, it came as no surprise that, some time later, he found himself lifting his heavy eyelids at the judge clearing his throat.

"Well, uh, thank you very much for that, Doctor," he said quickly. "If the prosecution has a cross-examination to make, now would be the time."

"Yes, your honor," Damon announced, now somewhat off-kilter. He arose, stretching his limbs, and approached the stand, hands clasped behind his back.

"Doctor Angelos."

"Good afternoon, Prosecutor," Doctor Anglos greeted him with her brightest smile.

He blinked, for some reason mildly taken aback. Speaking with her up close today seemed like more effort than their prior conversations.

"Doctor, you are the only woman tied to James Walter."

"I am aware."

"He only started his car in an enclosed space. Why did you give him no further instruction?"

"I did not call him at that time," she asserted, deftly dodging the loaded supposition. "I at no point was associated with the number that did. Anything Mr. Walter did was unfortunately attributed to whoever made that call and his extensive history of major depressive disorders and other mental illnesses. You yourself have seen his files."

"You leveraged your position as his psychotherapist, psychiatrist, and hypnotherapist to exploit the power dynamic in your relationship and involve yourself with him sexually," Damon said.

"I used hypnosis as part of my practice, as I already established prior. I never did anything that would promote harm or suicidal ideation in a patient. It goes against my entire ethos as a medical professional."

Damon raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"You already chose to get involved with him on a personal basis, which also goes against your entire ethos as a medical professional."

She met his eyes. She'd expected this. He continued.

"You took advantage of the vulnerable position he was in. You instructed him to do things that ultimately resulted in his death."

"I never asked James Walter to do any such thing."

Damon leaned forward.

"But you did use hypnosis on him, and instructed him to take certain actions which eventually led to his death--"

"--I did not--"

"--and your involvement with him meant you were well aware of his fragile mental state, and yet you continued using hypnotic techniques on him despite the risk inherent to the treatment."

"Hypnotherapy was fruitful for James. I tailored our sessions to help him get in touch with his inner emotions and traumas," she said defensively. "I am not a proponent of false memories and past lives, Mr. Johnson. I only used visualization techniques to help him understand his feelings, while also aiming to help him progress through his various mental blocks. All standard procedure."

Damon stared at her for a few moments before responding. "Then are you suggesting this was something outside of your control? You knew James Walter was vulnerable, precarious, yet you pushed further and further. You didn't just hypnotize him--you manipulated him."

Doctor Angelos narrowed her eyes. "I resent that implication. That's patently untrue. I only ever worked within the bounds of his consent, with the intent of helping him cope with his mental illness and achieve a better quality of life. Hypnosis is an invaluable tool in psychotherapy, and I employed it solely for its intended purpose."

Damon scoffed derisively. "If its intended purpose is psychological harm, it was employed beautifully. Just look at all the effects you've had on your patients, both the ones who have testified, and the ones we asked who were too scared to come forward today. I'm sorry, Doctor, but I find that your personal involvement with your patients coupled with your usage of hypnosis calls into question the integrity of your whole story. That's beside the fact that you attempted to use the same technique on a law enforcement officer."

She looked a little bit taken aback. Detective Berman felt his collar tighten. He hadn't told Damon about their relationship.

"I did hypnotize him, to which he consented as per his own testimony, only to show him that I couldn't possibly have driven James to suicide. Nothing more."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Answer the rest of my statement then, Doctor," Damon said, emboldened.

Doctor Angelos' lips twitched in amusement, staring him straight in the eye. She took a deep breath.

"My colleagues testified. I testified. You still believe that hypnosis is some dangerous bogeyman I weaponized. I think it's time we stop talking and start doing, don't you think, Prosecutor?" she asked. Bewildered, he blinked rapidly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, if you're so worried about the implications of hypnotherapy, why don't you allow me to demonstrate its safety to you firsthand? I can assure you it will be safe and with your consent in front of dozens of witnesses. No harm done to you or the trial. If it pleases the court."

The entire courtroom looked on, chattering in whispers. Damon's heart beat faster. Her eyes twinkled; they beckoned him.

