Fragments

by James F. David

  “I don’t care, this is my equipment. You aren’t to touch it. Besides, it needs to be like this.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Archie argued. “Here, I drew it out.”

  Looking past Archie’s Mickey Mouse glasses, Len could see sincerity in his eyes. In his hand was a piece of paper. Still angry, Len snatched the page. In crayon were drawn the cots, monitors, computers, nitrogen system, EETs and their helmets, laid out in a semicircle. Between the consoles were neat lines of cables. Still angry, Len nearly tossed it aside, but the detail intrigued him. There was no writing on the page, only symbols he couldn’t decode.

  “What’s this mean?”

  Scooting closer Archie pointed. “This is Dr. Martin’s machine. This is yours. This is Shamita’s.”

  “They’re mixed up.”

  Archie began to rock, head down.

  Then, gently, “I mean why did you switch them around?”

  Archie pointed at the lines connecting Wes’s console with one of the EETs. “It’s shorter this way.”

  “Yeah, Archie, but then this one’s longer.”

  “No.”

  Without a word Luis picked up a cable and walked it to Wes’s console, then to an EET. Next he walked one from Len’s console to the same EET. Both cables had extra length.

  “I’ll be darned. Are you sure those are the right cables?”

  “Green, brown, brown,” Luis replied.

  Len scratched his head. “Are you sure you remember where everything goes?”

  “Yes,” all three replied.

  “All right, show me some more.”

  Wes and Shamita were just as angry when they came down, but Len shooed them out and continued working with the savants. When Elizabeth heard of what Yu, Archie, and Luis had done, she stood in the doorway and watched for a long time.

  Ralph’s loud voice woke Gil.

  “I’m going to get Wes a paper. Anyone need me to get them something?”

  Voices from all over the house shouted “No.”

  “Well okeydokey then.” Slamming the door, Ralph left.

  Gil rubbed his eyes. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all, yet he was still in his clothes, apparently too tired the night before to undress. Gil sat up, realizing from the sounds in the house that he was the last up. Rolling to the edge of the bed, he spotted a gun on his end table. Frozen in confusion, he sat staring. What was it doing there? Who would put it in his room?

  Searching his memory, Gil tried to remember what he’d done the night before. The policeman had been there, and they had run the experiment. The rest of the day had been normal, up until he fell asleep on his bed. The rest of the night was a blank; he didn’t even remember dreaming. He didn’t drink, fearing the loss of control, so it wasn’t an alcoholic blackout. No, someone else had to put it there.

  Footsteps in the hall panicked him and he grabbed the gun, hiding it under his pillow. The footsteps passed, and then he realized the gun now had his fingerprints on it. Gil thought that might be what someone wanted—he’d just incriminated himself. He wasn’t going to fall deeper into their trap. He was going to get rid of the gun.

  Gil held the gun gingerly. He had never had a use for a gun. It was a simple-looking mechanism: a handle, a cylinder, a barrel, and the trigger. Careful not to put his finger on the trigger, he put the gun in a coat pocket and put the coat over his shoulder.

  Strangely, the savants were working in the experiment room with Len, moving tables and stringing cable. He didn’t know where the others were, but he suspected they were drinking coffee in the kitchen. Gil went straight out the front door.

  He wanted the gun out of the house, but he didn’t want to get caught with it, and the farther he took it the greater the risk. Also, if he carried the gun somewhere unfamiliar to get rid of it, he couldn’t be as sure that no one would be watching when he disposed of it. Gil wanted to dump the gun as soon as possible—but where? Rounding the corner of the house, he went through the backyard to the alley. It was clear and he turned toward the university, but then stopped, realizing that the closer he was to the school, the more likely he would run into students.

  A car passed at the end of the alley, panicking Gil again. The incriminating weapon pulled on his coat, weighing him down. Gil hurried passed the garage and went down the alley. When he came to the garage behind the fraternity he spotted a pile of scrap wood—mostly two-by-fours. Gil pushed a few of the boards apart, creating a space, then looked around. No one was watching, so he dropped the gun in the hole and started to cover it. Stupid! he thought, and pulled up the gun, wiping it clean. Then he replaced it in the hole and covered it with the boards, after which he hurried back up the alley to the house.

