by Eric Bernt
A short while later, Eddie put his pencil down and quickly turned on his laptop supercomputer, which he had dubbed the Hummer because of the DRONE the machine’s cooling fan produced whenever it was left on for an extended period of time. Fast, it was. Quiet, it was not. Not by Eddie’s standards, anyway. But right now, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his calculations would prove correct, and that the Hummer would finally be able to interpret the inaudible recordings made by the echo-box microsatellites.
CHAPTER 20
Parking Lot, Harmony House, May 23, 7:02 a.m.
Skylar pulled into the lot and quickly walked up the stairs to her small office on the second floor. The desk was utilitarian, and was probably older than she was. A scuffed Formica top with a metal frame. The sliding drawers were a little rusty, but she didn’t have much use for them, anyway. The only decoration she’d brought in so far was a photograph that sat on her desk. The five-by-seven walnut frame contained her favorite image of her and Jacob, taken while she was still at Harvard.
Along one of the walls were two dozen storage boxes containing materials related to Eddie. No other patient in the facility had more than three boxes of materials, but no other resident produced anywhere close to the volume of papers Eddie did. She had decided to start at the beginning, in the oldest box, with the first communication Dr. Fenton had received about Edward Parks. The single-page letter was from Eddie’s child psychiatrist in Philadelphia, Dr. Gordon Tuffli. The doctor was part of Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, which, while respected within the medical community, had the misfortune of possessing the initials CHOP. How they ever got a single parent to take a child for treatment at CHOP left something to the imagination.
Tuffli stated that he had never once, in his twenty-seven years of practice, encountered a child like Eddie, who was eight at the time. Autism was diagnosed much less frequently in those days, and Asperger’s had only recently been reintroduced into the lexicon. What little literature there was included nothing about how to properly deal with a special-education child whose IQ was within spitting distance of two hundred. The boy was doing calculus, but couldn’t tie his shoes. He had completed a Rubik’s Cube in less than two minutes the first time he saw one, but couldn’t look another human being in the eye. Any type of physical contact instantly triggered a screaming rage, and the boy’s only method for expressing frustration was to slap himself in the face, or worse. His father, Victor Parks, had claimed to Dr. Tuffli that Eddie once slapped himself so many times that he had to take the boy to the emergency room. The medical staff doubted the father’s story until something in the ER triggered the reaction in the boy, and Victor was cleared of suspicion.
Little Eddie Parks was a genius savant; there was no doubt about it. The only question was what to do with him. Every teacher or aide who attempted to help him quickly realized how ill-equipped they were for the task. No one on the staff at CHOP had any idea, either. Dr. Tuffli wrote to Fenton hoping that he might know what to do with the boy.
Skylar could only imagine Fenton licking his chops as he read this letter.
Fenton had then commenced his typically thorough due diligence on the boy, retrieving every available medical record going back to Eddie’s birth, which was an emergency C-section. It wasn’t clear from the records exactly what went wrong during the delivery, but Michelle Parks lost a tremendous amount of blood and never recovered. Dr. Wolfgang Oelkers declared her dead when her son was forty-three minutes old. She never got to see her beautiful and unique baby boy. It took his father almost three days before he would hold his son.
What surprised Skylar most was the extent of Dr. Fenton’s research into Eddie’s past. Fenton left no stone unturned when it came to his examination of this wonder child. He corresponded with or interviewed every doctor, teacher, and therapist who had ever come in contact with the boy. But the research didn’t stop there. Fenton examined every record he could find about the father: his employment, his health, his academic and credit files. Skylar didn’t understand what these things had to do with a potential patient. It was clearly an invasion of privacy, but Fenton obviously had no trouble gathering the information, so somebody must have approved the release of the data.
It never occurred to Skylar that he might be as thorough with his hires as he was with his patients.
Breakfast in Harmony House was served at seven thirty, so Skylar went to look for Eddie there. Besides, she was in dire need of coffee. While a double-shot nonfat Starbucks latte might have been enough to get her through the drive to Woodbury, it certainly wasn’t enough to keep her going through the morning. But when she arrived in the cafeteria, there was no sign of Eddie. That was strange, she thought. People with Asperger’s never deviated from their routines.
