Charcot's Genius

by M. C. Soutter

  Gooding’s office door was open, which Watts found strange. Regular office hours didn’t usually go this late into the day for teachers. “Afternoon, Mr. Gooding,” Watts began. “I wonder if I could – ”

  “Now what?”

  Watts paused, started again. “This won’t take long. I just have a few questions.”

  Gooding head was resting in his hands. He looked up slowly. “Can it wait? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my mentor was found dead this morning.”

  Watts nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Really?” Gooding’s expression turned superior. “Didn’t realize murder investigations fell under campus security’s jurisdiction.”

  Watts sighed.

  Jerk.

  “We handle lots of things,” Watts said calmly. “But my questions are more about you than your mentor.”

  “All the more reason to postpone. I have a lot of paperwork that needs – ”

  “It’s about your prior.”

  Gooding froze, and his face went pale. Watts thought he looked like a man who had just been kicked in the shins.

  “Would you mind closing the door?” Gooding said, so quietly that Watts could barely hear him.

  “Not at all.” The security officer swung the heavy door shut without turning around.

  “Now then,” Gooding said, his voice shaking. “I must have misunderstood you.”

  “Your prior conviction, sir. I believe it was something – ”

  “No!” Gooding sputtered, leaping up from his chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  Watts almost laughed. He wouldn’t be needing any special interrogation techniques here. “I think you do know,” he said evenly. “And in case you’re wondering, these situations fall squarely under campus security’s jurisdiction.”

  Gooding waited a beat before answering. Then he collapsed back into his chair. “How did you – ?”

  “Changing your name doesn’t work anymore,” Watts said. “Not these days.”

  Gooding swore under his breath. “Useless…” he muttered. Then he looked up quickly. “This has nothing to do with Carlisle,” he said. “I would never – ”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Watts’ eyes narrowed. “I found your record. What would stop a smart man like Professor Carlisle from digging it up? And if he had leverage over you…” Watts shook his head. “I don’t know what I would do in your shoes, if someone threatened to leak that kind of information about me.”

  Gooding’s face turned purple. “Carlisle did not find out!” he yelled. “No one found out!”

  Watts shook his head. “Why should I believe that? Carlisle made the discovery about you, and you had to keep it quiet to hold on to your job. It’s a simple explanation, and it makes you a perfect candidate for the murder.”

  “Christ,” Gooding whispered to himself. “I should have just – ” He took a breath, but it didn’t seem to help him. “I knew someone would get wind of this bullshit, and then they’d start making assumptions.” He glared at Watts. “Just like you’re doing right now.”

  Watts shrugged. “Set me straight. Show me the flaw in my argument.”

  “Fine. We’ll start simple: did you find the terms of my conviction? Or just the rap sheet?”

  “Just the sheet.”

  Gooding looked disgusted. “Of course. You want to hear the rest of the story?”

  Watts nodded, and Gooding gestured to the chair opposite the desk.

  “Have a seat.”

  4

  Outside Silman Hall, Garrett took a moment to walk around in the fresh air. He waited until he could see Melissa’s face beginning to clear, and then he made his way back to the group. He was shaking his head in frustration. “What just happened? I couldn’t get – ” He grimaced as an especially strong wave of headache pain hit him. He had felt good for five minutes after his encounter with Melissa, but that relief was leaving him fast. “ – couldn’t get a thing out of that guy.”

  Melissa put one hand up, motioning for Garrett to stay away. She continued holding onto Lea for support. “I don’t know,” she said. “But keep your distance for another minute, please. You’re a walking hormone factory, and I’m dizzy enough as it is.”

  “Somebody’s losing his magic, I guess,” Jason said with a grin.

  Lea shook her head. “No,” she said. “Garrett’s still… attractive. He – ”

  “I know, I know” Jason said, sounding defeated. “Garrett’s still the sexiest man alive.”

  “It’s not Garrett,” Melissa said sharply. “It’s Gooding. Didn’t you hear Lea when we were inside? There’s something weird about that guy.”

