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Hank got the approval for a mid-week visit. I was concerned they might put us in a small room since it was just me and Hank, so I was glad when they took me to the usual visitor’s room. It was a large rectangular space with plastic tables and chairs set in haphazard rows. Usually, they were filled with sulky teens, crying babies, excited children, and women who looked worn out from having to cope with everything by themselves. The same cracked vending machines, which sometimes spit out snacks and sometimes stole our coins, lined the perimeter of the room. There were no windows and no adornments on the gray walls, and I sometimes wondered whether the visitor’s room was arranged purposely to discourage families from wanting to visit. I picked a table farthest from the door where I assumed the guard would position himself, sat down, and stared at the stark walls. Allowed to bring in only my ID and a few coins, there was nothing to do but wait. Out of boredom, I stood and went over to the vending machine, where I paid too much money for a small bag of M&Ms. The door opened, and in shuffled a man I barely recognized. Next to the bulky prison guard who followed him into the room, Hank looked even more emaciated than the last time I’d seen him. If he’d committed the crime, then he was getting the punishment he deserved. But if he hadn’t, my heart ached for him. My sturdy, vibrant middle-aged friend had been replaced by a stooped, defeated old man.
The guard stopped by the inside of the door and Hank shambled over to my table. I stood up and smiled at him. The last time I’d seen him his eyes had been hollow, but now they were vacant as well. He smiled when he saw me, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes as it always had. It was as if he was too weary to even manage a moment of joy.
“You want some candy?” I asked. When I was a child Hank always showed up with a bag of Skittles for me. I’d rip open the bag and offer him one, which he’d decline.
“You’re sweet enough for me,” he always said. Once I was an adult, he admitted that he wasn’t being generous; he couldn’t stand Skittles.
Hank grimaced and sat down, wincing as he did. I thought of the man who used to take salsa lessons and go skiing. I wondered if he were lost for good.
“You saw Remsem?” he asked.
I was startled momentarily and then realized that of course in his mind, he thought of Deslon as Remsem since that was the name the man had used with him. I nodded.
“I didn’t get much from him,” I said. “He did give me some ideas though. Have you remembered anything more about what transpired between the two of you?” I asked. I was watching Hank as closely as I ever had, trying to decide whether what Deslon had said could possibly be true. I wanted so much to believe Hank hadn’t done it, but maybe my uncle had been right all along, and I was just a fool.
Hank shook his head. “I remember meeting in the coffee shop. Him welcoming me in, shaking my hand...” He screwed his eyes up as if doing so would somehow jog his memory. “I remember him being attentive and sympathetic and then...” his voice trailed off. It was the same thing he’d always said.
“Hank,” I said. “I think I may be able to help you remember, but you have to trust me. Will you let me try?”
“You know I will,” he said, without hesitating. “I want to know what happened as much as you do.” This was why I’d always believed in him. His earnestness.
Now it was time to find out for sure, whether it had all been a cover.
My meeting with Deslon had shocked me to the core. I didn’t think he knew who I was, but he’d described a scenario that could certainly have been a description of what might have happened between him and Hank, only in a way I’d never imagined. Could Hank have duped him into unknowingly helping him commit a crime? It had never occurred to me that that could be an option. I’d hoped I would get some sort of information from Deslon that I could take to Hank and ask him about. But not that. After he offered me that scenario, I’d asked him more questions about hypnosis, but he didn’t say anything else of importance.
After I met with Deslon, I knew there was only one thing that would help. I had to find a way to get Hank to tell the truth. My heart started racing. I’d spent the weeks before I came up to Georgia reading extensively about hypnosis since I was pretty sure Deslon must have put Hank into a trance. I assumed he told him to forget whatever had transpired. I’d discovered that there were different ways to go about hypnotizing someone. I’d already seen that at Deslon’s show. With the group who danced, he asked them to close their eyes and then went through some sort of visualization process with them. With the woman who wanted to give up Kat’s cakes, he’d asked her to watch his finger and follow it as he moved it back and forth.
I’d used the crappy little phone I bought to look up a specific technique I’d read about that anyone could use, called insertive eye contact. It would be perfect in this situation. In between spring-cleaning and getting wedding information, I watched and listened to the instructional video over and over again. Then I started practicing. The knack was to communicate with Hank’s conscious mind, but to embed commands into his unconscious mind. The way to do it was with very subtle movement of my eyes back and forth to different sides of his face. The video instructor said timing and precision were paramount, and that it could be done without the other person having any idea what was happening.
