Killer Genius

by David Archer

  I should check on Eric.

  Denny grabbed his coffee and made his way across the room, reaching up with his free hand to rub some of the tension from his neck. He knocked on the door to Eric's room, letting himself in without waiting for a response.

  "Hey, kid," he whispered. "You awake?"

  Eric rolled over so he could see Denny, but that was his only answer.

  "You still feeling pretty bad?" Denny realized the stupidity of the question as soon as it left his tongue. "Is there anything I can do?"

  “I’m just tired,” Eric said. “So tired.”

  Denny had brought the bed the day before, which was a good thing, because Eric informed everyone that, unless someone carried him, he wasn't going to make it to Summer’s house that night. Summer had gone to the Dollar General store and bought sheets and a blanket, and they put the bed in the middle of the freshly painted room. Eric didn't care.

  Eric didn't care about anything anymore.

  Jade volunteered to sleep on the sofa in Sam's office, insisting that the others needed to get a good night's sleep—particularly Sam and Summer. So, after spending all day on the sofa, Eric got up to use the bathroom and moved to the bed. He was still lying there when Jade woke up, with only minimal changes to his position.

  "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Denny sipped his coffee again, and the action brought a thought to mind. "You want some caffeine? I can make some fresh coffee."

  Eric considered the option for a few seconds, and then he shook his head. "Mr. Prichard already… It has to be stronger." His lips twisted up, and from what Denny could see in the dim light, Eric looked like he was going to cry.

  "Hey," Denny said softly, walking over to the bed and crouching down so they were eye to eye. "Hey, what's the matter, mate?"

  "I can't get up, Mr. Cortlandt." Eric shook his head a bit, tears thick in his voice but absent from his eyes. "I want to get up. I want to do things. I hate this, but… but I just can't get up, and I…"

  Denny listened to make sure Eric was done talking, and then he reached up to put a hand on Eric's shoulder. "It's g—"

  "Don't." Eric flinched away, a guilty expression tainting his features shortly thereafter. "Sorry. I… I don't most of the time mind, but… but sometimes I just don’t like to be touched."

  Denny nodded understandingly and lowered his hand. "Hey, don't worry about it."

  Eric didn't look guilty anymore, but that didn't make Denny feel better; Eric didn't have the ability to maintain any facial expression for more than a moment.

  "I was going to say," Denny began, drawing the talk back toward Eric's emotional state, "that it's going to get better. I know you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel right now, but it's there. I promise you, whiz kid, it is there, and you're gonna make it."

  Eric only sighed, eyes partially closed, body unmoving. "How?"

  "We're gonna get someone in here who can help you figure out what’s wrong. We're gonna get you off some of those pills, maybe put you on some new ones, and we'll keep learning and trying new things until we find something that works." Denny reached out to pat Eric on the shoulder but stopped himself. "It might take a while, but everything will be okay in the end."

  Eric blinked sluggishly, sniffed, and managed brief eye contact. "Can you… tell me that again?"

  Denny nodded, speaking with every ounce of sincerity he had in him. "Whiz kid, you gotta listen to me. It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."

  Eric screwed his eyes shut, emotion flickering across his face before disappearing.

  "No matter what, it's going to be okay. You hear me, whiz kid?"

  Eric nodded weakly, eyes still closed.

  "Come on, man, I wanna hear you say it." Denny leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. "C'mon, whiz kid, say it's going to be okay."

  Eric nodded again, but he didn't say anything.

  "Come on, Eric," Denny put his hands on the edge of the mattress, getting as close as he could without actually touching Eric. "Come on, say it for me. Tell me everything is gonna be okay."

  Eric took a deep breath. "It is."

  "No, no, I want you to say it."

  "Everything… is gonna be okay."

  "Good, say it again."

  "Everything is gonna be okay."

  "Everything is gonna be okay, mate."

  "Everything is gonna be okay."

  "You got it, lad." Denny smiled on the off chance Eric opened his eyes.