  She paused and put a knuckle to her lips, as if to reassure herself with the scent of her own skin. “I couldn’t zero in on him either. He smelled like… nothing. And he didn’t – ”

  “No,” Garrett interrupted. “He was wearing cologne, wasn’t he? Even I smelled it.”

  “That’s not what I mean. That’s just surface stuff.” Melissa frowned, remembering the teacher’s scents. “I’m talking about the elemental things. What was underneath. His sweat. It was strange. Really strange. He didn’t smell like a man.”

  Jason gave her a puzzled look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Melissa sighed. “I don’t know. He’s too clean, somehow. It’s like smelling…” She stopped and squinted into the distance, as if the answer might come walking around a corner. Then, suddenly, she opened her eyes wide. She had the expression of someone who has finally remembered the name of an old friend. “He smelled like a boy,” she said at last.

  Garrett looked puzzled. “I thought you just said he didn’t smell like a guy.”

  “Didn’t smell like a man,” Melissa corrected.

  “Man. Boy.” Garrett shrugged. “What – ” He winced again, and seemed almost to choke on the pain. “ – difference does it make?”

  She winked at him, and for just a moment Garrett completely forgot the terrible pressure building up behind his eyes. She really was a beautiful girl.

  “It makes all the difference in the world,” Melissa said with a grin.

  5

  Officer Watts made himself comfortable in the large chair opposite Gooding’s desk. “So,” he said, “I’ve been trying to figure this out ever since I found that file of yours. How does a convicted child molester get a job at an Ivy League College?”

  Gooding bristled. “I’m not – ” He bit his lip and closed his eyes. “I don’t molest children,” he said. “It was ruled ‘statutory rape,’ and I think you’d agree if you saw the girl. She looked older. Much older.”

  “Fine. How does a convicted rapist get a job at an Ivy League College, then?”

  “Will you stop calling me – ” Gooding forced his mouth shut. With another visible effort at control, he began again. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  Watts held his hands out like an indulgent father.

  The floor is yours.

  “It was a mistake,” Gooding said slowly. “That’s all. I was young, but yes, she was younger.” He laced his fingers together on the desk. “The judge, thank God, was reasonable. Anyone would have been. Even the district attorney was sympathetic. So they let me plead out.”

  “Keep going.”

  “I was sentenced to take Depo-Provera injections indefinitely. In return, the state agreed to seal the record once I had served my sentence.”

  Watts sat forward “Depo-who?”

  “Provera. It’s a drug. Hormone therapy.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “Usually it’s for preventing unwanted pregnancies. But that’s when it’s taken by a woman, as a birth control device.”

  “And when taken by a man?”

  “It induces chemical castration.”

  Watts’ eyes opened a little wider.

  “Your body stops producing testosterone,” Gooding went on. He smiled humorlessly. “I haven’t had sex in over five years. I still cou
ld – all the equipment works, I think – but I never feel like it anymore.”

  Deep lines of suspicion appeared on Watts’ forehead. “Sounds a little convenient. A drug can turn you into a sexless robot? Just like that?”

  “It’s not that simple. Depo-Provera causes exhaustion and depression in men. All the energy – all the life – gets sucked right out of you. The first few months are terrible, and you never really get used to it. It’s not natural.”

  Watts was silent for a moment. “I don’t see how this changes anything,” he said. “If Carlisle was the first one to discover your little secret, then you still might have decided to get rid of him.”

  Gooding put a hand to his forehead. “You’re not listening. I’m not a sexual predator, and I’ve taken extraordinary steps to guarantee that fact. If Carlisle had found out, I would have told him exactly what I just told you. He was a bastard, but he would have understood. Just like the judge on the case did. And like the district attorney did.” He looked earnestly at Watts. “Just like you’re starting to understand. Right now.”

  Watts kept silent. He didn’t look convinced.

  Gooding, on the other hand, now seemed more relaxed. He almost acted pleased with himself. “I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking,” he said suddenly.

