Digital Winter (2 page)

“Yep.”

“Okay, but it's going to cost you another cup of coffee. I'll let you make the arrangements. Take the money from the house account.” He paused. “We are talking just one car, right?”

“For now.” She rose, kissed him on the forehead, and took his cup to refill it. “Speaking of Rosa, she said something yesterday that seemed…”

“What?”

“I don't know what word to use. Unexpected.” She filled the cup and returned to the table. “She said Donny spoke.”

“Spoke? You mean more than one word?”

“She meant sentences.”

“You're kidding. I've never heard him link words together. I thought it was beyond his ability.”

“We don't know that.” Royce the geneticist was talking now. “His condition is a mystery. There are only a handful of savants in the world. We don't know what goes on in his brain.”

“What did he say?”

“She told me she couldn't make out all the words. He stopped when she entered the room. Something about shadows.”

“Maybe she was hearing something from one of his computers.”

“Maybe, but she didn't think so.”

Stanley checked his watch. “Why didn't you tell me this last night?”

“Um, because you didn't come home until nearly midnight and you were half asleep.”

“Oh, yeah.” He rose. “Thanks for breakfast. Good as Rosa is, food cooked by my wife always tastes better.”

“I manipulate the alleles in the eggs.”

“That's more science talk, isn't it?”

“You going to say goodbye to him?”

“Just like every day for twenty-two years.”

“Thanks.”

Stanley started the most difficult task of his day. He loved his son, but he would rather face off against a bunch of IRS attorneys than turn the doorknob to his boy's bedroom.

As his hand touched the brass knob, he heard a voice from the other side of the door:

Shadow, shadow on my right,
Shadow, shadow on my left,
Shadow, shadow everywhere,
Shadow has all the might.

Donny Elton sat in his chair as he did every hour he wasn't sleeping. The chair was an expensive, well-padded iBOT designed by inventor Dean Kamen. It was powered and could raise Donny to the eye level of any adult not playing in the NBA. A series of gyros and a robust computer program enabled it to climb stairs without tipping. The invention had been a boon to wheelchair-bound consumers.

But Donny wasn't bound to the wheelchair. He could walk if he wanted, jump if he desired, and even sprint if he had a mind to, but he never did. At least that was what the doctors said. Under heavy sedation, Donny had endured MRIs, CAT scans, X-rays, muscle conductivity studies, and other medical tests. All came back negative.

“The problem isn't with this body,” the doctors said. “The problem is in his mind. He doesn't want to walk.” That had been the end of their assessment. No one could offer any ideas of how to make a healthy twenty-two-year-old who was monosyllabic on his best day and mute on his worst and who possessed an IQ above 200 do what he didn't want to do. “You simply cannot make a man walk if he doesn't want to.” They had been united in that assessment.

Stanley, in the few quiet moments he allowed himself, wondered why his son refused to walk or engage with humanity. Yes, his savant condition was probably due to autism, but research had yet to come to a consensus on that.

Stanley stood in the open door with a bowl of hot oatmeal in one hand and wondered if he had heard what he thought he heard.

“Hey, buddy. Mom whipped up some oatmeal for you.” He moved to the long desk that took up all of one wall in the place they called Stanley's bedroom. It looked more like a NASA control center than a place to sleep. A series of four 27-inch monitors lined the table, and two computer towers sat nearby. They were never turned off. More than once, Stanley had awakened in the night to hear Donny's fingers tapping on the keyboard.

“Oatmeal. Food. Oatmeal. Good.”

Stanley set the bowl and spoon on an unoccupied spot of the table. “Whatcha working on, pal?”

“Oatmeal. Good.”

Stanley was thankful Donny could feed himself. He needed help dressing and using the bathroom, but at least he could manage to put a spoon in his mouth or hold a sandwich.
Small blessings
.

The large window of the bedroom overlooked the Pacific side of the Strand. The thinning cloud cover allowed the morning sun to paint sparkles on the gentle swells and surf. A short distance from the shore, surfers waited for the ocean to offer more waves. Although Stanley couldn't see them from this window, he knew that new Navy SEALs were training there. Such was Coronado: home to the wealthy, a mecca for sun worshippers, a training ground for the Navy, and a magnet for tourists.

Donny knew none of this. Stanley doubted his son had ever noticed the beauty outside his window, the kind of view that made the 1700-square-foot, three-bedroom, three-bath condo worth $3.5 million. The only things Donny seemed to notice were on the computer monitors. Stanley doubted the young man even knew him. The last thought brought pain, as it did a dozen times every day.

Line upon line of code filled the monitors. For a few moments, Stanley considered having a programmer look at it, but he dismissed the idea. What difference would it make?

