A Special Man (4 page)

A social comment no doubt, Amanda thought wryly. Maribel Fortnoy was definitely no shrinking violet; she was more of a spoiled brat.

"Hello, Maribel. Virgie," Amanda said as she drew near. "What's up?"

Maribel glanced at Amanda, her belligerence giving way to pathos. "Don't tell them where I am," she whispered. "They'll punish me. They always do. They think I'm worth nothing."

"They might be on to something," Virgie muttered.

"Virgie," Amanda said, her voice scolding. She reached out to comfort Maribel, but the older woman backed away. "They won't punish you, Maribel. They only want you to be comfortable. Don't you think you should let someone know where you are? They might be worried."

"I've been trying to tell her that," Virgie said, leaning against the wall as though the whole thing were annoying, "but she's nutty as a fruitcake. She thinks they'll send her to bed without supper."

Maribel nodded. "They will. They'll starve me until I rot. And they'll take Debbie away from me and she'll die without me." She smoothed back the doll's matted hair.

Just then, Ginny rounded the corner. Her hair was awry as usual and she panted with exertion. "Maribel, there you are. Guess what I have for you?"

"You're going to tie me down," Maribel said in resignation.

"Not today, dear. The cook made those special cookies you like so much."

"The ones with lemon icing?" Suddenly Maribel was a little girl who had been promised a treat, a treat that she knew she didn't deserve.

"That's right. Come on, let's get some."

"Evelyn can't have any," Maribel said as Ginny guided her away. "She's been bad. We could give her share to Debbie. And I won't sit next to Mr. Avery; he tries to look under Debbie's dress."

"Mr. Avery has tried that a few times with me, too," Virgie said.

Amanda laughed as Virgie walked away, but the encounter disturbed her. Maribel had Sutherland's Complex. Danny had Sutherland's Complex. How could the difference between them be so enormous? Maribel was a fractious, whining tattletale. Danny was open and loving in the extreme.

Sometimes it scared Amanda. His openness made him so vulnerable. She simply couldn't bear the thought of his being hurt.

On the open side of the employees' wing, the garden extended clear to the woods. It was on the edge of the woods that she had arranged to meet Danny. As she made her way through the tame, brightly colored bushes, a frown marred her features. She had never felt the weight of a friendship before. Relationships had always been casual things to Amanda. Only now was she finding it to be a responsibility as well as a joy.

Suddenly, she saw him waiting beside a bush. When he heard her footsteps, he turned and his face lit up. All the brightness in her world was contained in the smile that shaped his strong lips. Amanda was enveloped by it. She felt her pulse quicken when he extended his hands to her.

As she caught them both in hers, she heard him whisper, "Mandy."

Why should that single word bring tears to her eyes? she wondered. Inhaling slowly, she smiled. "Have I kept you waiting?"

"I don't mind. While I wait I can think about seeing you. It makes my time with you longer." He pulled at her hand. "Come and look. I found a nest. The eggs are gone, but... but come see how the bird made it."

He held the nest up for her to examine. "Isn't it beautiful?" he said, his voice soft and husky.

Amanda touched the small nest. The intricacy of it was amazing. "And I bet this didn't even come with instructions," she said.

He laughed as she knew he would. Together they began to walk through the woods until they came to a spot on the bank of a clear stream. The sun filtered through the trees in golden threads. Soft, curly ferns grew along the edges of the water, making it a setting for a fantasy. It was Amanda's favorite spot among all the beauties of Greenleigh.

"One day..." she said softly as she sat beneath a towering oak, her knees drawn to her chest. "One day a unicorn is going to peep out from behind those ferns." She leaned back against the rough bark and smiled. "He'll be a world-weary unicorn, his tail ragtag, his horn scarred from fighting eons of morally upright unicorns. And he won't particularly care for virgins or perfection. And he'll be just exactly right for you and me, Danny."

Amanda never knew how much Danny understood, but he always, as he did now, kept his eyes on her face while she talked, as though he would memorize each of her features, as though he could absorb what she was saying rather than hear it.

These times with Danny were the only times Amanda felt she could truly be herself, no pretenses, no excuses. There were invisible threads of understanding between them, threads that wound tighter and tighter each day.

The; silence between them drew out and suddenly she stiffened, instantly alert. Something was wrong. She glanced up, her body tense, her breath held. Her gaze met green fire. She felt the power of it, pulling her in, taking away her will. It was inside her, around her, filling every corner of her mind and her body.

