1.1 The Hypnotist

The door to the interrogation opened.

The man waiting inside was silent, and he looked to be sleeping peacefully. Unfortunately, the beads of sweat creeping down his face belied his true anxiety.

A tall, thin man in a well-tailored black suit entered, the heavy iron door closing behind him with a groan.  The suit was black and old-fashioned, the onyx coat sporting two long tails.

At the crash of the closing door, the prisoner opened his eyes.

"It's you," he said. "The Hypnotist."

The man in the black suit did not speak. Slowly, he walked to the table and sat.

"How does this work?" the prisoner asked.

"You've spoken with detectives," the Hypnotist said.

"I would've rather the Doc. Or Mister Murder."

The Hypnotist smiled. "The detectives," he said. "You've spoken, yes?"

"Yeah, we talked. I ain't telling them a thing. They know my demands. But they don't wanna give up a damn thing. So what's next?"

"You know my reputation, yes?"

"Everyone knows your reputation. The cops got you on speed dial."

The Hypnotist smiled again.  "The authorities seem to find my particular gifts… useful, yes."

"Gifts.  That's one way to put it. I knew a friend who tried–"

"The girl," the Hypnotist interrupted. "Where is the girl, Mr. Pennebaker? Where is Ms. Palmer?"

The prisoner smiled for the first time. His teeth were so yellow as to be mistaken for brown. "Why do you think I'd tell you?"

"Because I'm giving you a chance.  The alternative is less pleasant than voluntary surrender."

The prisoner leaned forward and spat, "Maybe for you.  But not for me."

The Hypnotist smiled and leaned back, the cheap metal chair creaking beneath him. He opened his suit jacket, revealing a crimson velvet vest beneath, buttoned tight over his bony chest. From a pocket on his right side, a chain slinked across to the buttons at the vests center. Long thin fingers slipped into the pocket and emerged carrying a silver pocket watch.

"Last chance, Mr. Pennebaker," the Hypnotist said, unfastening the chain from his vest.

"Go spit," the prisoner said.

The Hypnotist raised his hand and opened his palm, the watch tumbling forth until the chain pulled taut.  Slowly, the watch began to sway back and forth in a pendulum arc.

"Please look here, Mr. Pennebaker," the Hypnotist said, his voice a model of serenity.

Pennebaker the prisoner leaned forward. "Do your worst," he said.