Chapter 3

Anton sat bolt upright in his bed, terrified out of his wits and gasping for breath. Had he screamed, or was that part of the dream? He listened for footsteps but he could hear no one rushing down the hall. This had been the worst one yet. For weeks now, he’d been awakened nearly every night by terrible dreams - no, not dreams - nightmares. Terrible nightmares.

They began shortly after he was brought to the home. They seemed to drag on and on forever, but when he finally woke up in terror, try as he would, he could only recall snippets. He always remembered seeing Sophia’s face. His sister Sophia. Where was she? Why hadn’t she been brought to Dr. Widener’s home with him? Had she been taken to hospital? Of course, that had to be it! She must have been because she was so ill. Surely they would bring her to him when she was well again. He couldn’t remember much about her illness except that her pretty face was growing thinner and thinner by the day. She seemed to be wasting away in front of his eyes.

In his nightmares he would be reaching for Sophia to hold her close, to stroke her pretty auburn hair and comfort her. He wanted to stop the pain in her tummy, but he didn’t know how. No, that was wrong. In the dream, he did know how, but for some reason he couldn’t do it ... or he wasn’t allowed to do it; he wasn’t sure which. He dreamed that he wept as he held her because he couldn’t end her suffering. It was his responsibility as the elder brother to take care of his sister. That’s what the man told him when they were taken from the orphanage in Bucharest to come to the United States, but he had failed in his duty.

Then came the part that always woke him up. The nightmare would turn red. Anton, in a rage, lashed out at the cruel shadowy creatures that haunted him and did cruel things to his Sophia. They ran, he chased, he struck over and over and over until they lay dying at his feet. Blood was everywhere. That’s when he always awoke to find himself sitting up in bed drenched with sweat and trembling in terror.

He sat on the side of his bed still sweating, shaking, trying to control his breathing. The clock on the bedside stand said 3:26 AM. He knew he wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, so he shed his damp underwear, took his towel from the peg on the wall and walked naked down the hall to the boy’s room to stand under the hot shower, hoping to wash away the memory of the nightmare along with the sweat and the fear.

For the rest of the night as he awaited the sun’s arrival, he looked out his window at the empty street below and listen to music on his iPod; always something soothing and peaceful and beautiful like Barber’s Adagio for Strings. Or sometimes he would listen to Clair de Lune a dozen times in a row because it calmed his frenzied, turbulent brain.

There had been many times over these past weeks when he wanted so badly to go to Dr. Widener and ask that kind woman to explain this world he found himself in, but he dared not. He was certain that once he spoke the first word, he would never be able to stop. All the blackness he felt inside him would come pouring out, and he couldn’t let that happen. Whatever uncertain things lay pent up in his head, he sensed the evil in them, and evil must never be allowed to roam free in the world.

So Anton kept his silence.

Where was his Sophia?

Sarah described to Ken her plan to get into the school to talk to the John Doe kid. The only reason she told him anything was because she wanted him to record her interview — rather, her attempted interview with the strange mute.

Ken looked at her like she was insane. “Are you shitting me?! Jesus Christ, Sarah, you can’t just go barging into something like that! You don’t know the first thing about any of those kids, yet here you are going after the one who obviously has serious mental problems. Are you really that fucking self-absorbed that you think anything good can come from that?

She looked daggers at him and countered, “Up yours, Ken. There’s a story somewhere inside that kid and I’m going to be the one who digs it out. What the hell harm can it do to ask him a few questions?”

“What questions? The kid doesn’t even talk! Damn, woman, don’t you even know the definition of the word ‘scruples’? At best, you probably won’t get any more than a blank stare. At worst, you poking around in his mind might stir up all kinds of bad shit. Were you not paying attention when Dr. Widener said that every one of those kids has suffered some kind of severe emotional trauma? Show me your degree in child psychology and maybe I’ll believe you have something other than a selfish interest in sticking your Hebrew nose into his business!”

“Fuck you, fag! Why don’t you just sit here surfing gay porn sites and jerking off! I’m sure I can find a cameraman with balls enough to go after a story.”

“You wish! How’d you convince that janitor to leave the door unlocked? Did he just get a blow job or did you give him the whole works?”

With a derisive laugh, she bragged, “He got the whole works, and you know what? You ought to be crawling on your hands and knees to that stud to beg for some lessons. If there’s anything in genes, I’m guessing he’s a direct descendant of Don Juan. Now, are you coming with me or not?”

“Oh yeah, I’m coming all right, but for no other reason than to stop you from fucking with that kid’s screwed up brain. I’m warning you, Sarah, you get out of line and cause him any grief and I’m going straight to Dr. Widener. You seem to see yourself as the crusading lady journalist, but you’re just a self-centered hack and you’re treading on thin ice!”

“Why don’t you grow a pair, faggot?”

“I got a pair, whore, but unlike you, I’m choosey about who gets to play with my toys.”

Raul’s last text said the door to the kitchen and the utility area would be left unlocked. He suggested they arrive about six when the kids would be done with their evening meal and most of the staff would be gone for the day. He gave her John Doe’s room number on the third floor and the location of the observation room where he spent a lot of his evenings after dinner.

Ken parked the van on a side street and shouldered his bag of gear. Halfway up the alley they came to the back gate that opened onto a small basketball court behind the building. There was no one playing or sneaking a smoke, and they found the rear door unlocked just like Raul promised.