He knew, she thought dazedly. She read knowledge in that green gaze.

Moving closer, he knelt beside her. She held herself still as he reached out to gently stroke her face. "Like Nidhug curled up at the root of Yggdrasil," he murmured, his voice deep and husky.

Amanda felt dizzy. The words echoed in her brain, growing louder and louder. Rising to her knees, she grasped his shoulders tightly. "What did you say?" she rasped out. "Tell me again."

He shook his head as though coming out of a trance. Slowly, he smiled. "I don't remember." He sat down and glanced at her from the corners of his gray eyes. "Was it rude? You look funny."

She reached up to touch his face, her hand shaking. "Try to remember, Danny. I think it's important."

"Danny!"

At the shout, they both turned and watched Tom Dicks approaching. "You two look cozy," he said, smiling.

Amanda didn't like him. She hadn't thought of him, one way or another until that moment, but now she knew she didn't like him. There was a look on his face that was just a shade too avid as he watched them. She stood and dusted her pants. "Did you want something?"

"It's time for Danny's appointment with Dr. Nabors." His gaze drifted slowly over her body. "He'll have to cut his playtime short today." He didn't move, but simply stood staring at her.

"Was there something else you wanted, Tom?" she asked sharply.

He smiled and shook his head slowly. "Not a thing.. .how about you? Was there something else you wanted?"

When she glanced away from the malicious humor in his eyes, he laughed aloud. "Come on, Danny boy. Time to go."

Amanda turned to Danny, her features softening. "I'll see you tomorrow, Danny."

He nodded, giving Amanda a look that was so wistful, it broke her heart. But without protest, he turned and began to walk away with Tom.

When they were out of sight, Amanda leaned against the tree, feeling curiously weak. Something was happening to her, she thought shakily. Something that she had never felt before. And suddenly she was scared. She felt drained and weak, powerless to stop the future.

It was much later when she asked herself why she should want the future stopped at all.

Chapter Four

"God, give me strength."

The groaned words brought Amanda's head up sharply. Ginny was closing the door with one ample hip. Today the nurse looked even more frazzled than usual. Her pale hair was pulled loose from the ponytail in places, and there was a wide run in her green stockings.

She set one of the two cups of coffee she carried on the desk in front of Amanda. The other she cradled between the fingers of both hands as she sat on the couch.

Amanda didn't even try to hide her smile. "Has Mr. Avery been getting frisky again?"

"Among others." Ginny sighed heavily and leaned back. "Virgie just tried to get a game of strip poker going in the old-timers' wing."

Choking on the coffee, Amanda raised one slender brow in startled inquiry. "She must have put up quite a fight. You look terrible."

"Virgie? No, she went back to her room like a lamb. It was the old people who did this. They rioted when I told them there would be no party today." She rested her chin on her fist. "Why don't we get any nice, normal old people? If you've ever wanted to know where old perverts go, you can stop wondering. They all come here."

Amanda laughed. "You know you would hate working with ordinary people. These people won't wither away and die. Their personalities are too strong. But that means it's more difficult to take care of them."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled, then stood. "I'm for a swim. How about you?"

Amanda shook her head. "I've got a couple of things to take care of. But I'll see you later."

Amanda's eyes were thoughtful as the door closed behind her friend. She wished there was something she could do to help Ginny and Paul. From bits and pieces each had told her and from what she had seen on her own, she knew Leah was the problem. Whatever had happened, Paul was obviously as deeply in love with Ginny as she was with him.

Shutting a large manila folder, she leaned back in her chair then glanced at her watch. It was almost time for her to close up shop. It was hard to believe she had been at Greenleigh a whole month.

She smiled as she thought of the ride she had taken earlier today with Danny. When they had stopped to walk through the woods, he had found a baby rabbit caught in a tangle of blackberry brambles. She could still see his big square hands, the fingers tender as he pulled the animal free and set it on its way.

Rubbing her chin reflectively, she considered the curious relationship that had developed between them. In her mind, he was no longer mentally handicapped. He was not a patient. He was simply Danny. And they were friends.

She frowned, remembering the change that came over him at times. It didn't happen often, sometimes coming and going with breathtaking swiftness, sometimes lingering long enough to pull her into a bewildering green spell.

The difference in his features at those times was striking, puzzling her. His eyes looked deeper set, not so wide open, the lines around them and his mouth becoming harsher. The pupils of the eyes seemed to be darker. And the eyes themselves were the strangest of all. They didn't sparkle gray; they blazed with a green inferno.

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.