A Special Man

by Billie Green

  She had thought of it often, remembering the look, analyzing it. Gradually, a curious idea had come to her. It was like before and after Adam had tasted the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

  She shook her head. The idea was as incomprehensible as the dreams that plagued her each night. God, those dreams, she thought restlessly. They were dreams that she could never remember afterward, visions that left her disturbed because she always awoke from them yearning for something she didn't understand.

  Smiling wryly, she wondered if she just might land in B-North after all. Hearing a slight noise, she glanced up, her eyes widening when she saw Ted walk into her office.

  "I didn't know you were back," she said with genuine pleasure in her voice.

  He smiled, recognizing the welcome. "Just an hour ago. I can't stay. I've come to extend a dinner invitation that's long overdue... a small, belated welcome celebration in my apartment."

  She smiled. "Thank you. I'd like that."

  "Good. Tonight at eight," he said, giving her the benefit of his even teeth and charming smile before he closed the door after him.

  Leaning back in the leather chair, she tapped a pencil against her chin, her eyes thoughtful. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. Ted would know about Danny's condition. Maybe he could tell her about the strange things that happened when they were together.

  Later that evening, after dressing with more than usual care, she arrived at Ted's apartment a few minutes before eight. Choosing her timing carefully, she waited until they had finished dinner and sat in the living room, drinking an after-dinner liqueur.

  Glancing at him over the rim of her crystal glass, she said, "Ted, can you tell me what exactly is wrong with Danny—Daniel Phillips?"

  He settled back against the couch, looking lean and elegant in his dinner jacket. "You certainly don't ask easy questions," he said, chuckling. "That's like asking how the universe was formed." He fell silent for a moment. "Everyone makes the analogy between the brain and the computer, as though the brain's billions of neurons were connected by electrical circuits. But the fact is, the brain is more like a chemical soup. The old gray matter doesn't have a set of plans; it's a self-developing system, and its patterns are determined to a certain extent by experience." He smiled. "It writes its own programs on the basis of the input it receives. In short, the brain is alive—a dynamic system."

  She nodded, as though he had told her something she understood or even wanted to know. This had nothing to do with the man she met every day, laughed with every day, the man with green fire in his eyes.

  Ted leaned toward her. "The problem for researchers is that although we know a great deal about the functional properties of nerve cells in many regions of the brain, we don't know how high-level functions— thought, perception, feelings, all the things that make us human—arise from these properties." He shook his head. "We will probably never know everything about the brain. It's like asking the finger to consider the finger. Some doors will automatically lock simply with the asking of the question. But it's possible that we will identify individual molecular abnormalities."

  Amanda was beginning to seethe with frustration. This sounded like a speech he would give to a group of interested lay people. It was not in any way an answer to the question she had asked.

  "But how does all this relate to Danny?" she asked stubbornly.

  He smiled slightly, and Amanda tried very hard to squelch the feeling that she was being patronized. Extremely intelligent people gave off a superior attitude without even being conscious of it.

  "It's the memory portion of Daniel's brain that has been affected. Scientists do know that certain neurotransmitters—the chemical messengers that stimulate the neuron and prepare the brain to receive information—are involved in memory. Acetylcholine, for example. We're on the right track, but most of us are working blindly, simply on instinct. For instance, the medication that Phillips and Fortnoy receive brings about a reaction that is not understood. We don't know why it works. It simply does. But every day we're getting closer to understanding it." Leaning back, he sipped at his drink. "I find it very exciting work."

  She leaned forward. "Does this mean there could be a breakthrough soon? That Danny could be cured?"

  When he laughed and shook his head, Amanda gritted her teeth. "When I say we're getting close, I'm speaking objectively."

  "Try speaking subjectively," she suggested tightly.

  "Twenty years, fifty, who knows. It could possibly come in my lifetime," he said doubtfully.

  But too late for Danny, she thought, suddenly feeling tired. She stood. "It's getting late. Dinner was wonderful, but I think I'd better go now."