  “Oh?”

  “You’re disappointed that I seem so sincere. Because you’re starting to believe me. And it’s ruining all your theories.”

  Watts shifted in his chair. “That’s not true.”

  “Of course it is. But I can help you. Because I’ve been thinking about Carlisle’s death since this morning. Since before this morning, actually.”

  Watts sat up.

  Carlisle’s body wasn’t discovered until this morning.

  “Now you’re interested,” Gooding said. “And you should be. Because I know who killed him.”

  Watts tried to smile. “Don’t be absurd. You would have said something earlier.”

  “No. Because I did have something to hide. Something other than the conviction. And I was hoping to keep it to myself.”

  Watts shook his head. “This approach isn’t helping your credibility.”

  “You’ll change your mind,” Gooding said, rising from his chair.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “On the way where?”

  Gooding smiled. “The scene of the crime, of course. Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center.”

  6

  Lea was nodding. Despite her increasing difficulty with language, she had figured out what Melissa was suggesting, and she agreed with the idea. It all made sense.

  “Imagine trying to seduce a 5-year old boy,” Melissa said to Garrett. “That’s why your charm didn’t work on Gooding. That’s why he smelled so clean to me.”

  “And no… match,” Lea managed to sputter.

  “Exactly,” said Melissa. “I don’t know how Lea’s face-reading trick works, but I’ll bet Gooding’s manners and expressions don’t match up at all. He’s all off-kilter. He may seem like a normal guy, but he isn’t.

  “But how do turn yourself into a five-year-old?” Garrett said through gritted teeth. His eyes were squeezed shut against the pain pulsing through his head. Sweat ran down his cheeks. “And why? He doesn’t look any different to me. I don’t see how this – ”

  Garrett’s eyes suddenly flew open. Melissa thought he had come to some incredible realization, but Lea could see what was really happening. She moved quickly, running to Garrett’s side. Melissa found herself dropped rudely on the grass.

  Lea caught Garrett just as his eyes began to roll back into his head. She staggered under his weight, lurched hard to the left in a way that made Melissa afraid she was about to fall, and then eased Garrett down to the ground.

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell is happening?” Jason shouted. He was the only one in the group still standing. “I can barely hear anything, and I can’t see you guys anymore.”

  “Garrett’s having some kind of seizure,” Melissa said.

  Jason’s face clouded over, and he crouched low to the ground, staring at the spot where Melissa’s voice seemed to be coming from. “Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Lea held Garrett’s head in her hands, positioning it so that the trembling whites of his eyes faced skyward. She could remember seeing people do something like this in a safety video.

  Or is his head supposed to be turned to the side?

  She couldn’t remember. Behind her, Melissa and Jason were shouting. She didn’t understand the words, but she assumed they were discussing Garrett.

  I hope they’re not trying to give me instructions. That would be a waste of time.

  Garrett’s body was moving in a way that scared her. Every muscle was locked. A vein stood out in the middle of his forehead, making him look angry. It was as if he were being electrocuted.

  Wake up, Garrett, she thought desperately. Please stop this and wake up.

  And then, suddenly, he did. His pupils swam back into view, and he blinked. Lea let out a long, shuddery gasp of air, and she realized she had been holding her breath. She waited for the rush of relief, but none came. Looking at him, she saw that something was still very wrong.

  What happened to his face? This isn’t Garrett. This is something else –

  The thing that looked like Garrett sat up quickly and glanced around like a startled animal. His eyes fell on Melissa. She couldn’t see him the way Lea could, and she tried to comfort him. “You’re okay,” Melissa said. “You were just – ”

  “Of course I’m okay,” he spat. Melissa recoiled. Garrett’s tone was harsh and unfriendly. “But where is this?” he said. “What the fuck happened to Carlisle?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Melissa.

  “I need that antenna thing again,” he said angrily. “I need it now.”

