The Newman Resident

by Charles Swift

  Richard looked up at the ceiling, trying to come up with some connection who could help, but he really had no idea about the people Carol knew. “I think the mayor’s office would be interested in hearing from her.”

  “We like the mayor,” the superintendent said. “He serves on our board of directors.”

  “Well, the governor—”

  “Considers us one of his major contributors.”

  “We have many people we could—”

  “Your face is so bloodied, so bruised,” the superintendent said. “With all your fighting, there may have been an accident. Perhaps a fatal one. Our first priority is to protect the residents, you know, and a wild man running throughout the halls is a dangerous threat. It would sadden us to explain it to your wife, but the police would understand. They might even give me a medal.”

  Richard licked his lips, tasting the saltiness from his sweat. “Just bring me my son.”

  “You can have him,” the superintendent said, “if you can find him.”

  “What do you mean?” Richard took a couple of steps toward the door to the control room, but the two nearest hosts moved in closer, stopping him.

  “He’s gone. He ran away.”

  “How could that happen? You’ve got more security here than the White House.”

  The superintendent laughed. “Accidents happen.”

  Richard ran for the door, but two hosts jumped in front of him, and a third came from behind and struck the back of Richard’s legs with a club. Richard fell to the floor, holding his legs.

  “You’re a slow learner, Mr. Carson.”

  Richard struggled to get up. “Just let me go look for my son. I’ll leave you and your beloved Dr. Newman alone.”

  The door to the control room opened and two more hosts stepped in, clubs in hand. The light came on in the control room and Richard could see the superintendent standing behind a counter. A man, probably in his early sixties, passed through the doorway, his eyes slowly moving about the room, inspecting. He was balding on top, but had longish white hair along the sides and back. He wore the same khaki safari uniform as everyone else, but he wore it differently, not like someone playing safari, but like a regal hunter triumphantly returning.

  “This room seems smaller than I remember it,” he said, never looking at Richard. “The speakers aren’t as loud as I would like. And a bit distorted. Do we need larger ones?”

  “I’ll look into it this afternoon,” the superintendent said over the microphone.

  “Good.”

  The man walked toward Richard, still looking off to the sides. The two hosts followed closely behind him.

  “A new coat of paint would be nice,” the man said.

  “Tomorrow,” the superintendent said.

  “Today.”

  There was a pause. “Yes. Today.”

  The man stopped within six feet of Richard, then finally looked at him, directly into his eyes. The man smiled.

  “Mr. Carson, I’m Dr. Newman. I believe you called me ‘the beloved Dr. Newman.’ I like that.” He smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I want my son.”

  “I don’t value small talk much myself, but it can be a way to get to know a person.”

  “Where is he?”

  Dr. Newman began walking around the room, closely guarded by the hosts. “Do you know where you’re standing?”

  “In a torture chamber.”

  “In a dream. My dream. A place where children can come and grow up properly. Where they can be shaped into leaders—without being slowed down by meddlesome, clumsy parents.” Dr. Newman turned to Richard and smiled. “No offense, of course.”

  “Brainwashing doesn’t make children grow up to be leaders.”

  “The term is relative. Leaders are people who can make others do exactly what I tell them to do.”

  “Just let me have my son.”

  “Quite ingenious, don’t you think? We have the technology to create videos with any resident we want in them, even their parents—videos of events that never occurred. With the help of those electrodes, the residents actually create memories they subconsciously draw upon whenever we need them to. They remember their fathers yelling at them when they were leaning to ride a bicycle, even though their fathers were never near them for long at that age. And, to be candid, I don’t think any of our residents know how to ride a bicycle.” He chuckled.

  “Is he still in this building?” Richard asked.

  “Parents mean well, I suppose,” Dr. Newman said, “but what do they know about raising children? They read more about their new car than about child development.” He smiled. “Not to mention a multi-billion dollar industry called ‘education.’ You are talking to the most important CEO in the world, Mr. Carson.”

  Richard took a step toward Dr. Newman, but a host moved forward, club in hand.

  “And you know what’s truly exciting, Mr. Carson? When the residents get older, the video changes. They learn about how much they owe this school. About how much they owe me.”

  “Is he on this floor?”

  “And once the details of funding and governmental approval are out of the way, the Newman Home system will expand throughout the country.”

  “Give me my son.”

  “Would you shut up?” Dr. Newman shouted, turning sharply to Richard. “I am the winner here, you fool. I am a genius and you’re not listening to a word I’m saying. There’s a lot more going on here than one resident and his trouble-making daddy.”

  “He’s not just a resident, he’s my son.”

  “You are most correct,” Dr. Newman said as he looked at the floor. “He’s much more than a typical resident. We always saw he was exceptional. He far exceeded the other residents in testing results at every level. We were counting on him in ways you cannot imagine.”

  “I’d imagine so. It’s not every resident who can become a lion.”

  Dr. Newman stared at Richard, surprised. He looked over at the window to the control room, and the superintendent shrugged. Dr. Newman smiled, then started walking away.