Coffee in hand, she walked toward Eddie’s room. Passing Fenton’s office, she noticed a silhouette sitting in a chair next to Eddie’s door. It was Nurse Gloria, who was reading the latest issue of People magazine. Skylar quickened her step. Hoping not to disturb Eddie, she whispered, “Is everything okay?”
Gloria whispered reassuringly, “Everything’s fine.”
“Why are you here?”
“To make sure it stays that way.” She turned back to her magazine article about some reality-show contestant’s recent weight loss after pregnancy. “Dr. Fenton hasn’t told you about Eddie’s sessions, has he?”
He hadn’t. “I’m still getting up to speed.” Skylar began to doubt whether starting at the beginning was the right way to study Eddie’s history. She wondered if she should have started with the most recent reports and worked her way backward, so that she would be better prepared for something like this.
“He gets a certain kind of idea in his head, and wild elephants can’t stop him from seeing it through. Sometimes it only lasts a few minutes, but sometimes hours, or even days. We used to try to force him to rest, or eat, or use the bathroom when it happened, but that only worked against us. He once snapped at a nurse trying to make him eat and smashed a plate over her head, knocking the poor thing unconscious. Another time he went catatonic on us for a week. So now, we just let him go until his engine runs out.”
“How does it end?”
“Sometimes good. Sometimes not so good.”
“Like yesterday?”
“Exactly like yesterday. Only worse.”
Skylar glanced at the door, desperately curious to know what was going on behind it.
“You can go in if you want.”
Skylar looked surprised. “You sure?”
“Knock first. If he doesn’t want you to come in, he’ll tell you. But more than likely, he won’t respond at all, because the boy is just gone. Trust me.”
Skylar approached the door to room 237 with caution. She looked down at her feet, surprised that Eddie wasn’t already talking to her as he had done the other times she approached his door. She knocked ever so quietly, certain there would be a response.
But there was none.
“Told you.” Nurse Gloria returned to her magazine.
Skylar spoke softly to the door. “Eddie, I would like to come in. Would that be all right?” Again, there was no answer, so she let herself in. She entered the room cautiously.
Sitting at his desk, Eddie had his back to her. He was typing on his laptop and didn’t look up or acknowledge her in any way. His hands were moving so quickly around the computer’s keyboard that they were a blur. She sat down on the bed next to him, watching him with wonder. “You sure can type fast.”
He gave no response.
“Eddie, can you hear me?”
He nodded almost imperceptibly, but it was hard to tell if he was responding to her or to something else. His lips moved ever so slightly.
She leaned in closer, trying to hear what he was saying.
“Dr. Fenton!” He screamed the doctor’s name so loudly it hurt Skylar’s ears. She winced as he snapped the laptop closed. He picked it up, along with the echo box, and raced out the door.
Skylar went after him. Nurse Gloria followed close behind. “What the hell did you do to him?”
“Nothing. All I did was sit down next to him. You said I could go in.”
“I didn’t say to upset him, now did I?” They both followed him down the hallway, where he made a beeline toward Dr. Fenton’s office.
“Dr. Fenton, I did it! Dr. Fenton!”
The first time Dr. Fenton’s secretary, Stephen Millard, had experienced Eddie bursting into the foyer of Dr. Fenton’s office was seven years ago. Stephen was, naturally, alarmed, and proceeded to physically block Eddie’s path while tersely explaining that patients were not allowed to enter the office without an appointment. Eddie had started screaming the moment Stephen touched him. When Eddie started slapping himself, he dropped the echo box, which crashed to the floor. The resulting damage cost upward of $67,000 to repair.
From that point on, Stephen was instructed not to intervene when Eddie rushed into the foyer, like he did now. Stephen managed to remain pleasant and nonconfrontational. “Hello, Eddie.”
