Daphne looked down and then began picking up pieces one by one and putting them together, first assembling a frame, and then filling in the middle. The puzzle was finished in five minutes.
“Very good, Frankie. Please lie down.”
Elizabeth nodded to Shamita, who cut off audition once again.
“Well, Frankie seems to have all the abilities, and she certainly has more life this time. A person, though?—I’m not convinced.”
“He has more life,” Wes corrected.
“Let’s settle that now.”
“How?”
“I’ll ask Frankie if she’s a boy or a girl, just like before.”
Shamita cut in before Wes could respond. “I’m not comfortable with this. Gender is very complex. It’s made up of years of experiences and cultural shaping, mixed with the signals your body begins sending at puberty. Our fully integrated Frankie has too few minutes of personal memories to base a gender concept on, and must certainly be getting mixed body signals.”
“Shamita’s right, Elizabeth,” Wes said. “With Yu integrated in, this Frankie is much more complex. It might be best to let Frankie develop his—or her—own sense of gender.”
Thoughtful, Elizabeth stood silent for a minute. “I think Frankie already has a sense of gender. It’s Yu’s voice, but the tone . . . Well, it seems feminine. Maybe I can get at gender indirectly. There’s a simple projective test called Draw a Person. Virtually without fail, a normal person will draw a figure of their own sex.”
Wes and Shamita exchanged looks, and then Wes nodded approval.
“Frankie, I want you to sit up again. Here’s a pad of paper and a pencil. Will you draw a person for me?”
Vainly Wes and Shamita craned their necks to see. After a few minutes, Daphne handed the pad to Elizabeth, who again signaled for the audio to be cut off. Then she stood unmoving, staring at the pad.
“Well?” Wes prodded to no effect.
Karon walked over and stood behind Elizabeth.
“I can’t believe it! Come here, you’ve got to see this!”
Reaching Elizabeth last, Wes leaned over the others to see a beautifully drawn young woman—something was familiar about the girl. Then it hit him—it was the girl from the walls of the hidden room.
“What does it mean?” Karon asked.
“Nothing,” Len said. “Yu walked all over that place and his recall is nearly as good as Luis’s. Frankie just tapped into Yu’s memory.”
“Yes,” Wes agreed. “What else could it be?”
“Shamita, turn Frankie’s hearing back on,” Elizabeth ordered. “I want to ask her directly.”
Shamita waited for Wes’s approval, then they all returned to their stations.
“Frankie, are you a girl?”
“Yes.”
“We call you Frankie. Is that your name?”
Silence filled the room. Then, “I’m Frankie.”
Another signal and Frankie’s hearing was off again.
“Satisfied, Elizabeth?” Wes asked.
“No. This is too strange.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, she had Shamita connect Frankie again.
“Frankie, do you want to kill Ralph?”
“Who’s Ralph?” Frankie asked.
Another signal from Elizabeth. “Wes, can you end the session for now?”
Wes was reluctant, wanting to explore Frankie’s abilities, but saw no need to worry Elizabeth unnecessarily—not this close to success.
“OK, Shamita, that’s it for tonight. I’ll separate them for you. Bring Yu up last.”
After the savants were settled around the kitchen table eating ice cream, the team gathered in the living room, all silent at first. Wes was first to speak.
“The drawing’s just a fluke, Elizabeth. Frankie accessed a memory for a picture and pulled out one of Yu’s.”
“Isn’t artistic ability a right-hemisphere function? Archie contributed most of that hemisphere, not Yu.”
“She’s right, Wes,” Shamita said. “I set the parameters and there was little of Yu’s right hemisphere in Frankie. Archie never saw those photos.”
“Episodic memories aren’t necessarily stored with procedural memories. I can draw numbers and they’re left-hemisphere.”
“Bad example,” Len said.
“I know. But you get the point.” Mildly concerned about his project, Wes nevertheless was enjoying the discussion. There was a puzzle to be solved here. He was also impressed with Elizabeth’s insights, no matter how wrong. “I can come up with a better example if you want.”