  “What’s the incision?” Richard asked, pointing to behind his ear. “What have you been doing to them?”

  “It’s nothing, really. We tried implanting a small chip in a few residents to see if it enhanced their learning capacity. We’d spent years on that chip, but the increase in capacity was minimal and we removed them. No harm done. We’ve come up with something much, much better.”

  Richard stepped towards the doctor, but two hosts grabbed his arms.

  “What’s the experiment?” Richard asked.

  “You know,” Dr. Newman said, “we didn’t always have a Rehabilitation Room. Everything went fine, in the beginning. But then some of the residents started whining. Always wanting to see mommy and daddy. It was the visits, you know. We should have never allowed so many visits.”

  “It’s torture.”

  “Remember when the government came up with ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’? Well, we’ve established enhanced discipline techniques. Far more humane than when people beat their students with boards and called it paddling. We don’t use them often, and when we do, no one ever gets hurt.”

  “That boy certainly looked harmed,” Richard said.

  “That was nothing. If he had been your resident, you would have seen some real fireworks.”

  Richard lunged forward, trying to grab Dr. Newman by the shoulders. Four hosts grabbed him and threw him down, one striking him across the face with his club. The two hosts closest to Dr. Newman pulled him back, protecting him.

  “What should we do with you, Mr. Carson?”

  “You can kill me, Newman, but that won’t solve your problems. There are other people in the city, just like me. It’s just a matter of time before they call the authorities.”

  Dr. Newman laughed. “What authorities? What authorities do you think don’t know what we’re doing? What authorities want us to stop? We’re manufacturing a generation wh
o will do exactly what they are told to do. Do you honestly believe there is an elected official with any power who doesn’t want that? Do you think the CEO’s don’t want compliant, obedient employees? Eventually, because of me, there really will be no child left behind. At least none worth anything to society.”

  Dr. Newman looked at one of the hosts and pointed to Richard. Richard turned just in time to see a club coming down on his head.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Slowly, Richard’s mind became aware of his body. He was lying on something hard, and sensed a brightness through his eyelids. The spinning in his head began to settle. There was no sound. Gradually, he raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed it. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he opened them. When he moved his hand to the side, all he could see was whiteness. There were no contrasting colors or shadows, and the whiteness seemed so far away, and yet right up against his face as well. He wondered if he’d died.

  He felt a sharp pain at his side. Then another. Someone had just kicked him.

  “Get up,” the host shouted.

  Richard saw three different sets of legs, all wearing khaki slacks. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around, remembering where he was.

  “Mr. Carson,” the superintendent’s voice said over the speakers, “you are a stubborn man. Our time is valuable. Get up!”

  Richard tried standing up. The room started to spin again, and he sat back down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a leg move back, preparing to kick. “I’m getting up,” Richard said. “Give me a minute.” The leg stopped.

  As he was about to stand, he heard over the speakers the sound of a door in the control room opening and closing, then some muffled discussion.

  “What? Impossible!” Dr. Newman’s voice said. Then there was complete silence.

  Richard looked up at the glass wall, but saw only his own reflection. His mouth was bleeding, his head scraped and bruised. When he moved, he felt a sharp pain in his side, like a rib was cracked.

  “Mr. Carson,” Dr. Newman said over the speakers, “you are—”

  The sound was cut off again.

  The hosts looked at one another, not sure what they were supposed to do. Richard tried not to look at his reflection in the glass wall.

  “We have wasted too much time already,” Richard heard Dr. Newman say in the control room. In the background was the sound of a door opening and closing again.

  “Mr. Carson,” the superintendent’s voice said over the speaker, “we wish you the best in finding your son. We regret he somehow ran away.”

  “What?” Richard said.

  “What are you waiting for? Help the gentleman to his feet.”

  Two of the hosts stepped forward, each grabbing one of Richard’s arms and pulling him up.

  “We know how dangerous Manhattan streets can be,” Newman said, “especially for a little child. Would you like our assistance locating him?”

  “No,” Richard said, straining to see something behind the glass wall. “Of course not. What’s going on here?”

  The man in the lab coat who had taken the boy from Richard entered the chamber, carrying a small first aid kit. He poured something from a dark brown bottle onto a cotton ball and started cleaning Richard’s face.

  “What are you doing?” Richard asked.

  “I’m deeply sorry about your son’s running away,” the man said without any hint of expression on his face. He finished bandaging Richard’s forehead. “We tried everything we could to find him, but he’s very clever. Let us help you look.”

  “No,” Richard said. “I’m afraid you’d find him.”

  Two hosts stepped up to Richard and motioned for him to follow, but they were careful not to touch him in any way. The control room was empty; Dr. Newman and the superintendent were nowhere in sight. Richard and the hosts entered the hall and headed for an elevator. They took the elevator to the lobby level, never speaking. When they got to the lobby door, all but one of the hosts turned around and left. The host waited until the others were out of sight, then opened the door for Richard.

  The lobby was empty; not even the usual host sat behind the desk. Richard took a couple steps forward, and the door closed and locked behind him. The monitor on the host’s desk was blank—something Richard had never seen before at Newman.

