In truth, I was completely thrown off by the way Ray calmly strode through my office, sat down, and looked me right in the eye.
I had spent days and nights preparing to accommodate the same fidgety, jumpy gaze, carefully plotting specific phrasings to circumvent all latent awkwardness and connect with this Outlier who had given the impression that eye-contact and the sound of his own voice were akin to torture by repeated jolts of current.
Today he was stoic.
His eyes did not once dart from mine to zip between background details.
In fact, the dead stillness of his expression left me at times somewhat anxious and unsteady.
Of course I noted the obvious change in demeanor right away, estimating it to be a clear sign of dissociation.
I concluded that I was likely in the company of an entirely different Ray, perhaps another of many.
I tested this estimation by beginning with a reference to our last session.
ME:
“So, I’d like to explore your past a little more.
“You told me something had happened to you in adolescence, something painful.
“And it was something you felt you were trying to make up for when you ran away with Caylee.
“Why don’t we start there.”
His response was so sudden it took me several seconds to decipher the actual words.
RAY:
“I saw them kill someone, but . . . but it was like they thought they had to. I felt like I couldn’t do anything about it, so I just had to leave. That’s why, I think.”
Pacing back across the span of my working short-term memory, my awareness crossed the chilling phrase “kill someone,” which came into focus like a silent alarm.
I am pleased to report my immediate inclination was to fight to remain as still as Ray’s eyes.
I sensed myself sinking reflexively back down into Faum’s, filling my lungs by degrees in roughly calculated percentages while exhaling as slowly as possible.
Having used Faum’s so often now to moderate my pulse and remain outwardly unresponsive, it seems to have become something of an automatic response to more shocking client revelations.
I considered sliding my iun off and under the desk to covertly dial Minkrit.
For all I knew, Ray could be about to share important testimony.
Yet my primary need to gain and hold his trust won out against all other inward appeals.
It was absolutely crucial that I avoid whatever could be perceived as anything close to suspicion or negative judgment.
I knew even the slightest unplanned facial cue or flicker on my part might bring unpredictably dire repercussions—perhaps irreversible.
Besides, I figured a recorded confession would suffice.
ME:
“Who killed someone?”
I marveled at my pleasant, even tone.
RAY:
“Well, it was, like . . . they all just thought someone would have to die. It was the… It wasn’t their idea. No, it wasn’t their fault. They really… They thought they had to.”
I love Outliers.
Outliers do my job for me.
ME:
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this the first time it’s occurred to you that it wasn’t whoever’s fault?”
RAY:
“No. Or . . . maybe.”
Having finished with Faum’s, I forced my breath to remain deep and steady.
I spoke lightly and cheerfully, as if enquiring about his favorite foods or pastimes.
ME:
“So, who had to die?
“And why?
“And who killed that person?
“And are you telling me it was seeing someone die that motivated you and Caylee to run off?”
As I spoke, Ray’s eerie, unaffected stare gave me the sense that I was interviewing some sort of living computer program rather than the overly self-conscious Outlier I had anticipated.
Yet his cognizance of our previous conversation ruled out the possibility of this being an all-new persona.
I hoped my questions were not overly leading.
What do I mean by that?
To illustrate, let me state that I despise the work of lawyers, who merely play with words and rhetoric to paint whichever biased picture they are assigned.
My aim is the exact opposite: to always let more truth be uncovered (whatever that truth happens to be).
The last thing I would want would be to force a disingenuous or incomplete answer by making the likes of Ray feel incriminated or ashamed in any way—that would equate to me and my own experience or opinions cutting in to jam the flawless function of my Method.
Through the decades, I have gotten better at avoiding such self-indulgences so as not to hinder my own groundbreaking work.
So many in our profession are taught to lead clients toward specific endpoints, which are probable interpretations based on statistics.
Yet those most common conditional bookends have become so widespread in popular culture, and now carry such harsh social stigmas, that I find it far more impactful and efficient to simply let each individual see the full implications of their own shared narratives for themselves without any added designations or analysis.
My Method allows for whatever is there to rise to the surface and be seen.
Anyway, at this point Ray launched into a speech most would write off from the get-go as pure nonsense.
I wondered if his choice to wax unrealistic then might be an unconscious retreat from talk of killing.
Or could it be tied somehow to this new peaceful side of Ray?
I apologize for prolonging my introduction here with so lengthy a barrage of caveats and ponderings.
Ray just presents so interesting a case.
I caution you: Do not be overwhelmed or put off by the sudden, sheer erraticism to come.
We are indeed about to step from the proverbial edge of the strangest cliff.
Be assured that regardless of the purpose behind Ray’s bizarre confabulation, my Method will work to uncover all hidden motivations and desires buried beneath the fanciful words.
I don't know anything 