  He frowned, but rose with her and followed her to the door. "I need to check on some things in the lab," he said after intercepting her questioning glance.

  As they walked, she remained silent. Her mind was swimming with neurons and computers and chemical soup. This was not Danny, she told herself in protest. Danny was life and laughter and joy.

  She didn't know how long the melody had been a part of her thoughts, bat as they approached the music room it grew louder. Someone was playing one of the pianos, and playing it beautifully.-It wasn't restful music; it was stormy and intense, almost disturbing in its urgency.

  Amanda paused outside the door to listen. Slowly, as if she were being pulled forward, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Danny sat at the grand piano, his body caught up in the music as he hunched over the piano. His movements had a feverish quality. This wasn't simply a composition memorized and performed. This was emotion carried from deep within to his fingertips. This was an angry conversation with no hesitations, no struggling to find the right words.

  She didn't move until the music ended. Then she slumped slightly, as though released from a spell. It startled her when Ted passed her and walked into the room.

  "He's not supposed to be here," he said as though Danny were a mislaid glove. "Where in hell is Dicks?" Striding to a table against the wall, he picked up a telephone and punched the numbers emphatically.

  Amanda-hadn't taken her eyes off Danny. Now she moved closer to the piano. "That was beautiful, Danny. I didn't know you could play."

  He simply stared at her, his eyes puzzled and hurt. "What are you doing with Dr. Sutherland?"

  Why should she suddenly feel guilty? "We had dinner together. He's my boss, Danny. You knew that."

  He glanced at Ted, then back to her. Amanda didn't understand. Danny liked everyone. Why had he taken a dislike to Ted, the one man who was helping him?

  Tom Dicks hurried into the room, smoothing his hair as he walked. He was gruff when he spoke to Danny, who had pushed back the piano bench to stand. At the door, Danny paused and looked back at her, staring for a moment in silence. Then he followed Tom out of the room.

  Amanda stared in confusion at the piano. "I can't believe he's hopeless," she whispered. "Not when he can play the piano like that." She glanced up to find Ted standing beside her. "And sometimes he says things that a child couldn't possibly know."

  "Don't get too involved with the patients," Ted said, his voice harsh. "You'll only get hurt. You wanted the truth and I tried to soften it for you. The truth is, Phillips's brain damage is irreversible. The adult part has deteriorated—withered—and will not regenerate. It's simply not possible." She winced. "But—"

  "Amanda," he said, his voice softer, more sympathetic, "these things you hear Phillips saying that are out of character, they're simply echoes of the past, lingering pieces of what he was. And what you just witnessed in here is called the Savant Syndrome. You've heard of it. An idiot displaying brilliance in a single area."

  "Danny is not an idiot," Amanda said, her voice tight and hard.

  "He might just as well be. Phillips is a very wealthy man. Do you think I'm the only one who has tested him?" He sounded hurt. "Experts all over the country have looked at him and they've all reached the same conclusion. Just because
I'm the one who put a name to Sutherland's Complex doesn't mean it's not recognized by others in the field."

  She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ted. I wasn't questioning your ability. I just hate the finality of it. I hate that it has to be this way for him."

  "We all do." He smiled down at her. "But the fact is, nothing can be done for Phillips except the medication he is already receiving. It keeps him nonviolent and keeps the brain from deteriorating further. You can't even imagine what that would be like. It would be a steady progression backward for him."

  She shuddered. "Then I thank God you developed the medication."

  "So do I." He put his arm around her. "Amanda, I'm going to ask you not to discuss his condition with Phillips. He wouldn't understand it, but if by some small chance he did, it would disrupt his life and worry him. Don't give him ideas that he can someday be normal. It won't ever happen and he can live a happy life as he is."

  She could see the wisdom in that, so she nodded.

  "You're tired," he said softly. "Why don't you go to bed now?" He smiled wistfully. "I didn't plan for the evening to be over so quickly, but I suppose it's best."

