Killer Genius

by David Archer

  "No, but, now that we know there are unusual circumstances, we do need to hear more about her. Summer, uncuff her." Sam looked at Cindy while he waited.

  The girl had wild eyes, poorly cut hair, and dirty clothes; he looked at the fear and anger and confusion.

  Sam turned his attention to Tony. "Tell us what happened."

  Tony let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his head. "I don't usually mess with the stuff, you know? I usually keep my nose out of it. I drive, I unload, I load, I drive, and I unload again, but North Forest Hospital ships out some weird stuff, you know? It all goes to this big chemical waste facility on the western slope, and most of it is biohazard stuff." His lips twisted, clearly disturbed by something, and he spat again. "It ain't always normal, though. Sometimes, they send other things. Sometimes, it's big boxes, metal on the outside, kinda shaped like a coffin. That's the only reason I even looked; they were just creepy, you know?"

  Sam kept his outward expression neutral, but inwardly, he scowled. He didn't like where the story was going.

  "I've been driving for Johnson for about five years, and this month, man… North Forest Hospital used to send a box like that every once in a great while. Twice a year, at the most, but I had one earlier this month, and I got another one Thursday, so when I got another one on Friday… well, I couldn't help myself, you know?"

  Yes, we know.

  Tony gestured to Cindy, who was rubbing her wrists and staring at the ground. "It was… well, her. Cindy was in there, knocked out, and I guess I panicked. I got her out, closed the box, and made the delivery like usual. Then I brought her home with me. My girlfriend was…" He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Well, she left Saturday night, and I didn't go in to work today, so when I heard you guys…"

  Summer nodded her head, filling in the blank. "You thought someone found out what you did."

  "Or that your girlfriend told." Sam frowned and looked at Cindy. "Cindy, can you tell us why you were—"

  "Oh, uh, she can't talk," Tony interrupted. "She's teachin' me sign language, and she writes me notes, but she won't talk about the hospital. She won't even tell me how she got in the box or why. Just says she never wants to go back, and that they're gonna come get her." He spat again and looked at Sam. "She said something about… selective aphonia?"

  Sam nodded his head. "It's when people become mute only in certain situations or following some kind of trauma." He looked at Summer, but there was nothing in her eyes to indicate mistrust of the situation. "Have you ever seen anything to indicate human cargo before?"

  Tony shook his head, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn, faded jeans. "Nope. If something else caught my eye, it was probably locked up tight. Seems weird to lock up trash, you know? But I never got curious enough. I figured the locks were there for a reason." He held up a finger. "I will say this, though. They were some crazy locks."

  Summer frowned a bit. "Crazy how?"

  "Just… complicated. My daddy was a locksmith, you know? It wasn't my thing, but he taught me all about them. I had never seen locks like those." He spat to the side again, reaching up to scratch his stubble. "If I had the right tools, I could have picked the locks. They had the same basic concepts, you know? Same mechanism, different casing, repeated way more times than necessary." He shook his head. "Part of me is glad I didn't mess with them…" He shrugged and looked down, spitting again. "Part of me wishes I’d looked into one of them sooner. Don't know what happened to those other big boxes, and I don't know what was in the locked ones, but…"

  "You helped Cindy." Summer spoke with enough sincerity for both of them. "You were just doing your job, and when things got too unusual for comfort, you investigated. That's more than most people would do."

  Tony gave a shrug but didn't say anything.

  Sam cleared his throat. "Before we ask any more about your deliveries, can you tell us who Cindy is? We're working on a… theory of sorts."

  "Who she is?"

  Sam looked at Cindy. “Cindy? Can you tell me your ID number?”

  Cindy didn't look up, but she held her hands out and used her fingers to relay the number.

  6…5…2…0…1…3…

  Sam smiled tightly at her. "Thank you, Cindy."

  Cindy didn't acknowledge him, and her eyes never left the ground.

  Another zero one three number. Another kid who looks more like a trauma victim than a threat. Another outsider who takes one look at a kid and knows something is wrong.