  He joined the others for breakfast, trying to act as if nothing had happened, but he studied the faces of the others, looking for telltale expressions of who had planted the weapon in his room. Everyone acted as they should.

  Len took the savants back to their lab right after breakfast, and Gil busied himself cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Elizabeth was updating the behavioral records of the savants, and he joined her. Ralph was a pest, as usual, talking incessantly, repeating what Elizabeth and Gil said, and mimicking their mannerisms. They were nearly finished when police cars roared up, blue lights flashing.

  Gil thought of the gun. They found it, he thought, fighting back an urge to run. He didn’t want to look more guilty than he already was, but he vowed that if they tried to arrest him he would use his powers to fight his way out.

  Pushing past Elizabeth at the door, Officer Winston thrust a search warrant at her.

  “You can’t just come in here like this,” Elizabeth protested.

  “Read the warrant.” Then, to the officers following him, “Search it top to bottom—and don’t forget the garage.”

  “Hello, Officer Winston,” Ralph said, pumping the policeman’s hand. “Can I help search? I’m good at finding things. I found a baseball in a hedge one time and I wasn’t even looking for it. Course I never found my Frisbee.”

  “No Ralph, this is something the police need to do.”

  “Well okeydokey then. I can watch though, right?”

  “Yes, Ralph,” Elizabeth said. “You go watch them.”

  Ralph turned and followed a policeman up the stairs, asking if his gun was heavy. Other uniformed men and women fanned out through the house, and soon the couch cushions were on the floor and chairs were overturned. Wes and Shamita came out of the kitchen, and Len and the savants came out of the experiment room, the savants heading up the stairs after the policemen. When a policeman pushed past him, Len followed him back into the experiment room.

  “What’s going on?” Wes complained. “You’ve got no right—”

  “We have a warrant that gives us the right to search the premises and the garage in the back.”

  “But what for?” Wes continued. “You saw the demonstration yesterday—you know what we’re doing here.”

  “I also know the killing started shortly after you moved to town. I know that at least two of your retarded kids match descriptions given to us by witnesses. I know that there’s been bad blood between you and the fraternity down the street. I know Elizabeth was close to Pastor Young, and I know that you two visited Tom Floyd just a few days ago.”

  “Oh no! Did something happen to Mr. Floyd?” Elizabeth said.

  Looking straight at Elizabeth, he said, “Seems like everyone you go visit ends up dead.”

  Elizabeth sagged onto the stairs, her chin on her chest.

  “You can’t suspect Elizabeth!” Wes protested.

  “She’s the only one who has had contact with all four of the people killed. Without her these people have nothing in common.”

  Flustered, Wes stood silently, the sounds of the search going on around them. He knew that suspecting Elizabeth was ridiculous, but he had no alternative explanation to offer. Then Elizabeth lifted her head and spoke.

  “Was Mr. Floyd killed like the others?”
r />   “We’re withholding some details of the crime.”

  “He was, wasn’t he? Then you know there is another connection.”

  “The only thing connecting those old murders and these is you. Pastor Young wasn’t even in the state forty-five years ago.”

  Elizabeth didn’t respond, but Wes knew her mind was spinning.

  “There are a couple of details that I can share. This time the killer took something—a gun. That’s what we’re looking for now. If you have any guns around the house you can save us the trouble by turning them over.”

  “There are no guns here,” Wes said. “We wouldn’t have them in the house with the savants.”

  Out came the officer’s notebook, and he began to write as he spoke. “So your statement is that you have no guns in the house.”

  The policeman’s tone unnerved Wes, and made him doubt himself. He didn’t own a gun, and he had assumed the others didn’t either—but he wasn’t absolutely positive.

  “What other details were you going to share, Officer?” Elizabeth prodded.

