Killer Genius

by David Archer

  Dr. Ingvar finally looked back down and met her eyes, a sad kind of smile tainting his features. "Kenny had just graduated from the Police Academy when Lonnie was arrested for hacking a bank and draining the overages into his own account." He frowned, the sadness in his features growing darker, digging deeper, taking a hold. "Kenny requested Lonnie's services as often as possible, and Lonnie helped Kenny and his fellow officers solve all kinds of crimes. Their closure rate was incredible." There was a flicker of pride there, but it quickly gave way to the persisting grief. "But North Forest Hospital was watching them because they were related, and Kenny made a bad call. It was an honest mistake—Kenny didn't even get a formal reprimand—but it was all North Forest Hospital needed to say Lonnie couldn't be trusted in the field with his brother." Dr. Ingvar gave a shrug, an invisible weight pulling them back down. "Lonnie still consults on Kenny's cases whenever he can, but they haven't seen each other in about five years." He shook his head. "I don't think Kenny will ever forgive himself for that."

  Summer closed her eyes briefly, feeling a sharp pain in her sternum, but she quickly shoved it down and pressed forward. "I take it the bombing gave him an excuse to come see Lonnie despite the stipulations."

  Dr. Ingvar nodded. "Lonnie's injured, and Kenny and Lester are his next of kin. There are some rights even North Forest Hospital can't encroach on. I tagged along hoping to sneak a quick visit in all the chaos."

  Summer looked over her shoulder at the room, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. It made sense that the Winston family would react to the bombing by taking the opportunity to see a family member, but it got her thinking… what else would the incident cause? How many people had been waiting for the right moment to make a move? And what moves would they be making?

  "Mm, and that is the question."

  Summer's head whipped back around. "What?"

  Dr. Ingvar was staring at Lonnie's room, just as she had been, and he had that spacey look on his face again. "It's a bit of a Catch 22. This attack could be used by a number of people to paint consultants in a light that tightens up restrictions even more." He tilted his head a bit, lips pursing in consideration. "Or… people could use the bomb to attack North Forest Hospital, saying they can't keep consultants safe or even that too many restrictions pushed a kid to do this. Now, on the surface, that sounds like it could be a good thing…" He turned away from the room then, looking at Summer with profound worry in his pale green eyes. "But we must consider the alternative: North Forest Hospital is restrained in what they can do because they can still recover from the blows they've suffered. If that dynamic changes, they could feel they have nothing to lose by acting suspiciously." He looked back at Lonnie's room, growing progressively more troubled. "What will they do then?"

  Summer turned her head to look at Lonnie's room as well, and that feeling in her stomach began to grow. Quick or slow; it all comes down to which option accumulates more bodies. She grabbed her phone from her belt and began scrolling through her contacts. We need that warrant now. We can't afford not to be in control of this case.

  Because Summer had the feeling 'no bodies' was no longer an option.

  Maybe it never was.

  * * *

  "Georgie."

  Sam had managed to pull Georgie back out of his unresponsive state, but they were a far cry from communication, and every question was like pulling the trigger in a game of Russian Roulette. Sam had no idea which question would be the next question to send Georgie over the edge.

  "Georgie, I need you to look at me for a moment."

  Sam had learned he couldn't ask about the girl who wound up in pieces; it was an immediate shutdown with a ten-minute-minimum recovery period. Questions about North Forest Hospital staff garnered no response, and while certain consultants' names got an uncomfortable twitch, there was no telling whether Georgie was uncomfortable because he didn't like the individual or because he did like the individual and didn't like that Sam was looking into them.

  "Georgie. Look at me."

  Sam stood up and slowly walked around the table, crouching down beside Georgie and leaning against the leg of the table. He reached out and put a hand on Georgie's arm, waiting to see if he would have the same reaction to physical contact that Eric did.

  Georgie leaned into the touch, lingered for a moment, and then pulled away with a start as he remembered himself.

  "Georgie, will you please look at me?"