  "Yes, I'm tired," she murmured, not even glancing at him as she left the room. She started walking toward her bedroom, but she couldn't get Danny's face out of her mind. He had looked so lost, so hurt. Turning abruptly, she went in the direction of the next wing.

  Tom's room was next to Danny's. But the door was open, and the room was empty. Maybe he was still with Danny, she thought, frowning. Or maybe he was with Leah. She wondered just how good was the care he gave Danny. Danny would certainly never complain.

  When she moved on to Danny's room, she found the door slightly ajar. No sound came from within. Could he be asleep already? She didn't want to disturb him. If he had already forgotten the incident, then so could she.

  She had turned to leave when she heard a sound from his room. It was barely audible, merely a soft whisper, a slight rearranging of the silence. Placing her hand on the door, she pushed it open.

  Moonlight filled the room, giving it a tarnished silver sheen. It cast shadows around the dark furniture, but seemed to spotlight the two people on the bed.

  Danny lay on his back, the covers rumpled around him. The dark hair of the girl who kneeled beside him, touching him, hid his features.

  Amanda felt white-hot emotion explode inside her. "Virgie!"

  The girl jumped as if struck and scrambled off the bed, swinging around to face Amanda; She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut.

  "What are you doing here?" Amanda's voice was shaking with anger. "You— Go back to your room."

  For a moment Virgie stared at her belligerently, her fists clenched. Then she raised her chin and walked out of the room without a word.

  Amanda stood where she was, too furious to move, even to think. Slowly she drew in deep calming breaths. Moving across the room, she sat on the bed next to Danny. "Dan—" His name stuck hard in her throat. She swallowed and began again. "Danny, I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen carefully to me."

  "I always listen to you."

  She smiled stiffly. "Yes, I know you do. It's just that this is very important." She paused, meeting his gaze. "Danny, your body belongs to you—no one else. That sounds simple, but sometimes other people. .. people who think they are smarter than you might want to touch you without your permission. What I want you to know is that you don't have to let them. It's all right to say no. No one has the right to touch you unless you want them to."

  He was silent for a moment. "Do you mean Leah, too?"

  She closed her eyes weakly. God, what had they been doing to him? "I mean anyone," she said hoarsely. "Even the people in charge. Even Dr. Sutherland. Even me."

  "I wouldn't mind if you touched me."

  She reached out to stroke his strong face. "That's because we're friends. But even a friend isn't allowed to take advantage of personal rights. Do you understand?"

  He nodded slowly. "Mandy?" The word was soft and puzzled.

  "Yes?"

  "Funny things happened when Virgie was touching me. It was...it was like what I feel when I'm with you only not the same." He closed his eyes, turning his head away from her. "I can't say it right."

  "It doesn't matter, Danny. I understand."

  He exhaled slowly. "You always understand. You and me, we're the same, aren't we? We laugh together and... and we think of the same things. Does it make you mad to be like a loonie?"

  "I thought I told you not to say that anymore." She sighed. "No, it doesn't make me mad. If I could be like anyone in the world it would be you."

  "But you're not exactly the same," he said, and now there was a smile in his voice. "You're softer than I am. And you're round here." He reached out and touched her breast.

  Amanda didn't move. Don't react, she told herself. It's the innocent gesture of a child. The silence drew out and only when he withdrew his hand did she allow herself to look at him... then sucked in a sharp breath.

  The eyes of the man next to her were blazing, blazing hot and green with ancient sensuality. She was not only confused by the change; she was obsessed by it. How could it be only an echo? It was fiery hot; it was real.

  Suddenly, he reached out again and grasped her neck, pulling her toward him. His hold was rough, but she was too caught up in an emerald spell, too helpless to resist.

  Amanda almost screamed when she felt his lips on hers. They were warm and strong and hungry—and she knew them. It was as though a missing piece of the puzzle was put back in place. He was a part of her. She recognized the rightness of it immediately, and the rightness consumed her.