  Eric lay very still for a moment, he took another deep breath, and his voice was shakier when he spoke again. "I… I don't want to be here anymore, Mr. Cortlandt. Could I… could I go home with you? Instead of you staying here?"

  "Yeah, Eric, you can come home with me." Denny gestured vaguely to the conference room. "I have a few more things to look into, a couple papers to file, and then we can go."

  Eric gave a slight nod. "I… I'll just be here."

  Denny looked at Eric with sympathy in his eyes, and then he left the room to finish up work, frustrated by his lack of ability to do something.

  Denny was a fixer. He always had been, he probably always would be. He took care of the people he cared about, and the best way to take care of someone was to fix their problems.

  Unfortunately, too many problems in the world were unfixable; or they could be fixed, but Denny didn't have the tools or know-how to do it. It was an infuriating predicament to be trapped in, and it appeared Eric liked to put Denny in it.

  Not that it was Eric's fault. Denny would never blame Eric.

  "Hey, whiz kid. Ready to go?"

  Eric inhaled deeply and sat up. He got his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, his movements slow and disjointed.

  "You alright? You need help?"

  Eric kicked his feet into his shoes, only partially successful. "I’m okay," he said listlessly.

  Denny doubted the truthfulness of the statement, but he let it slide, choosing instead to back out of the doorway. He didn't know whether or not Eric was still in a no-touching phase, and the kid looked so miserable, Denny didn't want to risk anything.

  "Can I lean on you?" Eric almost made it to the elevator before he was forced to give in.

  "Sure, mate." Denny figured he couldn't support Eric without touching him, so he put his arm around Eric's shoulders and put Eric's arm around himself. "Is that alright?"

  Eric gave a tired nod, feet scuffing with every step he took, shoes never fully leaving the ground. "Can you tell me again?"

  Denny hit the appropriate button to summon the elevator, not missing the way Eric stared blankly at it. He looked like he was zoning out, but Denny knew he wasn't.

  "Everything is going to be okay, whiz kid. I know it, Sam knows it, Darren, Summer, Jade—we all know it. It's a fact."

  Eric let Denny lead him into the elevator, head hanging low. "It's so hard…"

  "What is?" Denny got them both out of the elevator and began toward the parking garage.

  "Everything." Eric walked at a painfully slow pace, but Denny didn't rush him. "Walking, talking, thinking… smiling, frowning… standing, moving…"

  "I know, kid."

  Eric shook his head. "No, you don't." Despite the words, he didn't sound angry. "No one understands until they've been there, and… and there aren't enough words in any language to explain this feeling."

  Denny opened the passenger side door, and Eric collapsed into the seat. "If you feel up to it, you can keep talking, kid. It might help."

  Eric gave a weary nod and waited until Denny closed his door, grabbing at his seatbelt and letting his head rest against the glass.

  Denny walked around the car and got in, shoving his keys into the ignition and wasting no time in pulling out. He wanted to get Eric into a bed as soon as possible.

  "I don't remember what I was saying…"

  "You were talking about how you feel right now," Denny answered, giving Eric his full attention, despite having to keep his eyes on the
road. "You said you can't explain it, but you could try. I'll listen."

  Eric stared blankly at the glove box handle. "It's… it's like your brain slows down. Someone asks a question, and you answer it in your head, but it takes forever to get the words out. Everything seems to be moving so fast, and you want to keep up with it, but you can't." He took a deep breath and shook his head, letting out a sigh. "Your brain keeps trying to send signals to your body, but your body just… doesn't seem to understand."

  Denny nodded slowly, glancing over from time to time so Eric knew he was still listening.

  "I can't make my feet leave the ground. I can't make my head turn when I want to look at someone. I can't make my tongue form words when I have something to say." Eric stopped to take a few breaths, the exertion of talk steadily overwhelming him. "I tell my eyes to look at something, to focus, and they never get the message." He sniffed and wiped his nose. "And I know how bad the next part is gonna be, and I…"

  Denny frowned. "Next part?"

