Fragments

by James F. David

  Gil stared hard at the door and pushed as if he were making a suggestion. Nothing happened. Next he closed his eyes and pictured it moving. Still nothing. Now Gil pictured himself pushing it closed with his hand, and pushed that image toward the door, but it didn’t move. Frustrated, Gil looked away, trying to remember how he had done it before. Then Ralph’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Come on down, Gil! It’s really interesting.” Gil flared again, snapping his head around and staring at the door. It moved.

  Anger? He had to be angry to get the power? That prospect worried Gil. He lost control when he was angry, and control was life to Gil. No, he had to learn to use the power without the anger.

  “Hey, Daphne. Come on down and hear this,” Ralph shouted.

  Suddenly Gil remembered Ralph saying something about a murder. His emotions had clouded his mind—he hated emotions. He should be interested in a murder, or the others would get suspicious. Reluctantly, Gil got up to join those downstairs.

  Elizabeth was in the living room telling the others about what they had seen. Another man was sitting next to Elizabeth with his back to Gil—Reverend Young, Gil reasoned. Karon, Len, and Wes were sitting in chairs listening to Elizabeth’s story. The savants were glued to the TV—all except Daphne—while Ralph hovered around the group trying to be a part. Gil approached cautiously, listening, but watching the man. He was vaguely familiar.

  Elizabeth was telling about a murder on their block. One of the fraternity boys had been stabbed in the back of a van. Compassion was another emotion Gil disdained, and he cared nothing about the death, except that it might threaten the experiment. If the neighborhood appeared unsafe for the savants, Elizabeth might move them.

  The murdered boy was from the fraternity Gil used to try to get rid of Ralph. Knowing one was dead made him happy—he regretted not killing the one he’d suggested off the roof. Suppressing his good feeling, Gil sought a way to make the murder less threatening to Elizabeth and the others.

  “It’s probably drug-related,” Gil said. “College kids are into drugs.”

  When the pastor turned to look at him, Gil recognized him and his face flushed.

  “Gil’s probably right,” Len said, pulling the pastor’s attention away from Gil. “There were a lot of drugs around when I was in college.”

  When Karon agreed, and discussion of college drug experiences broke out, Gil turned and slipped back upstairs. He was panicky now, hoping the man hadn’t recognized him. It had been years ago—he couldn’t remember which university—but the man had tested him. It’s getting too dicey here, he thought. First, Ralph’s unexplained ability to hear him, then Shamita detecting something in his brain waves, and now his past catching up to him. He didn’t know if the pastor had recognized him, so he would have to act fast. He had to get things under control.

  20

  INVESTIGATIONS

  Officer Winston was back the next day with more questions. Elizabeth met him at the door.

  “Hello, Roy. Did you find out who the girl in the basement was?”

  “Huh? No, not yet. We have some leads, though.”

  “It wouldn’t be the Watson girl, would it?”

  The policeman eyed her warily. “Well, suddenly you’re awfully well informed. It may be her, but I’m here about the murder last night. I hear you and Phil Young were at the scene. You mind telling me what you were doing there?”

  “You can’t be serious. I’m a suspect?”

  “Do you know when the last murder was in this town before you people showed up? A long time ago. Now we’ve got two bodies.”

  “One is a skeleton.”

  “True. So where were you thirty years ago?” This time Roy smiled when he said it. “Actually, I’m interested in whether you saw anything that might help us.”

  “We were coming back from a movie. We passed one or two people by the university, but I don’t remember anyone on the block before we saw the crowd.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, and then wrote in a notebook.

  “What are you writing down? I haven’t really said anything.”

  Officer Winston looked at her briefly, then wrote again, saying, “Haven’t really said anything.” He was smiling again. “One more thing. All your kids in last night? What do you call them?”

  “Savants. Of course they were in. They’re not allowed out alone that late.”

  “Sure, sure. Isn’t one of them female?” Roy asked without a smile.

  “Why are you asking about Daphne?”