  Georgie didn't respond for several seconds, but Sam didn't push him. Green eyes blinked, shifted in Sam's direction, darted away, and then wandered back. Georgie still wouldn't turn his head, but he was looking at Sam; nearly seven hours of questioning, and Georgie was finally looking at Sam.

  "You don't have to say anything, but if you can, I'd like you to nod or shake your head." Sam spoke slowly, evenly, calmly, warmly—he spoke to Georgie the way he would a frightened child or rabid animal—and he made gentle contact again. "Did you want to make that bomb, Georgie?"

  Georgie turned his head a little to stare at Sam, and then lowered his gaze to the hand still resting on his upper arm. He blinked at it, and then he slowly shook his head.

  "Did you want to plant that bomb, Georgie?"

  Georgie continued to stare at the hand on his arm, lips wobbling a bit. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door flew open, and just like that, he was closed up again.

  "Sam."

  Sam looked at the doorway in confusion and frustration, barely able to keep his temper at bay. "Miller, what are you—?"

  "You have to see this." She shook her head as she spoke, caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. "Right now, Sam."

  Sam felt frustration for another second, and then it was gone, replaced with a worry that twisted uncomfortably in his gut. "Georgie… I'll be right back."

  Sam got to his feet and followed Jade out of the interrogation room, pulling the door shut behind them. The TV was turned on and up, a little box of light flickering in the corner of the observation room.

  "This is on every major news network." Jade grabbed the remote and turned it up a little more, folding her arms over her chest a moment later.

  Sam blinked, quickly scanning the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

  'North Forest Hospital USING UNETHICAL PRACTICES IN GENIUS MANAGEMENT?'

  "…with us on the phone is Dr. Eisenhower, from the Delaware Psychiatric Center in New Castle," the newscaster was saying. "Dr. Eisenhower, tell us how you got involved with consultants."

  "Well, about two years ago, I got a call from a good friend from the DSP. He asked me to do a psychiatric evaluation on the kid they hired as a personal favor. He was actually concerned North Forest Hospital was too lenient with their screening—we grew up in a different era of law enforcement, you know—but instead I found this young woman was dangerously overmedicated."

  "Now, when you say overmedicated, what do you—"

  Jade changed the channel.

  "—surprising. They put their kid on the case, and within days, they got all my money back and caught the men who had hacked my company. I went to meet the guy, to thank him in person, and I don't know what I was expecting but," laughter, "he wasn't it. You know, I think we get this stereotypical narrative that's just—"

  Jade changed the channel again.

  "…and I had worked with consultants before, you know. They're generally rude and sarcastic—not in a malicious way, just a stuck-up one—so I thought I knew what to expect. For, uh, for the most part, I was right, but this kid was running his mouth and making accusations about one of my boys, and, uh, I don't—"

  "Now, Sheriff Merton, when you say, 'one of your boys,' you're talking about a fellow officer, right?"

  Sam would have looked at Jade if he had the strength to tear his eyes away. Sheriff Merton?

  "Yeah, that's right, but, uh… man, I tell you, this kid crossed a line, and I began walking over to him, and he just…" Merton's voice disappeared for a moment, though there was n
o click to indicate the call was over. "I can't describe it. He was just… scared. Cornered. Like we were… I don't know, rabid dogs, and he wasn't even gonna bother running. He just stood there, scared out of his mind, and…" Merton exhaled slowly. "I don't know if there's anything to these rumors going around, and I don't have any real evidence of something, but… if you told me North Forest Hospital did some awful thing to put the fear of God into that kid, I'd believe you in a heartbeat."

  "Wow. I mean, just wow. We are all in shock here at the studio, as I imagine our viewers are at home. Sheriff Merton, thank you for calling in today. Ladies and gentlemen, if you're just tuning in, there was an explosion in the North Forest Hospital facility in Denver, Colorado early this morning. People have been calling in to share their experiences with consultants as we wait for a statement from the government. Roughly three hours ago, Fox News received a call from someone claiming North Forest Hospital is using unethical methods to control their consultants. CNN received a similar call about twenty minutes later from a different individual, and now we're up to three hundred reports and counting, each one of th—"

  Jade changed the channel yet again, and an even more familiar voice awaited them.