“What about Frankie’s response to the question about killing Ralph? Didn’t it seem odd to you, Wes?”
“Why? Because Frankie didn’t remember saying that before? The memory’s there somewhere, we might have accidentally cut it out when we fit Yu’s ability in.”
“Maybe, but there was something else. Frankie simply asked who Ralph was; she didn’t seem shocked by the thought of killing someone.”
Wes found Elizabeth’s oblique approach to issues fascinating, but also irritating.
“You didn’t give Frankie a chance to be shocked.” Wes looked around for support, but the others averted their eyes. Then Ralph came into the room.
“You mind if I watch TV?”
The doorbell rang and Ralph crossed the room in three strides to open the door.
“Hi, Pastor Young. Lookee here, everyone, it’s Pastor Young.”
Elizabeth jumped up and crossed the room. “I’m so sorry, I forgot all about it. I’ll be ready in a minute.” Then she disappeared up the stairs.
Confused, Wes stood dumbly, then he realized Elizabeth had a date. Jealousy tainted his thinking. “Where are you going?” he asked the pastor.
Amused, the pastor said, “Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll have her back by midnight.”
Len led the others in laughter, while Wes blushed. Daphne came and sat at the piano, distracting the others and sparing Wes any more embarrassment.
“Hello, Daphne,” the pastor said.
“Hello, Pastor Young,” she said. Then she began to play.
Daphne’s greeting to the pastor surprised Wes. To respond at all was unusual for Daphne, and such a strong response was unheard of.
Elizabeth came down with a coat and fresh makeup and soon the two were out the door. Wes waited until the others were occupied and then went out on the porch. Elizabeth and the pastor were walking down the street talking. Suddenly Elizabeth laughed out loud and pushed playfully on the pastor’s shoulder. The jealousy came back stronger, and this time he nursed it.
Daphne’s mind was clear and she relished the details of her room. Seldom could she enjoy the colors, the textures, the lines and shading. She picked up a yellow pencil and marveled at the sharp detail. Daphne stared out the window, spotting Elizabeth and the pastor walking down the sidewalk. Elizabeth laughed and then touched the pastor. Instantly Daphne remembered Billy’s hand on her, sliding between her legs. She panicked and suddenly the black hole was erupting, threatening to spill its memories into her conscious mind. Daphne flopped on her bed, running in her mind to the hidey-hole and hiding deep in it. The black hole was calling to her, so she plunged deeper into the blackness of her hiding place. Then something took hold of her and pulled her deeper than she had ever been before.
She knew! She saw something on that damn machine, and she knew I was different. Gil paced his room restlessly, worried about what Shamita had discovered. He had pushed on her mind to distract her, but he didn’t have the power to keep her from seeing it again. Now afraid of discovery, Gil knew he should run—that had always been his way. But neither Ralph’s ability to hear his commands nor the voice in the basement had scared him away, and that had given him confidence. Now that he felt his power growing with each session, he wouldn’t let Shamita scare him away. She would have to be dealt with—more permanently than Ralph.
Now determined to kill Shamita, Gil found that he could relax, and he stretched out on the bed to clear his
mind. Rushing his relaxation routine forced Gil to restart several times before his mind cleared—again no voice. Relieved, Gil began to search for other voices, other people’s minds—nothing. Then Gil relaxed and reached out with his mind, seeking to touch others. Suddenly, the person called Gil ceased to exist.
Wes tore off the computer printout and headed to his room. He couldn’t concentrate and he didn’t want Shamita to think it was because he was jealous. If he was going to stew over Elizabeth’s date, he was going to do it in private.
In the living room Archie and Luis were stretched out on the floor in front of the TV. Ralph sat behind them with a bowl of popcorn, looking up when Wes came through.
“Shhh!” he said, a finger held to his big lips. “They’re asleep. Want some popcorn?”
Wes shook his head and then went up the stairs and spread the computer printout across his bed. A few minutes later he gave up and stared at the ceiling. “OK,” he said aloud, “I’m jealous.” Now that he had admitted it, he sat back and enjoyed the feeling.