  Richard inched toward the front door, listening for any sound that might tell him something. When he reached the door, he paused and studied all around it, not knowing what he was looking for, but trying to be alert to anything out of the ordinary. He pulled on the door handle to see if anything would happen. Nothing. He pulled on the door a little more, opening it about a foot, and peered outside.

  “Richard,” Joseph said. “We’re here.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Richard stepped out, shaking Joseph’s hand. He saw Harold and held out his hand, but Rebecca quickly jumped in and hugged him.

  “What about Christopher?” Harold asked.

  “They threw him out on the streets. Said he ran away.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Joseph said. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  “How do we know they’re telling the truth?” Rebecca asked.

  “We don’t,” Joseph said. “But if they are, we don’t have time to waste. Let’s go.”

  Joseph took one side of Richard, and Harold the other, in case he needed help down the steps. For the first time, Richard had a chance to see the scene. He froze for a moment. Dozens of people, people Richard had never seen before, stood along the steps leading down to the waiting sedan. Everyone was looking at Richard, some were crying, but no one said a word.

  Richard slipped on his way down the steps and had to lean on Joseph. When they got to the car, Harold turned around and faced the group of people.

  “Christopher is out on the streets somewhere,” Harold said. Several people gasped, some shook their heads. “So, we’ll go with the secondary plan. Fifteen of you stay here on the steps and another ten at the back entrance. We’ve already got groups assembled at the major media outlets. Joseph’s people are working on getting the search warrant, but until then we can at least make our presence known and keep them as honest as we can. The rest of you, go to your designated neighborhoods and search for Christopher. Joan,” he said to a woman standing near the top of the steps, “would you call ahead to the church and let the others know we’re coming? They’ll know what to do.”

  Harold motioned to Richard to sit in the front seat, but Richard turned to the group. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you all.”

  Harold helped Richard into the front seat, then he and his wife sat in the back. Joseph hurried to the driver’s side and started the car. As they pulled away from the curb, the others on the steps and sidewalk filled in the aisle, leaving no means of going up or down the steps.

  “I have never been so glad to see so many people in my entire life,” Richard said.

  “And we’ve never been so glad to see one,” Harold said. “There’s a few other people we didn’t bring to the school. We’ll stop by and have them help us look.”

  Rebecca explained how Carol had contacted their hotline. She said there had been some delay, since Carol hadn’t known the password, but she’d finally gotten through. Richard had never been more grateful for his wife’s persistence. Rebecca had asked Carol to go home in case Christopher decided to return there. Their system had pulled together all the people who had showed up at Newman, along with many others he hadn’t even seen yet. Some of these people were parents of children at Newman, but many more were simply New Yorkers concerned for years about the direction education was taking and wanted to help. Many didn’t even have children of their own.

  Harold then told Richard about the letter Joseph had written and delivered, claiming they knew Richard was being held against his will in the school, even though they didn’t. The letter threatened that more people would arrive to stand guard around the school while others contacted the media.

 
“Where is the media?” Richard asked. “Why aren’t they all over this story?”

  “Hard to say,” Joseph said. “We’ve got groups putting on pressure, but this is all about business. Not everyone’s been bought, but it’s difficult to know who’s taking the orders and who’s giving them.”

  “To be honest, the fact that they let you out is a miracle in itself,” Harold said from the back seat.

  Richard looked at the copies he’d made on his cell phone, but the files were unreadable because of advanced encrypting. Harold took the phone and copied the files onto his, then sent them to a techie at his firm. Joseph turned on Amsterdam Avenue. Richard knew finding Christopher would be almost impossible, but he kept searching every sidewalk, every storefront, every cafe, hoping to catch some hint of his son.

  They were in familiar territory for Richard now, not far from Columbia. He was about to ask where they were going when they passed Cathedral Parkway and Joseph pulled over. They all climbed out of the car, and Richard looked up the street at a small pizza joint where he and his law school pals used to spend what few bucks they had. Richard walked around the sedan and headed for the pizza place, assuming they were going to meet some people there. Joseph shook his head and pointed behind Richard.

  Richard turned around. The massive, grey Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine loomed before him, as mammoth as some mountain from the Bible. It was Episcopal, his family’s religion, and he’d visited it several times as a student. He watched the church like it might move. Or talk to him.

  “Come on, Richard,” Harold said as he and the others started walking past the Children’s Sculpture Garden, on their ways toward the front doors of the Cathedral.

  “What are we doing here?” Richard asked, following. “We’ve got to find Christopher.”

  “That’s what we’re doing here.”

  They walked up the steps and entered through the door just to the side of the great center doorway. The foyer was dark and felt like a castle, old and permanent. Someone was speaking, but Richard couldn’t make out the words. Harold led the way. Richard’s eyes became better adjusted to the light as they entered the nave, so large and tall and inspiring he almost felt like he was still outside. The air was heavy, almost damp, like he was in some special place of nature—a space created by God rather than people. He began to piece together why they were there.