“Dr. Fenton, I did it! Dr. Fenton!” Eddie didn’t even acknowledge Stephen as he continued into Fenton’s office, where the doctor was on the phone.
“I’ll have to call you back.” Fenton hung up the phone and acted pleased to see Eddie. “Well, this is certainly wonderful news.”
“I know it’s going to work! I know it!” He closed the door behind him because it would facilitate acoustic mapping. At least, it was supposed to. He placed the echo box on Fenton’s coffee table and connected the laptop to it.
“My boy, I never had any doubt.”
Eddie made his BUZZER sound without looking up as he continued typing instructions into his computer. “Not true. Definitely not.”
Fenton smiled. “Well, almost never.”
Eddie held his index finger above the “Return” key on the keyboard as he counted down like he’d heard mission-control officers on TV do before launching a space shuttle. “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.” He pressed the key, activating the device. The sides of the echo box sprang open, revealing the eight spherical microphones. The microsatellites began to move in coordinated fashion, mapping the room.
Dr. Fenton joined his prized patient as he watched the computer screen. A three-dimensional image of the physical space began to slowly appear on the screen. A progress bar appeared below the image. It read: Six percent complete, then, seven. This was good, thought Dr. Fenton. Very good. The first tangible progress in months. His eyes widened with expectation.
Eddie moved back and forth between watching the movement of the microsatellites and watching the image on the screen. “Come on, come on, come on, come on.”
Nine percent complete. Ten percent. Their eyes were glued to the counter. Eleven percent. Twelve. But thirteen came slower. And fourteen slower than that.
“No . . . no . . . no . . .” Panic rose in Eddie’s voice. The fuse was lit inside him. The dynamite in his head was about to go off.
Fenton moved right next to Eddie and spoke reassuringly. “Just give it some time, Eddie. It’s working.”
“No it’s not!” He pointed to the counter, which remained stuck at fourteen. The rendering of the three-dimensional image had stopped.
The bloodcurdling scream then let out by Eddie shook Skylar to her bones. It sounded like a dying animal. The tone was guttural. Deep. And terrifying.
Stephen looked on smugly from his desk as Nurse Gloria and Skylar burst through the door to Fenton’s office.
Fenton hovered over the echo box, using his body to shield it from Eddie’s tantrum. The doctor was not about to risk any damage to the device, which was clearly his priority. Eddie spun around in circles, flailing wickedly at himself. These weren’t just slaps. He was hitting himself as hard as he could. Punching. Gouging. Trying to draw blood. Even tear his own flesh.
It took both Skylar and Gloria to hold him down. They crashed atop him as he fell to the floor. The veteran nurse shouted instructions to the young doctor as her head and other body parts got in the way of Eddie hitting himself. “Grab his arm!”
“I’m trying!”
With the majority of her body weight lying on Eddie’s chest, Gloria used her girth to still his left arm, and then helped Skylar hold his right.
Eddie finally stopped fighting and slowly caught his breath. The nurse climbed off him, noticing that Skylar’s fists were turning white from clenching around his arm. “You can let go now. Once the fight leaves him, it don’t come back.”
Skylar released Eddie’s arm. Just as Nurse Gloria had predicted, he remained calm. Skylar looked deeply into his helpless eyes and caressed his forehead, saying, “It’s okay, Eddie. I’m here.”
Nurse Gloria was just about ready to take issue, thinking, What the hell do you mean, you’re here? Who the hell are you? But she decided to bite her tongue after watching Eddie’s reaction. He was looking into the young doctor’s eyes. Edward Parks didn’t look anyone in the eyes, but here he was, looking into the eyes of this new princess doctor. What the hell did she know? What spell had she cast?
The veteran nurse did not know, but she was certainly going to find out, both out of personal curiosity and because she was secretly being paid handsomely to do so.
CHAPTER 21
Eddie’s Room, Harmony House, May 23, 8:42 a.m.
As Skylar and Nurse Gloria escorted him back to his room, all Eddie kept repeating was, “I’m tired.”