She paused at the open garage door. She needed something. Turning back, she searched the garage until she found a screwdriver, then tucked it inside her pants under her blouse. Then she left the garage and headed down the alley.
Rimmer was bored and half drunk. Nothing was happening in the whole damn house. The only ones in tonight were studying like freshmen and had brushed Rimmer off when he tried to get a party going. The frat had been a big bore since they had initiated that retard, not to mention that idiot Singleton falling off that roof. Cowed by Elizabeth Foxworth and the administration, half the brothers were too chicken to even tap a keg on weekends. If things didn’t turn around soon, Rimmer was going to die of boredom.
Rimmer tossed down the rest of his beer, then pulled another from the fridge. He popped the lid, then swigged down half of it. When he brought the can down he spotted someone walking down the alley. Flipping off the kitchen lights, he could see it was the retarded girl, the one Billy had been trying to feel up in the park. That Billy would do it to any girl, Rimmer thought, even a retard. Even so, as he watched her come down the alley, he realized she wasn’t that bad. Billy had screwed some of the best-looking girls on campus, so if he saw something in this girl she was good enough for him. Besides, he thought, it would be sweet to nail one of Billy’s girls before he did. Rimmer pulled another can of beer out of the fridge and hurried out the back.
When he came around the corner of their garage he could see her more clearly. It was the same girl, but she looked different. She didn’t look that retarded and she was kind of pretty—actually very pretty. He knew her new good looks were the results of the beer, but that was what booze was for—making ugly girls pretty. Rimmer stepped in front of her and held out a can.
“Looking for a party?”
She stopped, her face blank, staring at the can. Then the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile, but her eyes remained dead.
“Yeah. I like to party. Listen to music. Dance.” Then she took the beer and drank a swallow.
“All right. Me too. I’m a party guy. But it’s kind of quiet around here right now. How about a private party?”
She nodded and smiled, her eyes still blank.
Excited, Rimmer thought fast. She was going to put out, but where could he do it to her? He could sneak her into his room, but if he got caught with one of Foxworth’s retards Classen would kick him out for sure. He decided on using Bopper’s van.
“Come on, I’ll show you a place.”
Rimmer slipped his arm around her shoulder to guide her. She didn’t snuggle close, but she didn’t shrug him off either.
He walked her to the corner and then to the back of Bopper’s van. Pulling the hidden key from the bumper, he opened the back and helped her in. There was a mattress on the floor and she scooted across and sat with her back against the front seat. Her legs were spread slightly and she looked like she wanted it. Rimmer finished his beer and tossed the can in the yard. Then he climbed in, pulling the door closed.
There was enough light from the streetlamp to see, and she looked good. Her eyes were sparkling now, and her lips moist. Even slumped like she was he could see her plump breasts pushing at her blouse. Rimmer wanted to reach for them but was sober enough to go slow.
Taking the beer from her he took a swig and then set it aside. Then he bent down and kissed her. She didn’t kiss back, but her lips parted slightly so he pushed harder and slipped his tongue between her lips. No response, so he pushed it in deeper, touching her teeth. Still she didn’t respond but he didn’t care.
Rimmer pulled off his shirt, then pulled her down until she was lying flat. Then he kissed her and felt her right breast at the same time. She didn’t move, but he knew she wanted it because her nipple stiffened. Aroused and half drunk he pawed at her breasts and then fumbled for her buttons. That’s when she moved, pushing him away and down onto his back. Then she straddled him, rocking gently. Rimmer moaned with the pleasure. When she began kissing his chest he put his hands under his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. The kissing stopped and he saw her unbuttoning her blouse. When she saw him watching she bent and kissed his chest again until his eyes closed. He knew the type. She was shy. That was okay with him, he would look all he wanted when she was naked.