"I see no issue with such a demonstration," Judge Hanover said. "As long as the stenographer can hear every word."

"Of course, your honor," she said sweetly. Damon remained silent, a faint flush rising to his face. Detective Berman's forehead met his hand with a slap.

Where on Earth had he seen this before.

"Hesitance is normal, Mr. Johnson," she continued, voice softer. "But what would this jury think of a prosecutor afraid of a simple trance?"

Damon felt the courtroom's gazes intensify, burning him in a way he hadn't felt since he was a novice. The detective could've sworn he saw him mouth the word "ridiculous".

"Alright, then," he acquiesced. "If you insist."

Pleased with the decision, Doctor Angelos smiled and nodded. Damon sat in a chair near the stand as she arose to stand alongside him. Recognizing his tense demeanor, she continued speaking in her particularly calming timbre.

"Relax, Mr. Johnson," she said softly. "I'd like you to close your eyes. It's only natural to feel some anxiety with something like this, right? But I don't want you to think about that. I want you to notice how comfortable and supported you feel in this seat. You feel the tension of the courtroom slip away. You listen to my voice. You are safe...comfortable...focused..."

On she droned. How annoying. But, having already been primed earlier, it wasn't long before Damon, who had simply been going along with her suggestions, felt himself sinking into the chair, the warmth radiating from her body as she stood by him. She mentioned deepening his state of relaxation by counting down from ten, leading him further and further away from the reality of the courtroom as he faded in and out of comprehending her words. His body grew numb and immovable, but the feeling was not unpleasant in any way; on the contrary, it was tranquil. The harsh gazes of the jury, judge, and opposing counsel melted away, his contexts evaporated, even his body grew relaxed and invisible. All that remained was her voice.

"Allow yourself to go deeper," she commanded softly. "No one can hurt you here. You are safe. Because hypnosis is safe, and your mind always protects you from things you don't wish to do. Here, I'd like for you to demonstrate something. Is that alright with you?"

"Yes."

Do you hear music?"

There was indeed a sort of faint music coming from the streets outside. It was some modern dance pop hit; he couldn't for the life of him tell which. Damon hardly kept abreast of the newest schlock churned out by record labels.

"Yes."

"It's getting louder, isn't it?"

It indeed grew louder. It pulsed through his body, filling him with unease.

"I hear it, too. Everyone here can hear it growing louder. In fact, it's growing very loud now!" she said, raising her voice in tandem. "So loud that I can hardly hear myself think, and I imagine you'd have such trouble, too!"

Damon threw his hands over his ears, the music ramping up, pounding through his skull as though he were seated on an active runway. It hurt to hear. Anxiety fired in his chest, his vision filling with splashes of red and orange behind his eyelids.

"SILENCE!" she yelled. The screaming music stopped, sweet, beautiful silence left in its wake. Damon's hands slowly fell from his ears as he tried to control his breathing.

"That's right, much more relaxed now, twice as relaxed as you were before. It's a relief that this music has stopped, isn't it?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"How loud was that awful music?"

"Real loud. Painful," he mumbled.

"It hurt you? I'm sorry," she said. "Take a moment to recoup, relax. Let the stress fade away, taking you deeper still. Very good."

The courtroom stared in awe. Damon's muscles felt like jelly now, his mind overwhelmed, unable to focus on anything but her voice. He knew deep down that there had never been any such screaming music, that it was entirely an amalgam of her imagination and his.

But it didn't matter. It felt real. And as he well knew, things that felt real were often far more fearsome than things that were.

"Kindly observe that Mr. Johnson is both a natural hypnotic subject and very deeply hypnotized now. Otherwise, he would not have had such a strong response to the previous exercise," she said, speaking to the jury. She turned to him. "Mr. Johnson, I'd like you to stand up in front of the court, please."

Stiffly, he arose from his chair.

"I'd like you to remove your suit jacket."

He did so.

"And your shirt."

Quiet gasps sprung from the crowd. His hands mechanically reached for his tie before stopping. His brow furrowed. In seconds, Damon Johnson dolly-zoomed from his peaceful trance back into the reality of the courtroom.