  "I know if I stay here too long… if I don't get better… my brain will stop trying. It won't try to make me look or think or talk. It'll just… sleep. You think I'm spending a lot of time sleeping now, but just wait. You haven't seen anything." Eric let out a bitter sort of a laugh, more air than noise, and then he fell silent.

  Denny didn't know what he was supposed to say. Eric had no problem asking Denny to affirm him, and he didn't do that. He just stopped, and Denny felt like he was supposed to do something, but he had no idea what.

  "Whiz kid…"

  "Why don't you call me Eric anymore?"

  Denny blinked. "Uh, well, it’s just me." He shrugged. "Whiz kid." He paused, frowning a bit. "Does it bother you?"

  Eric shook his head, and for the first time in a long time, there was a faint smile on his lips. "No. I like it."

  Denny smiled back, nudging Eric on the arm. "Hey, look at that. You're already doing better."

  But as he said the words, Denny felt something turn in his stomach. Nothing too strong or unnerving, just a sense that something was off. Eric was talking a little too much, a little too coherently, and he was wearing a few too many facial expressions; despite being collapsed against the window, his eyes were starting to follow movement beyond the glass. He had gone from hardly speaking at all to engaging in lengthy talk.

  He's probably just feeling a bit better now that he's out of the office.

  But Denny didn't like that explanation, and he couldn't pretend he didn't notice when Eric raised his hand to his mouth and chewed on his nails.

  It doesn't matter. He's feeling better. That's all that matters.

  His gut twisted again.

  * * *

  Denny felt around in the dark for his phone, using it to check the time and letting out a sigh when he realized he had only been asleep for two hours. It's gonna be one of those nights, isn't it?

  Sighing, he kicked off the sheets and got up, shuffling down the hall toward the kitchen and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Shouldn't have had that last cup of coffee. It had felt so necessary when there was still work to do, but in retrospect, he would have been better off without it.

  Denny froze, all thoughts of sleep vanishing when he saw Eric sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.

  "I was just about to make myself a hot cocoa. You want some, too?"

  Eric looked up, blinked, and offered a slight nod. "That would be nice, thank you."

  Denny gave him a kind smile and got to his feet. "You can sleep in my bed tonight. It's big enough for the both of us. I'll be back in, like, five minutes, alright?"

  Eric took another deep breath and nodded, slowly getting to his feet. He tested the waters a bit, and when he saw his legs could support him, he ambled down the short hall to Denny's bedroom.

  He can walk on his own, he's coherent, he's talking, and he's on the verge of a panic attack. Denny sighed, continuing to the kitchen. He took something.

  He must have gotten hold of his meds while we were still at the office, maybe… five minutes after I talked to him. We were in the car when it began to kick in, but I went to bed before it could really take effect. Denny prepared the hot chocolate as he thought, his hands going through the motions automatically. It worked, but it worked too well. He's able to manage, but he's anxious.

  It didn't seem like that bad of a trade on the surface, but Denny knew it could spiral out of control very quickly. Even if it didn't, once the Dexedrine wore off, Eric's body would be even more exhausted than it had been before.

  Between last night and today, he got eighteen hours of sleep, and he's still exhausted. I'm sure taking something that forces his body to stay awake and in motion doesn't help with that.

  Denny let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

  Now what?

  Picking up the drinks, Denny returned to his bedroom, trying to figure out how to proceed. He handed Eric his drink and then sat on the bed, leaning back against the wall, before taking a sip of his own and staring at the one opposite.

  Picking a fight wouldn’t help, but he couldn't ignore it. He can just deny it, and I can't prove a thing, but I can’t ignore it. Maybe the trade-off really isn't that bad, but I can’t ignore it. If he thinks he can get away with it, he might be sloppier next time.

  No. No, no, no.

  Denny would not think of Eric like a killer. He refused.

  Denny finished his hot chocolate and set the empty glass on the nightstand, settling down in the sheets with a contented sigh. He listened to Eric's somewhat labored breathing, watched his shaking hands grip the cup, and he finally decided what to say.