  Because, honestly, that was the strangest part. Tony had known Cindy for less than twenty-four hours, but when his girlfriend left, he didn't kick Cindy out to get her back. He stayed home from work—a job where he made good money and was well-liked—to take care of her. He ran from, tried to distract, and lied to investigators.

  Sam had taken similarly drastic measures after being exposed to Eric, and he knew most people would say that was just what made people like these kids so dangerous, but Sam knew better. Eric and Cindy weren't manipulating anyone; there was just something so desperate and afraid and broken about them that anyone with the slightest pinch of protective instinct couldn't let them go.

  "You got more questions?"

  Sam snapped himself from his thoughts. "Yes. Do you remember what was with Cindy in the box when you found her?"

  "Well, there was some kinda blanket. Real thick, leathery on the one side…"

  * * *

  Denny didn't know what to do. It was Saturday, and he had volunteered to stay with Eric for the day because Summer was working on a stalking case in Boulder.

  He had only entered the room to ask Eric for an opinion on a case report. He didn't expect to find Eric curled up in bed under a mountain of blankets, hiding his face in his pillow and crying his eyes out.

  "Eric?" Denny set the file on the nearby dresser and walked to the bed, reaching out to cautiously touch a shoulder. "Hey, whiz kid, look at me."

  Eric raised his head and turned toward Denny, his once-hazel eyes red and tearful. He had to have been crying for a while, given how raw his face was, and Denny didn't like the thought of it going on any longer.

  "Tell me what's wrong." Denny spoke softly, crouching down by the bed. "Come on, whiz kid, tell me what happened."

  Eric shook his head a few times, still sobbing silently, and then he slowly opened his mouth. "I can't… I just…"

  Denny tilted his head and leaned forward, trying to show Eric the undivided attention he was being given. "It's okay, Eric, you can tell me."

  Eric dragged his arm over his eyes. "I just… I got really sad all of a sudden. I started missing my mom, and then I couldn't stop crying, and I got scared. I thought—I knew someone would figure it out, and I don't—" He choked out another sob and screwed his eyes shut. "I don't want to go back on Prozac, Denny. I want to keep decreasing it, and I know this isn't a mood swing, but I know nobody will believe me, and I just…" Eric dissolved back into tears and once again hid in his pillow.

  Denny gave a sigh and began rubbing Eric's back. This poor kid… He can't even have a bad day without going half out of his bloody mind with fear…

  Denny gave Eric a shake. "Hey, whiz kid."

  Eric turned his head to look at Denny, but his face was still half-buried in the pillow.

  "I believe you." Denny offered him a small smile but then returned to a sober expression, not wanting Eric to think he was offering platitudes. "I believe you, whiz kid, and I think Sam will, too. And maybe I'll regret this, but if you don't want to tell anyone, you don't have to. It can be our secret. We'll get you cleaned up quick, and if anyone says anything, I'll cover for you."

  Eric sniffed and wiped his eyes again. "Really?" For a moment, there was hope, but then he shook his head. "No, I can't. I can't. I lied to Mr. Prichard about a symptom already, and he—he said I can't do that. I have to…" He sniffed, then blinked, and that flicker of hope returned. "Could—could you tell him for me? Maybe… maybe you can tell him… that it's not a mood swing?"
/>   Denny nodded. "Yeah." He smiled. "Yeah, of course I can do that."

  "Denny, will you tell me? Before you do it, I mean? So I can… y'know, get ready?" Eric slowly propped himself up, coming out of his cocoon of blankets, but he was still a nervous wreck. "Please?"

  Denny stood up and gestured for Eric to move a little, seating himself on the bed next to Eric once there was space. "How about I call him now? We'll get it out of the way, and you don't have to sit here freaking out about it."

  Eric swallowed hard, and though he appeared hesitant, he nodded. "Yeah, okay."

  Denny smiled encouragingly and pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he found Sam. He hit the green button to dial and waited, silent and calm.

  Eric was the exact opposite, fidgeting and whimpering and watching Denny with frantic eyes. He spent the ten second wait in what looked like agony to Denny.

  "Prichard."

  "Hey, Sam, it's Denny."