  "—y'know? Never seen anything like it in my whole life. Honestly, I can't even stay on that long, 'cause we're scared they're gonna track us through our cell phone. I don't know what they're doin' to the consultants, but people ain't supposed to be shipped in boxes. Y'know?"

  Sam couldn't hold back the smile. Yes, Tony, we know.

  "Now, Mr. Hester, you found Cindy while driving a truck for Johnson Medical. Correct?"

  "Yes. Don't know how many other boxes had bodies. Don't like to think about it, y'know? But I can tell you Johnson Medical doesn't only ship for North Forest Hospital. I think most of the stuff they send 'round is fine. North Forest Hospital's real secretive about their stuff. You had to get special training to drive the truck for that route, but the pay was good, so… y'know."

  "Yes, understandably. Mr. Hester, could you tell our viewers—"

  Bang!

  Everyone startled, hands flying to holsters instinctively, but it took another gunshot before they bolted for the interrogation room. Sam had only seconds to take everything in, the news broadcast still ringing in his ears as his brain struggled to make a sudden shift for the second time in five minutes.

  What the—?

  Blake Shawon, one of the North Forest Hospital guards, was on the floor with a gun in his hand and a bloody, half-blown head. Georgie was on the floor, bleeding profusely from his neck with his hands still fastened to the table.

  "Georgie!"

  "Blake!" The remaining North Forest Hospital guard ran over and took his gun from him, tossing it aside.

  Sam pointed to her as he moved toward Georgie, looking at Jade with eyes that gave a silent order to keep both eyes on the guard while his lips gave a not-so-silent order to, "Call an ambulance!"

  Sam dropped to his knees and peeled off his jacket, bunching it up and pressing it against Georgie's throat as hard as he could without cutting off the air supply. "Hey, can you look at me? Georgie, look at me."

  Georgie blinked slowly, green eyes wandering across the ceiling before sliding to an unsteady stop on Sam's face. Georgie sighed heavily, tongue moving like he wanted to say something, but then he just sighed again.

  "You're gonna be alright." Sam brushed his hair back out of his face and tilted his head, pressing down on his neck a little harder. "You're gonna be alright, Georgie."

  Georgie's eyes rolled back into his head as another lungful of air pushed out, his body going slack on the floor.

  "Georgie." Sam slapped his cheek a few times. "Georgie, wake up! Georgie, I need you to stay with me. Georgie!"

  What just happened?

  * * *

  "Mr. Prichard?"

  Sam simultaneously raised his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Yes." He stood up, unsteady at first, and displayed the credentials he had been toying with for the past twenty minutes. "That's me."

  "Dr. Royce," the man replied, extending his hand with a warm but tired smile. "I wish I could say I was the trauma surgeon who worked on this kid, but he's sleeping on a gurney right now." They shook hands, and Dr. Royce grabbed the clipboard from under his arm. "You'll have to settle for secondhand information tonight."

  Sam offered a weak smile of his own. "I suppose I can forgive him for taking a coffee break after a day like this." He slipped his hands into his pockets, trying not to yawn. "What can you tell me about Georgie?"

  Dr. Royce looked down at the clipboard in his hands. "Well, the short version is, he's going to be alright. If the bullet had been half a centimeter to the left, he would have been killed instantly. He won't be walking out any time this week, but… in a month? Maybe." Dr. Royce gave a shrug. "We'll take what we can get." He cleared his throat and indicated the clipboard by lifting it a bit. "Says here our boy's a kid. That right?"

  Sam couldn't help but feel automatically suspicious. There was no method for predicting how kid status would be received, particularly not since the media explosion.

  But Dr. Royce held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, I'm a doctor. I want every patient in this building safe and healthy. I just want to know if we need to initiate any kind of protective custody."

  Sam relaxed, but stopped short of shaking his head. "Well, we're going to have a detective outside his door at all times. Is there something further you can do?"

  Dr. Royce jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the receptionist desk. "We can have them screen anyone entering this wing." He shrugged. "We've had high-profile patients before, and we're the main hospital for detectives and consultants because of proximity."