Now, I took a deep breath and dove in.
“Hank, the only way we’re going to get to the truth is if you relax,” I said. “I don’t know whether you’ll relax more by looking at me or whether you’ll relax more by listening to the sound of my voice.” I purposely repeated the word ‘relax’ and each time I did so I looked from the right side of his face to the left side, putting a strong emphasis on the word relax. Relaxation was the subliminal command I was giving his unconscious mind. “I know that once you relax, you’ll have perfect knowledge of what happened the day my parents died. You’ll remember and have perfect knowledge,” I repeated, shifting my gaze back and forth as I’d practiced over and over. I’d debated whether to tell Hank in advance that I was going to try to hypnotize him, but from what I’d read, insertive eye contact was a way into the subconscious without the conscious mind being aware of it. If Hank’s conscious mind was aware of what I was going to try, it might try to sabotage us.
I saw Hank’s eyes start to flutter.
“Hank, I get the sense that you are getting very relaxed. I’m not sure if you’re relaxed from listening to the sound or my voice or whether you’re relaxed because you’re looking at me, but I can see that you are relaxed.”
It was true. His face looked ten years younger than it had a few minutes ago. I’d made sure to sit opposite the guard so that Hank would have his back to him. That way, if he closed his eyes, as he was doing now, the guard wouldn’t come over or make some snarky comment. My heart raced. We were ready!
“Hank, tell me about Franz Remsem.”
Nothing happened. Hank sat in front of me, his eyes closed, not speaking, not moving. My heart plummeted. Was it all for nothing? If my plan to hypnotize Hank didn’t work, I was out of ideas. And then all of a sudden, I saw a small frown crease his forehead.
“He was a nice man,” he said. “Quite good looking.” I smiled to myself. Hank in his regular life would never have commented on the looks of another male. He was an old-fashioned straight guy who never noticed a thing about men’s physical appearances. Or perhaps subconsciously he did, I thought, before pulling myself back to the task at hand.
“Go on,” I said.
“We met at the coffee shop. He got up to greet me. Gave me a complicated handshake. I thought he must be a Freemason. I’d heard they can recognize each other by how they shake hands.” He was obviously talking about the same handshake Deslon had given me. I’d been prepared for it, but Hank hadn’t. I was pretty sure it was the Milton Erickson Handshake Induction. With that very first handshake Remsem was already working his hypnotic magic.
“Go on,” I said.
Hank continued. “‘I’m not one of yours,’ I said, referring to the Freemason thing. Remsem raised his eyebrows and then started talking to me. It was so noisy, I had to pay really close attention to what he was saying.”
So that’s how he did it, I thought. Purposely met in a crowded place so that Hank had to focus really hard on him. It was pretty much the same as I was doing now, except that I had Hank’s undivided attention because we were the only ones in the room.
“Did he ask you why you were there?”
“He knew already. When I set up the appointment, I told him I needed to quell my anger against my wife and my best friend.” Hank paused for a moment, and I was scared the emotional importance of what he was saying was going to pull him out of his trance, but he continued. “Remsem said we were going for a walk. We got to an office building. He said they rented rooms by the hour for business appointments and that he’d already reserved a room in my name. He said he’d go up and make the room comfortable while I paid for the office. I found the receptionist and paid the bill.” So that was why the CCTV showed him by himself, smiling and handing over cash to the clerk. The footage from that day would have been erased long ago, but if it had still been around, I presumed that in addition to showing Hank, it would also have showed Deslon among all the other folks who went in and out of the building.
“After I paid, I took the elevator and then located the office. It was the last one, at the very end of the corridor. ‘We’re going to excise that anger once and for all,’ Remsem said, showing me where to sit. I said I was glad that it could be done, and I welcomed it. He said a few other things along those lines, and then there was a knock on the door.”
“Who was there?” I asked, although I had a feeling I knew.
“Garth and Jenny Offenbach.” My parents! This meeting with Remsem was the same day they were killed.
I followed Hank’s lead and referred to my parents in the third person. “What were the Offenbachs doing there?”
“He’d told me to invite them to the session when we set it up. I assumed I was going to confront them or something, and that somehow at the end, we would all be kumbaya together.”
“What did you tell them when you invited them?”
“I said I was having some emotional difficulties and that I’d like them to support me.”
“Did you invite Laura?”
“No. Laura was at an administrator’s conference. I didn’t tell her about the meeting.”
“What happened next?” I had to move things along. I didn’t know how long the guard was going to give us.