  "Denny, what's up?"

  Denny looked at Eric with another comforting smile. "I'm here with whiz kid, and he's having a pretty rough day. He got sad all of a sudden, but we don't think it's a mood swing. He was kind of afraid to tell you because he doesn't want to increase his Prozac, but he also said you specifically told him not to lie about symptoms, so he asked me to call for him."

  Eric was practically shaking on the bed next to him, his whole body rigid.

  "Denny, can you put me on speaker?"

  "Yes." Denny pulled the phone away from his ear and did just that, looking at Eric with reassurance in his eyes.

  Eric stared at the phone like it was a bomb.

  "Eric?" Sam questioned, his voice a bit distorted.

  "Y-yes, sir?"

  "We're going to make a note of your mood today just to keep track, but we are not increasing your Prozac because of this."

  Eric heaved a sigh of relief, and Denny felt a twist in his gut. Eric looked like the weight of the world had just been raised from his shoulders, and dang it, it wasn't supposed to be that much of a relief to know you weren't going to have to take medicine.

  "Thank you, Mr. Prichard!"

  "You don't have to thank me. I'm not bending any rules or covering for you. I genuinely believe you don't need to be on a higher dose of Prozac." He paused for half a moment—or maybe his voice cut out, Denny didn't know—and his tone was exceptionally warm when he spoke again. "You did the right thing by telling me the truth, Eric, and it's okay that you needed help from Denny. I'm very, very proud of you."

  Eric beamed. He glowed, almost literally, like he could light up the entire room with his smile. "Um—I—I—well, good, I… I'm glad I did it right. I, um… just thank you… for believing me and…"

  Denny smiled and waited a few seconds, but when it was obvious Eric couldn't find his words, Denny took the phone off speaker and put it to his ear. "Thanks, Sam."

  "Sure. Is everything still quiet at the office?"

  Denny chuckled. "Just mountains of paperwork, man. Enjoy your day off, and give those little ones a hug for me."

  Sam chuckled softly on the other end. "Will do. Bye, Denny."

  "Bye." Denny snapped his phone shut and looked at Eric with a smile. "See? Sam understands, and we're all good."

  Eric gave him a smile, but it was weak, and his eyes had began to tear up again. "Thanks, Denny. I… just thanks."

  Denny frowned a bit. "Hey… what's the matter?"

  Eric gave a shrug. "Nothing. I—I really appreciate your help, you… you made me feel good, but… that doesn't take away the… the…" He shrugged again. "I don't know."

  Denny nodded understandingly, a look of revelation crossing his face. "Your depression was making you feel bad, and you got worse because you were afraid we would change your pills, so even though everything is fine now, you still feel bad because of the depression. Right?"

  Eric smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. Yeah, you…" He smiled a little wider and ducked his head. "You got it. I'm glad you understand. Most… most people don't."

  Denny reached out and put a hand on the back of Eric's neck, massaging it a few times. "It's gonna be okay, kid. I'm here for you." He gave Eric another squeeze and got to his feet. "You gonna lay down for a while?"

  Eric shook his head rapidly, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his shirt. "No, I can work. I'll take a Dexedrine, and then I can help you with whatever you're doing."

  Denny shook his head and held up his hands. "Kid, kid, it's okay. You don't have to. It's just paperwork day. If you feel up to it later, work on some of the reports I gave you, but if you don't, then just rest, man. Enjoy the break and take care of yourself. Okay?"

  "Um, okay, but…" Eric looked over at his desk. "I already finished the reports."

  Denny followed Eric's gaze and blinked several times at the stack of at least twenty folders. "Those are done?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  Denny walked over to the desk and looked at the file on top, opening the cover just to take a quick peek inside. There was a post-it note on top detailing what the file needed or already had, and the front page alone was covered in clear, concise writing.

  "Great job, whiz kid." Denny snorted softly at the subtle reminder of just how incredible Eric was. "Seriously, you did great. You definitely have a right to a break after you did all this." He grabbed the files and turned to leave, giving Eric another smile as he passed.

  "Uh, M-Denny?"