  “Neighbor said he saw the dead kid”—Roy flipped through the pages of his notebook—“Joshua Ringman, get into the van with a girl.”

  “There is a university three blocks away. There’s a lot of young women to choose from.”

  “Sure, sure. I was only asking. So, she was here last night?”

  “Of course.”

  “OK, thanks. If you think of anything, give me a call.”

  Elizabeth watched him leave, but thought about Daphne. She hadn’t come down last night when Elizabeth came home with the story about the murder. When Elizabeth did her pre-bed check, Daphne was there, but she honestly didn’t know if she had been there all night. Inside she found Daphne at the piano and Ralph with his nose six inches from the TV screen.

  “Ralph, can I speak to you a minute?”

  “Okeydokey. It’s just a commercial for those fruit things that are yucky. Especially the blue ones.”

  Out on the porch, Elizabeth sat with Ralph on the steps.

  “Ralph, did you see anyone leave the house last night?”

  “This is a riddle, isn’t it? I’m not good at riddles. Except for the one about the polar bear at the north pole. I memorized that one.”

  “It’s not a riddle. Did you see anyone leave last night after I left?”

  Ralph pursed his lips, putting on his serious look. “Lemme see. You left. Pastor Young left with you. I don’t got such a good memory. Maybe I should get Luis?”

  “Excellent idea, Ralph.”

  Ralph was back in a minute with Luis, who was carrying a bowl of dry cornflakes. Luis ate his cereal dry, with no milk.

  “Luis, did you see anyone leave the house last night?”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth waited while he filled his mouth with flakes.

  “Who?”

  “You left with the pastor. Len and Karon left after you.”

  “Oh yeah,” Ralph said. “Now I remember. Karon and Len sat on the swing. They was smooching.”

  Elizabeth was only mildly surprised to hear about the kissing. “Luis, did you see Daphne leave last night?”

  “No.”

  “He was sleeping watching TV,” Ralph said.

  “No I wasn’t.”

  “Was too! You fell asleep when that dog show came on.”

  Whining, Luis said, “I didn’t fall asleep.”

  “Thank you, Luis. You can finish breakfast inside.”

  “You want me to ask Daphne if she went outside last night?” Ralph offered.

  “No, Ralph, I’ll do it.”

  Daphne was still at the piano. When she paused between songs, Elizabeth spoke. “Daphne.” She turned, looked up, and smiled. Elizabeth was stunned. Daphne never smiled, and never looked people in the eye. When Elizabeth smiled back Daphne’s head dropped to its usual position, her smile folding into a slight frown.

  “Yes, Elizabeth,” Daphne said.

  “You have a nice smile.” A fleeting smile was her only response. “Did you go out last night?”

  “No.”

  Elizabeth saw no point in asking anything more, yet she was uncertain. Roy wouldn’t have asked about Daphne if he didn’t have more than just the vague description of “a girl.” But the idea was absurd—Daphne was harmless. Trying to put it aside, Elizabeth left Daphne to work on her weekly reports for the Kellum Foundation, but found it hard to concentrate.

  The parsonage attic was filled with boxes belonging to at least three previous pastors. Somewhere in the mess w
ere dusty boxes containing the remnants of his previous professional life. Under the Christmas decorations he found boxes labeled “Files.” He moved three of the file boxes down to the kitchen and began sifting through them.

  Like viewing an old photo album, searching the files revived long-buried memories, many of them precious, and he lingered over papers and reports, thinking of long ago, of friends made and lost, of successes and failures. He reveled in the nostalgia, but kept himself on task until he located the records on telepaths.

  Thirty folders were lined up in alphabetical order. Each folder contained copies of test protocols, results, and evaluations. Phil knew the results—all thirty demonstrated ability when first tested, but only seven had shown even slight ability when experimental controls were introduced. Phil flipped through the names but found nothing under Masters. Then he searched again, looking at first names. There was no Gil. Frustrated, he searched again, opening each file and looking at the pictures of the subjects. Only one file had no picture. The name on the file was Stephen Sacks. Phil read through his old notes, memories of Stephen Sacks coming back in flashes.