  Oh, God! she thought, stiffening in shock, a moan caught in her throat. This was the dream! This was what she had been yearning for each morning when she awoke.

  Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed away and stared at him in confusion. He seemed to tower over her, his features fierce in the darkness. Then slowly he relaxed, his eyes settled to gray and he was Danny again.

  Rising, she pushed her hair back with a shaking hand. "You'd better go to sleep now, Danny," she said, her throat painfully tight.

  "I'm glad you came to see me," he said softly. "Goodnight, Mandy."

  "Yes," she rasped out. "Good night, Danny."

  She couldn't get out of the room fast enough and felt her knees give way as she pulled the door closed behind her and leaned back against it. She pressed a hand to her eyes, blocking the light, wishing futilely that she could block out what had just happened in the room behind her.

  When her heart stopped pounding crazily, she lowered her hand to find Tom Dicks standing not two feet away from her, watching her with that awful, knowing smile.

  Pulling herself together, she moved away from the door and brushed past him without a word.

  Chapter Five

  Amanda stood in the middle of her darkened bedroom in taut silence. Her hands were still shaking. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them. Or maybe it was her soul that she felt shake.

  Swallowing ah anguished sound, she began to pace back and forth in the dark. She had been so angry with Virgie. But how much of that anger had been directed at herself because—God forgive her—she had wanted to touch him, too?

  Think logically, she told herself, running trembling fingers through her hair. Danny was an attractive man. It was natural that she should be physically drawn to him. She would have to be blind not to be. It was tike seeing a Rodin sculpture or a fresco by Michelangelo. Those things were untouchable in the way

  Danny was untouchable. One could admire and feel stirrings deep within, but the admiration and the stirrings were detached. They were separated from reality.

  She sank to the bed. The logic hadn't done an ounce of good. She still felt a tight knot of guilt in her stomach. It was as though her very human emotions had touched something that was above all that. It was not a very comfortable experience, and for her own mental well-being, she knew she wo
uld have to stay away from him, at least until she came to grips with her own feelings.

  The long night showed on Amanda's face the next morning as she walked around the grounds before breakfast. The haunted restlessness that had begun in Danny's room had stayed with her through the night and now nagged at her like the dull remnants of a migraine headache.

  It was not going to be easy staying away from Danny, she thought wearily as she followed a narrow path to an almost too picturesque wooden footbridge. In the middle she stopped, staring at a small waterfall in the distance, a frown adding lines to the sides of her mouth.

  It meant rearranging the life she had made for herself at Greenleigh. It meant rearranging her emotions. She had weekends off, but until now she hadn't felt the need to leave. Perhaps now was the time. She needed to get back to the real world.

  Maybe she would call her friend Eric in Long Beach. She shook back her dark hair, thinking of the tall, blond lawyer she had dated occasionally in the past. He would probably do her a world of good, she thought, rubbing her temple. Eric was always fun to be with. He always—

  Who the hell did she think she was kidding? she thought in frustration. She had no interest in seeing Eric again. She couldn't call up one ounce of enthusiasm. And that was what worried her.

  Turning, she walked off the bridge and ran straight into Virgie. "Oh...hi," she said, feeling embarrassed as she backed up a step.

  Virgie laughed harshly. "Don't worry," she said, raising a cigarette to draw on it deeply. "It's not catching."

  Amanda couldn't pull up a flip reply. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her white jeans, she started to walk away. Then something in Virgie's eyes stopped her.

  Turning slowly back to her, Amanda said, "Virgie, I'm sorry about last night." The girl's face grew harder. "No, I mean it. I was wrong. I had other things on my mind, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have lost my temper. It was inexcusable."

  Virgie didn't answer. She simply stood there, silently staring up at the sky as she exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. If her hand hadn't trembled slightly, Amanda would have thought her unaffected.