  "Kid, you made a stupid mistake tonight."

  Eric tensed up, holding his breath.

  "But everything is still gonna be okay."

  Eric remained still and silent, but he began to breathe again, slowly, cautiously.

  Denny left it at that and rolled onto his side, adjusting his pillow and closing his eyes.

  "Goodnight, whiz kid."

  "Goodnight, Mr. Cortlandt." Pause. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome, whiz kid."

  * * *

  "Tomorrow's the big day." Summer crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorway to Sam's office. "You have a meeting, right?"

  Sam nodded, not looking up from his paperwork. "Yes, but I'll be back in time to meet with Dr. Raymonds and the team."

  Summer nodded and turned to look at Darren, nodding her head in his direction. "You'll be here, right?"

  Darren looked up, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah. Eric and the doc will be alone in this office, but I'll be right outside." He smirked. "I have a perfect vantage point from the coffee maker."

  Summer smiled briefly and then stepped inside, shutting the door behind her just to be safe. "Sam, there are some records that are going to be sent over sometime this week, and I'd like you to go over them with me. I just have a couple questions, since you put me in charge of this whole thing with Eric."

  Sam looked up at that, gesturing across the room with his pen. "It's alright, Darren knows. He was helping me with the redacted files."

  "Got it." Summer gave a thumbs up. "I got in touch with an old friend in the government office that gives them their funding, and she said she could get me any North Forest Hospital files that were in the general information databases without raising any flags. I don't know if it will be helpful, but I thought there might be something hiding in plain sight. Maybe we can figure something out based on turnover rates or expenditures or something, I don't know. It's all I have for now."

  Darren snorted. "It's more than we had."

  Sam tapped his pen on the edge of his desk, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  Seconds passed in silence, and then Summer pressed.

  "You gonna share?"

  Sam smiled lightly and shook his head. "I was just thinking about how long it would take for your friend to get us files, and then I thought about how nice it would be if we had our own technica
l analyst."

  Darren threw his hands up. "We got a government liaison, a private jet, and a kid; are you ever satisfied?"

  Summer smiled at the banter. "Well, you know Sam intends to take over the world, right?"

  "Hey, now." Sam smiled to himself and began working on his report again. "Summer, call Indie. If anybody can get us the files we really need, she can.”

  “You mean you haven’t gotten her started on it already?” Summer asked.

  Sam grinned at her. “I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask, yet,” he said. “On the other hand, I’m beginning to think we might have an actual case against NFH. If anyone can get us that kind of information, she can.”

  TWELVE

  "I don't really know where to begin, but I'm glad you called me. With the cocktail of medications this boy is on, it's no wonder he can't manage in the field. I don't know how he's managing at all, to be perfectly honest."

  Darren pursed his lips. "Yeah, well… he actually isn't managing. So, what do we do?"

  "It seems to me North Forest Hospital has been medicating the effects of the medicine they put him on. I don't know why they would do that, but it's been known to happen. Usually not to this extent, but…" Dr. Raymonds appeared disgusted for a moment, but then he shook it off. "Well, that is neither here nor there."

  Sam, who was seated next to Raymonds, shook his head and leaned on the table a bit. "What do you mean, that they were medicating the medicine?"

  "Well, let me see, here." Raymonds pulled his glasses from his breast pocket and slipped them on, looking over his notes. "Hmm."

  Dr. Alphonso Raymonds. He appeared to be a nice gentleman—somewhere in his late fifties, white, with brown eyes and a bald head—and Darren had no qualms about letting him talk to Eric. From the get-go, Raymonds had been frank but kind, and his patience when dealing with Eric was exemplary. Darren liked him, which was good, because if Darren didn't like someone, there was no way they would be coming anywhere near Eric.

  "Here." Dr. Raymonds adjusted his glasses. "He had a few major depressive episodes when he was a teenager, and they put him on Prozac at fourteen."