John Saul - Brain Child

Ellen was about to call the Medical Center when she heard the patio gate slam once more. Then the door opened, and her husband and son came in. She dropped the receiver back on the hook just as the dial tone switched over to the angry whine of a forgotten phone, and didn’t try to conceal the irritation she was feeling. “You might have told me how long you were going to be gone. What on earth have you been doing?”

“Killing rats,” Alex said.

Ellen paled slightly, and her eyes moved to her husband. “Marsh, what’s he talking about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Marsh replied, but the look on Ellen’s face told him that she was going to demand an explanation right now. He sighed, and hung his jacket in the armoire that stood opposite the front door. “We were dissecting their brains, to see how much damage they could sustain before they died.”

Ellen’s stomach turned queasy, and she had to struggle to keep her voice steady. “You killed them?” she asked. “You killed those three helpless creatures?”

Marsh nodded. “Honey, you know perfectly well that rats die in laboratories every day. And there was something both Alex and I wanted to know.” He stepped past Ellen and moved into the living room, then glanced at Alex. “Why don’t you make yourself scarce?” he asked. Then he smiled tiredly. “I have a feeling your mother and I are about to have another fight.” Alex started toward the stairs, but Marsh stopped him, fishing in his pocket for his car keys. “Why don’t you go find some of your friends?” he asked, tossing the keys to his son.

Ellen, watching, felt a chill go through her. Something had happened between her husband and her son. She was certain that an alliance had somehow formed between them that she was not a part of. A moment later, when Alex spoke again, she knew she was right.

“You mean do what we were talking about?” he asked, and Marsh nodded. And then something happened that Ellen hadn’t seen since the night of the prom last spring.

Alex smiled.

It was a tentative smile, and it didn’t last long, but it was still a smile. And then he was gone.

Ellen stared after him, then slowly turned to Marsh, her anger evaporating.

“Did you see that?” she breathed. “Marsh, he smiled. He actually smiled!”

Marsh nodded. “But it doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “At least it doesn’t mean anything yet.” Slowly he tried to explain the conversation he and Alex had had on the way home, and what they had decided Alex should do.

“So you see, the smile didn’t really mean anything at all,” he finished fifteen minutes later. “He doesn’t feel anything, Ellen, and he knows it, which is making it even worse. He told me he’s starting to wonder if he’s even human anymore. But he said he can mimic emotions if he wants to, or at least mimic emotional reactions. And that’s what he did. He intellectually figured out that he should be happy that he gets to go out for the evening and use my car, and he knows that when people are happy, they smile. So he smiled. He didn’t feel the smile, and there was nothing spontaneous about it. It was like an actor performing a role.”

The growing chill Ellen had been feeling as Marsh talked turned into a shudder. “Why?” she whispered. “Why should he want to do such a thing?”

“He said people are beginning to think he’s crazy,” Marsh replied. “And he doesn’t want that to happen. He said he doesn’t want to be locked up until he knows what’s wrong with him.”

“Locked up?” The room seemed to be spinning, and for a moment Ellen thought she might faint. “Who would lock him up?”

“But isn’t that what happens to crazy people?” Marsh asked. “You have to look at it from his point of view. He knows we love him, and he knows we care for him, but he doesn’t know what that means. All he knows is what he’s read, and he’s read about mental institutions.” His voice suddenly broke. “Hell,” he muttered. “He reads damned near everything, and remembers it all. But he just doesn’t know what anything means.”

María Torres shifted the heavy weight of her shopping bag from her right hand to her left, then sighed and lowered it to the sidewalk for a moment.

Ramón had promised to come that evening and take her shopping, but then he’d telephoned and said he wasn’t coming. Something had come up with his patient, and he had to stay in his office. His patient, she thought bitterly. His patient was Alejandro, and there was nothing wrong with the boy. But Ramón couldn’t see that, not for all his schooling. Ramón had forgotten. Forgotten so much. But someday he would understand. Someday soon, Ramón would know that all the hatreds she had carefully nursed in him were still there. But for now, he still pretended to be a gringo .

And tonight, the shopping still had to be done, even though she was tired after working all day, so she’d walked the five blocks to the store, which wasn’t too bad. It was the five blocks home, with the full shopping bag, that was the hard part. Her arms aching with arthritis, she picked up the bag and was about to continue on her way when a car pulled up to the curb next to her. She glanced at it with little interest, then looked again as she recognized the driver.

It was the boy.

And he was returning her gaze, his eyes studying her. He knew who she was, and the saints — her saints — had sent him. It was an omen: though Ramón had not come to her tonight, Alejandro had. She stepped forward, and bent down to put her head through the open window of the car.

“Vámos,” she whispered, her rheumy eyes glowing. “Vámos a matar.”

The words echoed in Alex’s ears, and he understood them. We go to kill . Deep in his mind, a memory stirred and the mists began gathering around him once again. He reached across the front seat and pushed the door open. María Torres settled herself into the seat beside him, and pulled the door closed. As the old woman whispered to him, he put the car in gear and started slowly up into the hills above the town.

Fifteen minutes later, he parked the car, still listening to the words María was whispering in his ears. And then he was alone, and María Torres was walking slowly away from the car, her bag of groceries clutched close to her breast.

Only when she had finally disappeared around a bend in the road did Alex, too, leave the car, and step through the gate into Valerie Benson’s patio.

In the dark recesses of his throbbing brain, the familiar voices took up María’s ancient litany …

Venganza … venganza …

Vaguely he became aware of another sound, and turned to see a woman standing framed in the light of an open doorway.

“Alex?” Valerie Benson asked. “Alex, are you all right?”

She’d heard the gate open, and waited for the doorbell to ring. When it hadn’t, she’d gone to the door and pressed her eye to the peephole. There, standing in the patio, she’d seen Alex Lonsdale, and opened the door. But when she’d spoken, he hadn’t replied, so she’d stepped outside and called to him.

Now he was looking at her, but she still wasn’t sure he’d heard her words.

“Alex, what is it? Has something happened?”

“Ladrones,” Alex whispered. “Asesinos …”

Valerie frowned, and stepped back, uneasy. What was he talking about? Thieves? Murderers? It sounded like the ravings of a paranoiac.

“K-Kate’s not here,” she stammered, backing toward the front door. “If you’re looking for her, she’s gone out.”

She was inside and the door was halfway closed when Alex hurled himself forward, his weight slamming into the door, sending Valerie sprawling to the floor while the door itself smashed back against the wall.