“We’ll get you to bed.” Skylar’s voice continued to have its soothing effect on him. They saw his face relax.
“I’m tired.”
Nurse Gloria tried her best to reassure him, too. “You let me know if you want something to help you sleep.”
His face was once again tense. “I’m tired.”
They helped him into his Scooby-Doo pajamas, then tucked him between his Batman sheets. Gloria pulled the blinds as Skylar sat next to him. “Would you like me to stay with you for a few minutes?”
He nodded. Gloria managed to hide her growing curiosity as she moved toward the door. “I’ll have a special meal ready for you in case you get hungry.”
“Thanks, Nurse Gloria.” He kept his eyes on the ceiling as the nurse closed the door behind her.
“She’s a very good nurse.” Skylar meant it sincerely.
“Yes, she is.”
“How long has she worked here?”
“Nine years, two months, twenty-nine days.”
“But who’s counting, right?”
“I am always counting.”
“Yes, you are.”
His eyelids grew heavy, slowly starting to close. “Nurse Gloria is nice, but I don’t think she’s as nice as you are, Skylar.”
She smiled. “Wait until you get to know me better.”
“Why should I wait?”
“When you get to know me better, I think you’ll change your mind.”
“I think you’re wrong.” And with that, his eyes closed, and Eddie drifted off to much-needed sleep. Skylar sat there for another minute, watching him curl into a fetal position. So peaceful. So innocent. So vulnerable.
He reminded Skylar of her little brother, Christopher. He had thrown a similar tantrum the day she told him she was leaving for college. Perhaps the memory wouldn’t be quite so searing if he hadn’t hanged himself three days later. While depression and other psychological issues were common among people with autism, it was rare for someone on the spectrum to commit suicide. Christopher was the outlier.
And Skylar would never forgive herself for it.
CHAPTER 22
Gloria Pruitt’s House, Parsippany, New Jersey, May 23, 7:17 p.m.
The text message that Nurse Gloria sent that night was brief. Those were her instructions. The only times she sent such messages were after one of Eddie’s “sessions,” or anytime there was a development worth relating, particularly regarding the echo box. She was also supposed to send messages involving advancements made by
any other patient in Harmony House, but Eddie was the primary subject of her clandestine employer’s interest.
New EP session. No improvement. Box still no go. The only device Gloria sent such messages from was identical to the one now in the possession of the fine senator from the state of Indiana. Gloria’s phone was updated annually, as the senator’s would be. Each New Year’s Day, she would awaken to find her current device had been removed from her duplex and a new one in its spot. It was a bit disconcerting the first time it happened. There was nothing else out of place, and absolutely no sign of any breaking or entering. Just the new phone. She had never given her clandestine employer a key to her residence. But they had access. And they wanted her to know they did. It was just a little reminder, not that she needed one. She was truly grateful for all they had done for her, including her current position, and intended to remain loyal to the end.
Gloria first met them when she was still working at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, located within a stone’s throw from the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. This was just over twelve years and three months ago. She’d had a fine, if unspectacular, nursing career spanning nearly twenty years, notable only for its lack of complaints against her. There were absolutely none. Zero. Which almost seemed impossible, and, in fact, was. There were a number of performance-related issues in her thick employment folder. Some were justified, like when she misread the dosage for a cardiac patient and accidentally put him into a coma for seventeen days. But most were somebody else’s fault. Gloria had proven herself ill adept at the political aspect of nursing, and often found herself the target of a colleague or superior seeking to lay the blame on somebody else. Basically, she was an innocent, and innocents often got chewed up and spat out.
Then, one day, all that changed.
That day began in a nondescript office building in Sandy Hook, New Jersey, where she and her then-seventeen-year-old son, Cornell, had been invited to a scholarship interview. They had applied for so many different scholarships that year neither could remember the specifics of this one. Gloria and Cornell only knew two things: it was sponsored by the Commonwealth Equal Opportunity Trust, whatever that was; and, more importantly, this was a full ride: tuition, room, and board. The whole enchilada. Money, money, money.