“Remsem got up and shook hands with Garth and Jenny. I think he gave them that same Freemason handshake.” I’d considered using the Erickson handshake with Hank but figured we had no reason to shake hands. In addition, it sounded too complicated to get right. “Remsem said he wanted to talk to them first and asked me to sit on the other side of the room. I don’t know what he said to them, but when he called me back over, they were both sitting there with their eyes shut.”
Oh my god. They were sitting ducks. No wonder there had been no sign of a struggle. He’d hypnotized them both, starting with the handshake, and then probably even further by whatever he said to them. I felt my body start to shake. Did I really want to hear whatever Hank was about to tell me? I’d never felt so scared in my life. It was bad enough when the cops told me my parents had been murdered, but I was about to hear details that might be so gory or disturbing, I might never be able to rid my mind of them. But I had to know. I had to.
“What happened next, Hank?”
Hank’s voice started to quiver, and I noticed his hands were shaking as well. “Remsem asked me, ‘Did you bring the knife?’”
I felt as if an icy cold hand had reached in and gripped my heart, squeezing it. I wanted to scream for the guard to unlock the door. I wanted to run from the room and never look back. Instead I forced myself to stay seated. Using the same soft, neutral voice I’d used up until then, I asked him, “Why did you have a knife with you, Hank?”
“I don’t know. He’d told me to bring something that represented my rage. I think maybe he told me a knife would be a good thing. I assumed it was symbolic. Thought maybe he was going to put it on the table between us or do something as if we were cutting the present from the past.”
“Did he ask you to give him the knife?”
“No. I showed it to him, and he said, ‘Your friend Garth has stabbed you in the back by having an affair with Laura, your wife. When you plunge this knife into Garth, you will be even, and all your anger toward him will be gone.’” Hank’s eyes were still closed but he sounded agitated. Oh my god. So that was what had happened. Hank had done it after all. But then I remembered what I’d read and what Deslon had reiterated. You can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do. And I had to believe Hank didn’t want to stab or kill my father.
“Hank, did you stab Garth?” I could barely get the words out. I’d been speaking quietly the whole time so the guard couldn’t hear, but this time I was worried Hank himself wouldn’t hear the question. But he did.
Hank shook his head vigorously. “I laughed. I told him I wasn’t about to stab my best friend.” His hands stopped shaking and for a moment he looked serene.
I felt the breath that I didn’t know I’d been holding exhale from my body. Hank, dear Hank. He hadn’t done it after all. Which meant Remsem must have.
“What happened next?”
“Remsem...he...” Hank’s voice faltered. Was this it? Was he going to tell me Remsem stabbed my father? I wanted to ask him the question directly but didn’t know whether it was the right thing to do. I decided to wait. Hank’s face twitched rapidly, and I was concerned he was going to come out of the trance.
“You’re doing so well, Hank, and you’re so relaxed. What did Remsem do?” I said, making my voice as soothing as possible.
“He turned to Jenny. He told her that her husband, Garth, was having an affair with my wife, Laura. I don’t think she knew that.” Despite the trance, tears were spilling out of Hank’s eyes. I was terrified the guard would hear him crying.
“Tell me quickly, Hank. What happened next?” I asked in a low voice.
Hank got the words out between his sobs. “Remsem put the knife in her hand and said, “This knife is plastic. It’s not real, it’s just a toy. A toy, plastic knife. I bet you’re so angry with your husband you’d like to plunge a real knife into him right now, wouldn’t you?”
I held my breath and Hank continued.
“Jenny nodded. ‘You don’t have a real knife, but you have a plastic one.’ Remsem said it again. ‘You can pretend you’re stabbing him to death. Go ahead. Do it!’”
I gasped and closed my eyes in horror. I felt the room start to revolve around me. I didn’t want to hear what Hank would tell me next. I knew. Mom was in a trance and Remsem had convinced her the knife was just a toy. Mom had a short fuse at the best of times. She’d never been violent toward my dad, but there were times she’d slammed doors or punched the wall in frustration. If she thought the knife wasn’t real, she wouldn’t have hesitated before grabbing the knife from Remsem and plunging it into my dad. I felt my body convulse in a sob, and before I could stop myself, a low yell had escaped my throat.
“What the fuck?” The guard was over to us in a second. Hank opened his eyes and looked up in confusion.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I got M&Ms caught in my throat. I was choking.”
The guard looked disbelievingly at the unopened bag of candy. But I wasn’t interested in him. Hank was staring at me, eyes wide with horror. I knew in that moment he was aware of everything he’d just told me.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”