  “Just one more. Mrs. Floyd is a strong woman, and kept control of herself. She noticed something peculiar in the room where he was killed. Before they left the house that morning she had just started a new jigsaw puzzle. Someone put the puzzle together while she and her husband were gone. It had to be the killer. She said it was a real difficult puzzle, and would have taken hours to put together.” The officer paused, letting the implications settle in. “Your assistant was pretty good at putting puzzles together the other day.”

  “Gil put the puzzle together, but it’s Archie’s ability. We blended them into one mind, remember?”

  “Archie, that’s the name I was looking for. He’s the one that looks like a clown, right?”

  Reddening with anger, Elizabeth stepped forward. “Don’t you call them names!”

  A scream from the top of the stairs interrupted her. Officer Winston’s hand dropped to his gun as he followed Elizabeth and Wes up the stairs. More screaming, then Yu emerged from his room slapping his head with both hands. Grabbing for his hands, Elizabeth tried to stop him. Yu was too strong, however, and continued to pound at his head, deafening them with his screams. Wes tried to maneuver around to get hold of his other arm, but Yu backed away, pounding himself.

  “We’ve got to stop him, Wes, before he hurts himself,” Elizabeth shouted.

  “I’ll try to grab one of his arms, you go for the other,” Wes replied.

  Shoulder to shoulder they approached Yu in the narrow hall. Just as they reached the door to Yu’s room a policeman stepped out holding Yu’s picture album. Suddenly Yu was driven into a frenzy, pounding himself brutally.

  “Get out of the way!” Elizabeth shouted, pushing past the mystified policeman.

  Now the bathroom door opened and out stepped Ralph, zipping up his pants. Lips puckered into his concerned look, Ralph paused for a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Yu, pining his arms to his side.

  “You shouldn’t do that, Yu, should he Elizabeth? Doesn’t that hurt, Yu? It would hurt me. I’m not squeezing you too tight am I? You’re hurting my ears, Yu.”

  “Don’t let him go!” Wes shouted.

  Speaking soothingly, Elizabeth tried to calm Yu, but his screams only softened to a cry. Then someone held out Yu’s picture album—it was Gil.

  “It’s all right now, Yu. You can put your book back where it belongs,” Gil said. “The policeman won’t go back into your room.”

  Yu’s crying softened to a whimper, then ended with three quick sobs.

  “Yeah, Yu. Stop crying like Gil says. Can I let go of him now, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Ralph.” Then to Gil she said, “Thank you too. It must have been the search of his room that set him off. Gil, check on the others, they’re probably upset too.”

  Yu grabbed his picture album and pushed past them, hurrying into his room.

  Turning, Elizabeth saw Officer Winston at the top of the stairs writing in his notebook. Looking over the top he said, “Not violent, huh?”

  “I should never have let you search their rooms like this. You can’t just toss their things around. Most of them have a rigid need for order. You can’t move their things without threatening the delicate balance that keeps them in touch with our world.”

  As he wrote the policeman said, “Become easily unbalanced when someone touches their belongings! Did I get that right?”

  Elizabeth snatched his pen and flung it down the stairs. “They were fine until you and your storm troopers invaded their privacy.”

  The policeman stared back briefly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out another pen, again speaking as he wrote, “Go to store for new pen.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “I’m doing my job.”

  “Fine, but let me do mine too. I would have helped you search.”

  “Kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”

  Glaring as she left, Elizabeth brushed past the policeman into Yu’s room. Yu was moving nervously about the room, putting away his belongings, which were in disarray. Astonished by the mess the police had made, Elizabeth was equally surprised by Yu’s tolerance. He’d watched his room nearly completely dismantled and was broken only at the end when the picture album his sister had prepared for him had been handled. This wasn’t the Yu who had joined the experiment only a few weeks ago. And what of the others? Daphne had the second-strongest need for order.

  Elizabeth found Daphne in her room, sitting on the floor, surrounded by her possessions. Her bedcovers were tossed off the end of the bed, and the mattress was askew.

  “Daphne, are you all right?”

  Tears in her eyes, Daphne looked up, a broken glass statuette in her hand.

  “It’s broken.”

  “We can glue it, or get you another one.”