  Sam nodded in understanding. "I would appreciate that. I'll have our liaison send a list of cleared individuals to your desk."

  Dr. Royce nodded and then looked back at the chart again. "There is another reason I asked about his intelligence status." He looked back up, and the look on his face was a blend of sympathetic and disgusted.

  Sam frowned. He didn't like the way that sounded.

  "His vocal cords were removed," Dr. Royce said bluntly. "These kids aren't allowed to smoke, and while he could have created nodules with extensive talking, the chances of him needing his vocal cords completely removed are slim." Dr. Royce pressed his lips into a thin line. "Keep in mind, this is different from being mute. It isn't just his voice. It's laughing, screaming, crying, moaning, grunting… he can't make a sound."

  Sam cursed out loud, more colorfully than usual, and rubbed his forehead. "I couldn't figure out why he wouldn't talk when he looked like he wanted to. I thought he was just afraid."

  Dr. Royce frowned, drumming his fingers on the side of the clipboard. "You were questioning a kid and North Forest Hospital didn't tell you they were physically incapable of answering anything but yes or no questions?"

  Sam gave him an exhausted, long-suffering look. "No, they did not." He dropped his gaze and swore again. "Of course, he still didn't answer the yes or no ones, but they were watching the whole time." Between cuffed hands, no vocal cords, and the ingrained fear of law enforcement, it was no wonder Georgie had refused to communicate.

  Dr. Royce was silent for a moment, but then he offered a soft smile. "Well, maybe now he can have a real talk with you." He gestured down the hall in the opposite direction of the receptionist desk. "Do you want to see him?"

  Sam was surprised. "He's conscious?"

  "Barely, but you might be able to get something out of him." Dr. Royce was already walking down the hall, beckoning Sam with a finger. "It's hard to tell if he's still half-sedated or if he's traumatized, but in my professional opinion, the kid's shell-shocked. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get a hold of any of North Forest Hospital's psychiatrists…" He slowed down and turned his head a bit. "Although, under the circumstances, do you think I should?"

  Sam looked into the rooms he passed, sobered b
y the thought that, while not as close to death's door as Georgie, each one had a kid injured in an unnecessary, political explosion.

  "No." Sam followed Dr. Royce into Room 546. "I would prefer you have one of your psychiatrists talk to him." He paused. "Actually, I would prefer you have your psychiatrists evaluate all the consultants."

  Dr. Royce nodded his head, pulling his pager from his hip and reading the message. "If you think it's appropriate, we can give them full physicals, too."

  "I think that's more than appropriate." Sam nodded and approached the bed where Georgie lay amongst the sheets and wires. "I want all of the results sent to Windlass Security."

  "Consider it done." Dr. Royce turned toward the door, returning his pager to his belt. "Excuse me. I'll be right back."

  Sam nodded his head with a quiet word of thanks, and then he leaned over the hospital bed. "Georgie?" he said softly, gently nudging the young man on the shoulder. "Georgie, this is Mr. Prichard with Windlass Security. Do you remember me?"

  Georgie opened his eyes, took one look at Sam, and burst into tears. He began rubbing his fist in a circle on his chest, shaking his head back and forth.

  Sam had begun to learn American Sign Language ever since he found out Eric and his friends used it to communicate, and he didn't know much, but he knew how to sign 'sorry.'

  "Georgie, what are you sorry for?"

  Georgie began to sign some more, and while it was a short sentence on repeat, Sam wasn't familiar with the words. Sam reached into his jacket to grab his notebook while Georgie kept repeating the same thing, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

  It was so unnatural. Eerie.

  Not speaking was one thing, but the way Georgie cried was… unnerving, to say the least. Rapid exhales and inhales, tears and a running nose, reddened cheeks, lips twisted and ugly, but… no cries. Not loud, not soft, not harsh, not stuttering, just… not.

  "Georgie, here." Sam handed over the notebook and a pen. "I'm sorry. I'm not fluent. Try to take a deep breath, calm down, and tell me with this."