  Denny stopped at the dresser and grabbed the file he had left there, turning to look at Eric. "Yeah?"

  Eric licked his lips and swallowed hard. "You, uh… you didn't say anything about… did you notice?"

  Denny frowned a bit. Did I notice what?

  "I, um… I began… calling you by name… instead of rank and name." Eric wrung his hands, shoulders hunched a bit. "Is that okay?"

  Denny chuckled softly. "Yeah, whiz kid, that's fine. I probably didn't notice 'cause I was worried about you."

  Eric tilted his head. "You were worried?"

  These files are getting heavy. Denny shifted the weight but stayed in the doorway. "Sure. I didn't know what was wrong, and even after you told me, I was more concerned with making you feel better than what you were calling me."

  Eric stared, a flurry of emotions battling for control of his eyes and expression.

  "Just get some sleep, whiz kid. Maybe you'll feel better when you get up."

  Eric gave a distracted nod, sinking into the sheets and pulling the covers up to his chin. Denny smiled and waited until the blankets stopped moving to exit the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  Returning to his desk, Denny plopped the stack of files down and shook his head in disbelief.

  Eric was so emotionally twisted up inside, Denny often forgot what he was truly capable of. His brain worked faster and more intricately than Denny could even begin to understand, and behind that child-like innocence and gentle personality, there was an arsenal of knowledge and skill.

  Briefly, Denny imagined Eric without any unnecessary medications in his system. He imagined Eric feeling comfortable in his environment, living healthier, months after the depression he was battling finally subsided. And for a moment, Denny thought he could picture exactly what North Forest Hospital was so afraid of.

  But Denny felt nothing even remotely close to fear, only hope and excitement and anticipation. Because Eric was going to get better, and come hell or high water, Denny would be there to see it.

  SEVENTEEN

  "I bet you're wondering why I've gathered you here."

  Denny couldn't help but chuckle, and he gave the new liaison several points for humor.Lynnette Donaldson. She was no older than thirty-five, but from her sharp eyes and confidence alone, it was no surprise to Denny that she ranked ahead of her age. She was a redhead—word around the room said she lived up to the stereotype—and Denny couldn't help but wonder if the glasses resting on her nose were to improve vision or put a barrier between her gaze and innocent bystanders. De
nny had decided he would definitely not want to be on the receiving end of a glare from her.

  And yet, despite the image she had to maintain, she was funny.

  Denny could handle that.

  "I will let Mr. Prichard explain the situation at hand, but I expect to hear input from everyone, myself included, before this meeting is over." Lynnette reclaimed her seat and immediately picked up a pen, preparing to take notes. “My job is to maintain consistency between Windlass Security and the Department of Homeland Security; if there is something you think I need to know, I want to know it.

  Next to her, Dr. Raymonds sat with a small stack of files and a notebook of his own, his reading glasses ready and waiting next to his coffee. It was his presence that told Denny they hadn't gathered to discuss a new case.

  "First," Sam began, standing at the head of the table, "I would like to bring Denny and Jade up to speed. Darren, Summer, and myself have been—"

  "Investigating North Forest Hospital?" Denny interjected, one brow raised. "Yeah, so has Jade."

  Jade looked at him, eyes a bit widened, and Denny grinned. "Come on, guys. I wasn't put on this team just because of my good looks."

  Sam nodded a bit, but there was still a hint of guilt to his features. "We would have told you, but we wanted Eric to have at least one friend without an ulterior motive—even if that motive is for his benefit. Keeping both of you out of the loop gave us some wiggle room."

  "I get it, mate." Denny gave a shrug. "If I didn't bloody agree with you, I would have said something. It's all good, Sam."

  Jade said nothing, but she nodded in agreement.

  "Yes, well, things have gotten… complicated… since then." Sam inhaled briefly, as if considering how to begin. "We have been investigating Eric’s situation and North Forest Hospital for about a month. North Forest Hospital initially refused to send us any files, but we eventually got them to agree. However, more than two thirds of the information they sent was redacted." Sam nodded to Darren, who sipped his drink and picked up where Sam left off.