Rimmer was imagining her bare breasts when something plunged through his rib cage and buried in his heart. Pain exploded in his brain, and he opened his eyes to see the yellow handle of a screwdriver sticking out of his chest. His body convulsed, and he lost control of his bowels and bladder. Rimmer’s arms moved toward the handle just as she grabbed it and pulled it out. Blood spurted from the hole. His heart was pounding uncontrollably, coming apart in his chest. In his pain he flailed, but she pulled out of reach until his arms lost strength and fell limp. Then his chest seized, never to pull in another breath. Just as the light faded from his eyes he saw the screwdriver bury into his chest again. This time he didn’t feel it.
Phil was witty, considerate, good-looking, and good company, but he was a disappointment to Elizabeth. They had gone to a movie, and then out for coffee, and Phil had shown a far-ranging knowledge, conversing with her about classic films, philosophy, and even her profession of social work. But finally the conversation had come around to Wes’s experiment, and that was when Elizabeth found out Phil was a psychologist.
Before he felt his call to the ministry he had been a research psychologist. For a time he had immersed himself in his work, but found his life empty and psychology a poor substitute for what he really needed. That was when he decided to follow his father into the ministry. Elizabeth liked Phil the minister better than Phil the psychologist. Still, his interest in the experiment was sincere, and it was a small enough flaw.
It was cool and cloudy, but dry, and they walked slowly, enjoying the stroll, talking as if they were old friends. As they neared their block they could see a knot of people on the corner and the distinct blue flash of police lights. An ambulance roared past them and turned by the crowd. Elizabeth immediately thought of the savants, and pulled Phil into a fast walk.
At the corner they could see police clearing spectators away from a van, and medics climbing into the back. Yellow tape was being stretched around the area to hold back the crowds, preventing her from seeing what had happened. When one of the officers came by stretching out another length of tape, Elizabeth tugged at his sleeve.
“Officer, what is it?”
“Get back, lady, this is a crime scene.”
“I live near here. Is someone I know hurt?”
“It’s one of the fraternity boys, lady. He’s dead. Somebody stabbed him.”
“Which one?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Please, I knew them.”
“Well . . . the kid who found him said his name is Rimmer.”
“Oh, no. I did know him.”
Pulling Elizabeth away, Phil thanked the officer.
“Are yo
u all right, Elizabeth?”
“I met that boy. I didn’t really know him—”
“Let’s go home.”
Gil woke with a headache. He rubbed his temples and then his eyes—something was strange. He didn’t feel as if he’d been asleep, yet he must have been. Three hours had passed, and the last thing he could remember was working through his relaxation routine, trying to explore his ability.
Gil stretched out, running through his routine. Just as he reached clearness, a commotion broke out downstairs. Loud voices disrupted his concentration. Frustrated, Gil forced himself to ignore the voices and work his mind clear again. He was nearly there when someone pounded down the stairs. “Damn,” Gil cursed. He was mad now, making getting clear even tougher.
Once again he stretched out and lay back. Three tries later he was just clearing his mind when the door burst open, revealing Ralph.
“Hi Gil. Are you sleeping? You don’t have your pajamas on. Do you sleep in pajamas? I do. I used to sleep in my underwear but Mrs. Williams said I shouldn’t do that anymore. She bought me some red striped ones. I didn’t like them too good. Elizabeth bought me some with rocket ships on them. I like them better. You want I should show them to you?”
“Ralph, what the hell do you want?”
“You shouldn’t curse, Gil.” Then Ralph folded his arms, leaned back and pursed his lips. “Are you mad or something, Gil?” Then his hand shot out and he thumped his head. “How could I be so stupid? Of course you’re mad, otherwise you wouldn’t cuss. Barney used to cuss—”
“Ralph! What do you want?”
“Elizabeth is back. She saw a murder or something. You want to come down?”
“No! Now, get out!” Then in a forced softer voice, “Please.”
“Well, okeydokey. I’ll come back and tell you what’s going on.”
Ralph left, leaving the door open, and Gil’s anger flared. He glared at the door, focusing all his anger—the door moved. It was only a slight movement, as if it had been pushed by a light breeze, but it had moved. Suddenly afraid of his own ability, Gil sat back stunned. Had he done that?
Fragments Page 19