  As he reviewed the file, the puzzlement he had felt years ago when he had tested Mr. Sacks came back. Mr. Sacks was talented, but his ability came and went in an unpredictable way—sometimes testing strong, other times just above chance. A handwritten note in the back said that Mr. Sacks had missed his last appointment and that his phone had been disconnected. Vaguely, Phil remembered that the man had simply disappeared one day. Was this really the same person as Gil Masters? If it was him, what was he doing working as a social worker with a group of savants? Reading through the records again, he found there was little information. The records had his previous occupation listed as “unemployed.” If his Stephen Sacks was Gil Masters, it was odd that he would change his name, but not necessarily illegal. Still, changing a name suggested that the man was hiding something. Perhaps, Phil decided, it was time to catch up on the research in parapsychology.

  Gil followed the pastor when he left his house. Keeping to the opposite side of the street, he watched for an opportunity. The streets were too residential here, though, the cars moving too slowly, leaving Gil frustrated. His best hope was if the pastor continued down to the main street—he didn’t, instead turning in to the university. Gil trailed him into the psychology building, watching him head down into the library. Gil waited a few minutes, then followed, finding the pastor seated at a computer terminal, searching the psychology literature. After fifteen minutes the pastor moved into the stacks. From a distance Gil watched the minister pull journals, taking notes as he read.

  Gil waited until the minister took a bathroom break; then Gil pulled one of the journals from the stack on his table, retreating to a far corner to read. It was a parapsychology journal, confirming Gil’s suspicion. The pastor had remembered him. Gil had to get rid of him, but couldn’t risk stampeding Elizabeth and the savants from the neighborhood. He needed an accident, and he needed it soon.

  Elizabeth found Shamita at the kitchen table, computer printouts spread over the surface.

  “Are you working on Daphne’s results?”

  “Huh? No. Something else.”

  “Shamita, what did you think about the other night? About that drawing?”

  Clearly annoyed at being taken from her work, she said, “I thought it was peculiar, but it could be a memory. Personal memories are impossible to localize. Even with direct brain stimulation, only bits and pieces of personal experience can be located, nothing complex. We do know that it takes time for memories to be consolidated—I mean processed for storage. It’s possible that Yu was still processing the images from the basement room and when we picked up his multiplexed signals the image from the dead girl’s room was part of that signal and was processed into Frankie’s personal memories.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t satisfied, but lacked the knowledge to argue. “What is it you’re working on?”

  “This. See this wave pattern here. It’s a typical alpha wave, which is the dominant brain wave during the waking state. When we integrate brain waves it’s normal to have some disruption of alpha-wave activity—at least at first. The alpha waves get deeper and more irregular, and then they return to the normal alpha rhythm. Frankie’s brain pattern followed that pattern, except there is something more.” Pointing at the printout she said, “You see another weaker wave here.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s hard to pick out, but see this line here, kind of an echo of the alpha pattern?”

  “It must be more obvious to a trained eye.”

  “If it was, I would have taken it to Wes. Even I’m not sure I’m seeing it.”

  “Is it something to worry about?”

  “I’m not worried, I’m curious. When I’m working on a problem I get serious.”

  Elizabeth thought Shamita was too serious, but minded her own business and left her to her work. Gil was back from his walk, so Elizabeth left for the library to find out what she could about the body in the basement.

  After supper Karon popped up a big batch of popcorn and they all watched The Wizard of Oz. Archie, Luis, and Ralph sang all the songs, Ralph thumping himself on the side of the head when he came to the scarecrow singing “If I only had a brain.” When the savants were in bed, and Gil gone for another walk, Wes brewed a fresh pot of coffee, settling at the kitchen table.