"'Scuse me, my what now?"

Doctor Angelos smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I rest my case."

***

"I'm sorry. Really."

"Don't sweat it."

A brief recess allowed the two men at the plaintiff's table to convene, though neither had much to exchange but consolation. Damon's disheartened cheek rested firmly atop his fist. Detective Berman patted him on the back.

"You weren't kiddin' around, man," Damon uttered. The detective sucked air through his teeth and nodded his head.

"Yah. I know. I'm just sorry you had to go through that in a packed courtroom. At least I got some privacy."

"She's a witch, brother. Goddamn. Never felt anything like that in my life."

The two met eyes--Detective Berman nodding, Damon realizing tacitly that he'd just been initiated into some kind of weird, perverted club.

Court was once again in session. Aside from the self-evidence of Doctor Angelos' presentation, Marcus arose and adroitly presented his own round of evidence: that only two patients among so many named could be called upon to testify; that they themselves had feelings and memories far too shaky to be considered tenable beyond reasonable doubt; that the alleged others couldn't even accurately recall their ostensible liaisons with her; that any desire to kill him was merely a misinterpretation of her desire to keep a healthy distance from him.

He had, after all, abused her. Photos were shown. Recordings were played. They were nothing Detective Berman hadn't already seen during the discovery process, of course, but disturbing to behold nonetheless. Bruises, texts, voicemails. Despite his contempt for the woman, he had to admit it was compelling. Something in his rended heart mended when he saw the bombardment of harsh messages, those photos of her poor, delicate wrists strangled and bruised.

Though she remained by no means vindicated in his eyes, it confirmed something deep within him. Maybe it was that James Walter had at least made some sort of first move, instigating conflict in such vile ways. Maybe he felt it was all he could do to break her spell. Maybe he was just an irredeemable son of a bitch.

Either way, leaving him as quickly as it came, the detective's bitterness evaporated, his arms aching to hold her.

Closing arguments, like the openings, came and went in a blur. Before long, the jury left to congregate and come to a decision, giving the court some time to breathe and disperse. Doctor Angelos' counsel arose, all aflutter as they chatted to surrounding people, some leaving.

Marcus approached the plaintiff's table, shaking the hands of the prosecuting party.

"Good work, guys. How've you been, Johnson?"

"Not bad, Chiang, not bad. Been a while since I seen you 'round these parts."

Marcus smiled, his crow's feet and laugh lines instantly dispelling the grave seriousness that had occupied his disposition all day.

"Yes, well, Chyron copyright pays me enough to afford the condo in Boca. Public defense, on the other hand, well."

"You can say that again. Shame, though, you were awful good at it. Too bad nothin's changed."

Marcus nodded politely, lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at both men. An awkward silence settled amongst them. Damon took the liberty of bailing himself out.

"Uh, I'ma run, get me some food from the caf. Can I get you fellas anything?"

"Thanks, think I'll just catch up with you in a minute," Detective Berman said as Damon turned to leave. He and Marcus, now alone together amid the throngs of people chattering, met eyes.

"Detective...congratulations," Marcus said, stepping towards him and patting Detective Berman's arm, voice low and waggish. The detective winced. "You really threw me for a loop there. You should've considered a career in litigation. I mean that."

Detective Berman gave him a dead-eyed stare.

"I try to maintain the illusion of having some shred of dignity, Chiang."

"Hey, hey, we're not out of the woods just yet."

"Yeah, right. Judging by juror number six needing to wipe drool off his face, I'm sure it won't be long."

"Was it so obvious?" he asked with a smirk. "Boy. I'd be shocked if we mistrialed."

"Yeah, they ate it up. What, did you filter them for suggestibility or something?"

Marcus gave him a surprised smile.

"No idea what you mean. Anyway, Berman, it's not all bad. Your job is only to arrest and indict. By all counts, you've done your duty."

The detective squinted his eyes, taken aback.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

Marcus chuckled, genuinely tickled.

"No, no. Come, let's walk and talk. I could use a pick-me-up myself."

Begrudgingly, not wanting to make a scene and without much other choice, he accompanied the shorter man, navigating the weaving, sterile backhalls of the state courthouse. The two entered an empty elevator, finally truly alone.