  “It was Grammy’s. She can’t give me a new one. She’s dead. She went to bed one night and she never got up.”

  Stunned, Elizabeth listened in silence. Daphne had never shared any of this before—she never volunteered anything.

  “It sat on her nightstand. I think my mother gave it to her. It’s the only thing I have of hers.”

  Angry at the police, and feeling Daphne’s pain, tears formed, and her voice cracked as she spoke. “You loved your grandmother very much, didn’t you?”

  “She never hurt me.”

  “Have I hurt you, Daphne?”

  “No. Ralph neither. That’s why I like him. That’s why I like you too.”

  Now Elizabeth’s tears flowed, and she reached out and touched the back of Daphne’s hand. But Daphne pushed it away, leaned over, and hugged her, crying on her shoulder. They rocked together like that, crying a mix of pain and joy. After a few minutes Daphne separated, and stood, her head down in its usual position. Without speaking, she left, and a minute later the sound of “Amazing Grace” reverberated up the stairs.

  It was a brief breakthrough, but dramatic and powerful. In all her professional life Elizabeth had never seen anything like it. Then Yu came into the room, interrupting her thoughts, quickly pacing the perimeter of the room, and then leaving just as suddenly. Daphne playing, and Yu pacing; she realized they were slipping back—but they had both shown remarkable progress, progress that could be built on. Drying her eyes, she went to look for Luis and Archie. They were unlikely to be as affected by the police search, but today nothing would surprise her.

  26

  CONNECTION

  It’s time we shut down the experiment,” Wes said. “The police won’t be satisfied until we do, and besides, we’ve accomplished most of what we wanted to do.”

  “Except demonstrate the intellectual powers of Frankie,” Shamita reminded him. “We never thoroughly tested that.”

  “No, but there are ten publications in what we have already—and that doesn’t include the patents and spin-offs on the technical developments. The Kellum people will be satisfied and maybe in a year or t
wo we can gather another group of savants together.”

  Disappointed, they sat quietly, thinking about where they would go next. To everyone’s surprise, Elizabeth disagreed.

  “There’s no reason to disband now. Do you think the police will let us leave town? We’re suspects in a series of murders—at least I am. They’ll confiscate the equipment, records, notes—everything. You won’t publish a thing as long as they suspect us. Heaven help us if they put enough circumstantial evidence together to take this to a jury. Your reputations will be irreparably damaged. You won’t get another grant!”

  “Is this some new sort of therapy, Elizabeth?” Len asked. “Point out to depressed people that things are always worse than they seem?”

  “Sorry. I was trying to be realistic.”

  “Elizabeth, you were against this project from the beginning—you nearly stopped it from getting funded,” Wes said. “You should be happy to shut it down.”

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth said, “I was concerned for the welfare of the savants, but things have happened to change my mind. I think we should run the experiment again.”

  The others looked at each other, amazed. Then Karon said, “Yu’s still pacing the house, do you think it’s wise?”

  “I think we should run it without them.”

  Luis was confused. There was a pain in his chest, but it wasn’t any pain he’d felt before. It wasn’t from a hurt, or sickness, and it wasn’t like a side ache from exercising. It was a dull pain that hurt worse when he breathed. He ran through all the words for pain he knew, and none of them fit. Then he tried losing the pain by straightening his room, ordering his room and thoughts at the same time. That helped a little, but when he stopped the hurt came back. He started around his room again, but when he adjusted a picture of Mrs. Winamaki, his foster mother, the pain shot through him. Then he realized what it was. He felt bad—he felt sad. It was a new feeling for him, before he had only felt confused.

  Ordering his room had lost its power, and the dull pain continued. Mrs. Winamaki’s face kept intruding, and his flawless memory re-created her kindnesses in excruciating detail. He worked around the room faster, straightening and restraightening his things. Nothing helped. Then he began on the drawers of his dresser. In the first he found a pen and paper and a new urge swept him. Sitting on his bed he began to write about what he was feeling. It wasn’t a letter at first, but the more he wrote the more he realized these were things that Mrs. Winamaki should hear.