  Cupping his coffee mug, Wes was excited and disturbed. The emergence of Frankie validated his theories, and guaranteed grants for the rest of his professional life. But odd things were happening around him. Yu’s discovery of the hidden room, the body, the murder of the fraternity brother, Frankie’s picture drawn from the walls of the hidden room, and even Ralph, his unexpected guest. Now Shamita was acting strange, digging into an anomaly that was incidental and likely spurious. He’d expected difficulty, but difficulty with the experiment, not with life.

  Elizabeth came into the kitchen, joining him with a cup of coffee.

  “I found something interesting in the library today. I was looking for a clue to who that might have been in the basement room.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not about that. I did confirm Mrs. Clayton’s account of what happened to Mr. Watson’s daughters—at least the ones that died with their mother in the car accident. It really was horrible. There was a picture of their wrecked car burned black. It was a terrible accident. Mr. Watson couldn’t help but be affected by it. I couldn’t find anything about his fourth daughter—the one who supposedly ran away—but there was something kind of interesting.”

  Wes waited, but Elizabeth sipped her coffee, waiting for his curiosity to take over. “So what did you find?”

  Eyes bright, Elizabeth leaned across the table. “About the time Mrs. Clayton said Mr. Watson’s last daughter vanished there were a series of murders in town—back in the early 1950s. The press labeled the killer the Stalker.”

  “You think the Watson girl was killed by this Stalker?”

  “I don’t know—I doubt it. It’s just as likely she’s the one in the basement.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The people killed were fraternity brothers, just like Rimmer. I know what you’re thinking, but there’s more. They were all killed with a knife—one of them in a parked car.”

  “Rimmer was killed with a screwdriver.”

  “Yes, but he was stabbed with it, and whoever did the killing mutilated the genitals of the boys.”

  “Rimmer’s genitals were mutilated?”

  “Yes. I confirmed it with Ellen at the Dairy Queen.”

  “It’s a peculiar coincidence, but I don’t see that they’re necessarily connected. Whoever did those killings would be almost fifty years older—too old to overpower a fraternity boy. Besides, wasn’t he seen with a girl just before he was killed?”

  “I know all that. It just seems strange, that’s all.”

  Wes didn’t argue with that, but to him it was just another of the many odditi
es surrounding his experiment. He could see, however, that Elizabeth’s eyes were busy, flicking back and forth, her mind actively wrestling with the mystery.

  Gil hid in the alley, watching. After an hour the pastor pulled up in his car and went inside. It was an old house, next to the church and with many overgrown shrubs. Keeping to the shadows, Gil crept into the bushes and peeked into a window—nothing but a dark room. Light from a hall dimly lit the interior of the next room—an empty bedroom. Gil continued around the corner and to a window, looking into the kitchen. He was about to move again when the light snapped on. Ducking, Gil caught sight of the pastor coming in. Gil listened to the pastor rummaging around the kitchen. Pans were banged, water pipes hummed, cupboard doors creaked and banged. When the teakettle whistled the pastor finished up, turning the light off as he left. Gil checked the kitchen again—it was empty.

  Hidden by the shrubbery, Gil snuck along the wall, working around to the front and the living-room window. The pastor was watching TV and drinking tea. Gil sat behind a rhododendron and waited, worrying about getting back so late the others would wonder where he had been.

  Finally, the light went out, and Gil snuck back along the wall, checking the windows. The bedroom light was on. Gil paused under the window, listening to the sound of water running through pipes. Backtracking, Gil tried the windows—none were open. Gil worked his way around to the far side of the house, finding an unlocked window. Gil pushed it up, cringing with every squeak. When the window was wide open he paused, listening. The room remained dark so he pulled himself through the window and flopped onto a desk covered with papers. Trying not to knock anything to the floor, Gil rolled off and then tiptoed to the door. Pausing, Gil heard the sound of music. When he touched the handle, the water sound died, freezing him. Gil listened, but heard no movements, so he opened the door a crack and peered out. The bedroom directly across was lit, but it was empty. The music drifted down the hall from another bright doorway.