"Cafeteria's on the third floor, right?" Marcus asked, finger hovering over the button.

"Man, fuck you," Detective Berman snapped suddenly.

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, pressing the appropriate button with the knuckle of his index finger. The detective remained silent. The contraption heaved downward, eliciting in both men that familiar, stomach-lurching feeling of an elevator in motion.

"I am sorry," Marcus continued. "It had to be done."

"The hell kind of answer is that?"

"Come, now. There was more you could've used. For example, I was surprised to hear you completely omit my visit to you during your testimony."

"I called you, you rat."

"I didn't get any calls from you. You didn't let the record show that I was the one who snapped you out of your little spell."

"I couldn't well do that if I didn't know you were her lawyer!" he spluttered.

"Really? Why, I thought they told you these things..." Marcus said innocently, fingers tapping his cheek, elbow balanced in his other hand as he strode out of the elevator, the detective tailing him. Scents of food wafted in the air.

"Look, I expect curveballs, it's my whole business. But this...you don't understand, this is going to ruin me. You know what happened. It's about more than just my career," Detective Berman insisted, in disbelief that he was spilling his actual feelings to the likes of this little wretch of a man.

"Don't be so dramatic," Marcus muttered, his tone shifting from somewhat jeering to completely straightforward. Detective Berman's eyes widened, irritated and incredulous. The two men navigated the bustling cafeteria, perusing the various salads and sandwiches--like most cafeteria offerings, not gourmet but perfectly serviceable. Marcus then spotted the coffee pots and opted to pour them both a cup. The detective quirked his brow, curious that his adversary had taken such a thing upon himself unasked.

"I know it's a humiliating thing and all, seeing as you were so heavily involved. I think I'd even feel the same in your shoes. But really, nobody cared, you know. You have one of the most solid records in your department. Weird case, weird suspect, sure. But no more than another speck in your rearview before you know it. Always is. That's life. You're strong."

Detective Berman's nostrils flared. Marcus looked up and met eyes with him for the first time since they left the courtroom.

"Really, I'm just...surprised you haven't realized it yet," he added.

"Realized what?"

"The reason I came to you to begin with."

"Because..." the agitated detective started, trailing off with an exasperated sigh. He took a second to assemble his words. "Because it's obvious she got tired of using me and playing her little game. I was too much work. She sent you to get the ball rolling and get it over with. Big deal."

Marcus continued staring, his black eyes now creased, glinting with mischievous amusement, his lips unable to repress a small smile.

"She's right, you know. You've really got to love yourself more."

He lidded the cup of coffee and handed it to the detective, who took it in surprise. Somehow, Marcus knew he liked it black. He supposed she was right about that, too.

***

"Have you reached a verdict?"

The jury foreman stood tall in front of the reassembled courtroom, dazed and smiling.

"Yes, your Honor. On the count of obstruction of justice, the members of the jury find the defendant guilty."

"And on the charge of murder?"

"On the count of first degree murder, the members of the jury find the defendant...not guilty."

"Members of the Jury, the Court thanks you for a job well done. Doctor Angelos, that means you will be charged with obstruction of justice, that's six months community service with a fine of ten thousand dollars. If you'd like to appeal that ruling, you can discuss it with your counsel and file accordingly with the second circuit appellate court."

She smiled wide, eyes wet with joy.

"Thank you. That won't be necessary, your honor."

"Case dismissed."

With the bang of the gavel, she'd done it. She'd won. James Walter, despite his actions in life, had lost, and because of the detective assigned to his case, to the rest of the world, his murder would forever go unsolved. The other charge felt like a joke in comparison.

The court began to disperse, Detective Berman spying her from across the room as she leapt up and embraced her counsel. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Probably Damon's. The detective crumpled a paper in his hand, his veins pulsating as he drew it into a fist, frustration evident in every line of his body. His stomach roiled, for the first time in his career facing abject failure; sheer incompetence on his part. All the work he'd put into this case, the sleepless nights, the nervous agony that had consumed him for weeks just dreading this very moment.