“I'm headed to work, son. I'll be home late again, but I'll look in on you. Mom will be here until Rosa arrives.”

“Rosa. Oatmeal. Good.” Donny took a bite of the pasty meal.

Stanley ran his fingers through his son's hair. He loved the boy even if he had never caught a baseball or watched a football game. “Take it easy, champ.”

“Bye. Later. Oatmeal.”

Stanley turned when something appeared in the corner of his eye—something dark, indistinct. He snapped his head around but saw nothing.

Closing the door, Stanley paused and tried to push back the gloom that draped his mind. Then he heard Donny's voice again.

Shadow, shadow on my right,
Shadow, shadow on my left,
Shadow, shadow everywhere,
Shadow has all the might.

T
here he is—tall, dark, and yummy.”

Roni Matisse gazed down the first-floor hall of Harris Memorial Hospital. Like hospital halls everywhere, this one was wide with a floor as glossy as a sheet of water. A man, six feet two and trim from regular exercise, walked their direction.

“Square of jaw, broad of shoulder, brown of hair—”

Roni cut the head surgical nurse off. “You know that's my husband you're talking about.”

Loren Grimm kept her eyes fixed on the approaching man. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“You'd better not forget, girl. I'm really handy with a scalpel.”

“It's not my fault, it's his.”

“How do you figure that?”

“That uniform. It's unfair. A good looking man
and
a military uniform. No court would convict me.”

“He does look pretty good, doesn't he?” Roni started for the man walking their way. Loren started to follow. “Stay, girl. Stay.”

“Don't make me bite you.” Loren hung back.

Roni harbored no worries about Loren. She was quick with a joke, an excellent nurse, and happily married to her husband of twenty years.

A few steps later Roni stood before the tall man. “Colonel Matisse.”

“Dr. Matisse.”

They hugged for a moment before she pulled back. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Do I need a reason to see my wife?”

“Nope. But what if I had been in surgery?”

“I would have barged in, taken you in my arms, and embarrassed the surgical team.”

“That might break our sterile environment.”

“I'm not scared.” He grinned.

“I was thinking of the patient.”

“Oh, yeah. That could be a problem. Anyway, I shortened my jog, and that left me enough time to swing by and have a cup of coffee with you before I head to Maryland.”

“Okay, what's happened?”

“I told you.”

“We had coffee together this morning, and you
never
cut your jog short.”

“What? A man can't have another cup of coffee…Oh, all right. I'm going to have to spend the weekend.”

Roni clenched her jaw. “I was looking forward to our trip to New York.”

“Me too. I'm not happy about it, but you know the military. They tend to give orders, not make requests.”

“Is there a problem?” A wave of worry rolled through her. Jeremy worked in the little-known USCYBERCOM in Fort Meade. While other soldiers wielded guns and bombs and drove tanks, Jeremy drove a computer. His only overseas duty had been to train cyber security officers.

“No. Well, yes, in a way. I have a bunch of Army shavetails coming in. They like nothing better than having an Air Force bird colonel briefing Army personnel.”

“I think you're the one who enjoys it.”

“You wound me. You're right, but you wound me. It's a privilege that comes with being the general's favorite officer.”

“So much for Christian humility.” Roni regretted the dig. She meant it in good humor, and his expression said he took it that way. Faith was the one area they differed: He had it, but she didn't want it.

“That's not pride talking, just me relating a few facts.”

“I already knew about the briefing, but why do you have to stay over the weekend?”

“Unexpected congressional tour. Some politician wants to make sure we're not playing video games instead of protecting the country.”

“On the weekend?”

“The Senate Armed Services Committee carries a lot of weight.”

“I understand. You want me to get the date changed on the theater tickets?”

“If you would. I'm going to be out of commission for a while.”

“I can keep myself busy here.”

“Tell me about it over coffee. I only have about twenty minutes before I hit the road.”

Just as Roni started to speak, she heard her name called over the hospital public-address system. “Hang on.” She went to a phone on the wall, punched in a three-digit number, identified herself, and then listened.

She hung up and stared at the blank wall for a moment. Jeremy stepped to her side.

“Something wrong?”

She looked at him, forcing herself to breathe. “Commuter train derailed. The injured are being divided among the hospitals. We have at least fifteen patients headed to ER, and some have serious injuries. I have a feeling it's going to be a long day.”

His face lost a shade of color. “That's horrible. At least they have the best trauma surgeon in the country waiting for them.”

“I'm not the best in the country—just the East Coast.” She forced a smile but doubted its believability.

“I'll pray for you, babe.”

The smile felt more genuine. “I've got to go assemble the surgical teams and call in off-duty doctors. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. You make me proud. We'll talk soon.” He took her in his arms, and she wished he would never let go.

“Be careful.”

“I always am.”