  “I know, we all do, and – ”

  “Shut up, SHUT UP!” the Garrett-thing yelled. He jumped to his feet, and his eyes went dark. His hands were clenched into fists. His stance made him look almost as though he were readying himself for a charge.

  Melissa Hartman felt something come over her. A sudden calm. She was back home, in the living room. She could smell the tired, hopeless odor of her suicidal mother, oozing out of the rug like a poison. Her father loomed above, glaring at her. He was asking her about all this crap on the floor.

  What is all this crap? You call this art?

  It took enormous concentration for Melissa to stand up without stumbling, but somehow she managed it. She knew that if she tried to move from this spot, she would fall.

  No matter.

  “Don’t shout at me,” she said softly. “You smell like a sickness. It’s in your sweat.”

  Garrett’s eyes flickered. He hesitated. “Tell me what – ”

  “I did tell you. We’re looking for the antenna. Do you know who I am?”

  More uncertainty. “I know… you’re the one who…”

  “I’m the one who helped you to bed when you were passed out on the sofa.”

  Garrett looked offended at this. “No.”

  “Yes, Garrett. And outside that sorority an hour ago, you told me I was beautiful.”

  A long, long pause. Then Melissa thought she saw him nod. “We were together,” he said. “And – ”

  His voice caught in his throat.

  Lea made a frightened, anguished noise, and she darted to Garrett’s side as his eyes rolled back again. She caught him awkwardly this time, and could not support his weight for more than a moment. His head hit the turf with a thud.

  Melissa felt her own legs go limp as the adrenaline left her, and she crumpled quickly to the ground.

  “What’s happening?” Jason shouted. “Is everybody okay?”

  “No,” Melissa said, too softly for Jason to hear. “Everybody is
not okay.” She let out a small hysterical giggle, sounding very unlike herself. “In fact, everybody is pretty much fucked.”

  7

  Jeff Gooding was almost running as he headed down the stairs of Silman hall. Officer Watts had to hustle to keep up.

  A flash of clarity.

  “You discovered the body,” Watts said suddenly. “Hours before that freshman girl ever did.”

  Gooding nodded.

  “Why didn’t you report it?”

  The teacher smiled. “How far did your research take you, Officer? Do you know what Professor Carlisle was working on?”

  “Something with the brain. I’m not a neuroscientist. I didn’t understand the details.”

  Gooding scoffed. “There weren’t any details. No real ones, anyway. Carlisle never published them. Anything you found was probably just pseudo-scientific doubletalk.”

  “The work was secret?”

  “Not the work. The method.”

  They exited Silman Hall and set out towards Hitchcock Medical Center. Daylight was fading, and neither one of them noticed the small group of students crouched in a patch of grass by the side of the building. If they had, they might have wondered why the four students were all on the ground. Why one of them was lying so rigidly on his back, as though frozen there. Why the others were looking at him with expressions of such deep concern.

  “Everybody knew that Carlisle was trying to validate Charcot’s Genius Postulate,” said Gooding. “But he was very secretive about his approach.”

  Watts waited silently for an explanation.

  “Jean-Martin Charcot,” said Gooding impatiently. “The father of clinical neurology?”

  Watts shrugged. “I’m a campus security guard, remember? Besides, I thought Sigmund Freud was – ”

  “Freud was one of Charcot’s students,” Gooding said. Without Charcot, there is no Freud.”

  “Fine,” said Watts, sounding impatient. “And what’s the Genius Possibility?”

  “Postulate,” Gooding said, correcting him. “Like a theory, but more fundamental. And more important. The way the story goes, Charcot had discovered the key to intellectual greatness. Basically, he had found a way for anyone to become a genius. Unfortunately, this idea was too revolutionary for people to swallow. He was a well-respected doctor by this time, but he couldn’t get anyone to take him seriously; all his peers decided he had gone senile, and they called him a crackpot. It was a major embarrassment, and Charcot never published his findings. In fact, he tried to disclaim the entire notion, and no historian has ever been able to directly link Charcot to the Postulate.”