The industrial dishwasher was running but there was no one around as they moved quickly through the kitchen to the back stairway. Raul said most of the kids would probably be in the downstairs recreation area on the first floor watching television, but Sarah had her story ready in case they ran into anybody.

They made it up the stairs and down the third floor hall of the boy’s wing undetected. Sarah knocked lightly on the door but no one answered. She tried the doorknob and it was unlocked, so she opened it and peeked in. There was no one in the nearly bare, spartan room. Not a single picture or poster hung on the wall and there were no personal items lying about. She stepped across the room and opened a drawer. If she hadn’t seen some socks, T-shirts and underwear neatly folded, she might have believed Raul had given her the number of an unoccupied room.

Sarah whispered, “He must be downstairs in the observation room. We have to go back to the first floor to get to the other wing. But first, get a shot of this room. This is not a normal kid’s room. It’s as empty as the look in his eyes.”

Ken, feeling like a thief in the night and already regretting his decision to be a part of her scheme, whispered, “Well what the hell did you expect? You know, if Widener ever finds out about this, you’ll never get within a mile of this kid again.”

“Yeah, well we’ll just have to take that chance, won’t we?”

He followed her down the stairs, camera recording. She eased the door to the main lobby open and peeked out to make sure the hall was clear. The observation room was supposed to be to the left and all the way to the end of the hall. The other way let to the offices, the cafeteria and the TV room.

As they neared the observation room, they could hear faint piano music - something classical. It was one Ken recognized; Liszt’s Liebestraum. Part way through a passage, the music stopped and started over again. Someone was practicing.

There was a small alcove with three doors off the hallway; one right, one left and one to what was probably a narrow room from which the other two rooms could be observed. Sarah tried the center one and found it open. They felt their way into the darkness and stood in front of the one-way mirror looking into the room where the boy was playing.

He sat at a small spinet piano working on the Liszt piece without any written music in front of him. His concentration was totally focused on the keyboard and his hands as he taught himself how to play the piece by ear.

Sarah poked Ken in the side and whispered, “Get as much of this as you can. This kid must be some kind of savant!”

The video camera never stopped recording.

Sarah slipped out the door and into the room with the kid before Ken even realized what she was doing. “Shit!” he spat out, but he kept the camera on John Doe.

The moment the boy heard the door open, he stopped playing and sat perfectly still with his hands in his lap. At first Ken couldn’t hear what was going on, but then he saw an intercom switch beside the window and flipped it on. Sarah was moving slowly toward John Doe saying, “It’s okay. I just want to ask you a couple of questions. Where did you learn to play the piano so beautifully?”

The kid sat looking down at his hands in silence, refusing to even acknowledge the question with a glance in her direction.

Sarah continued as she edged closer, “You can talk to me, you know. I just want to help, but you have to help me in return. Can you tell me your real name?”

She took another couple of steps closer — apparently too close because the boy suddenly stood and headed toward the door. As he passed by her, Sarah reached out to grab his arm and immediately wished she hadn’t. She caught his fist on the side of her face and fell over the beanbag chair, sprawling on the carpet. John Doe ran from the room and down the hallway to the stairs.

“You stupid bitch!” Ken gasped as he rushed into the room, kneeling at Sarah’s side as she sat rubbing the side of her face. “Are you okay?”

She moved her jaw around to insure it was still working. “Yeah, I guess. He just caught me by surprise is all. Jesus, that kid packs a wallop!”

Ken helped her to her feet. “Yeah? Well good for him, because as far as I’m concerned, you got exactly what you deserve.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Early!” said Dr. Widener, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. “Ms. Bernstein, I believe this is trespassing, if not breaking and entering. You should know that I intend to file charges of assault against you with the police department.”

Sarah flared, “Assault? Jesus Christ, woman, he hit me!”

“I was standing three feet behind Mr. Early and I saw the whole thing. He only hit you after you grabbed his arm, and that looks to me like self-defense. Now you get the hell out here! And one more thing; I intend to call your boss, whoever that may be, and kill this damned documentary if I can. I don’t want my young people even vaguely associated with you or your self-serving news program! Now get out!”

Sarah practically screamed, “No way in hell you’re gonna do that, bitch!” She stalked pass the doctor and out the door.

As Ken shouldered his gear, he apologized, “I’m really sorry, Dr. Widener. I tried to talk her out of this but she wouldn’t listen. Is the kid gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Early. We still don’t know what goes on in his mind, but you can be assured this little incident didn’t help him one bit. In all likelihood, it set him back a couple of steps because Ms. Bernstein violated a space he thought to be safe. Now get out, and I don’t want to see either of you around here again.”

“Yes Ma’am. I’m really sorry. Um, did you say you were standing behind me in that room? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I was curious to know what you had in mind that would cause you to sneak in uninvited. Our John Doe is indeed a prodigy, but he’s a prodigy struggling with some brand of severe emotional injury. I will not allow Ms. Bernstein or anyone else to exploit him.”

“I’m with you on that, Dr. Widener. I promise this won’t happen again. Sorry.”

“Good night, Mr. Early.”

Rhonda Simmons had been watching the new boy since the day he arrived. Word got around the home pretty quickly that he was odd, that he hadn’t said a single word since a county social worker delivered him to Dr. Widener’s office. But there was a look about the kid that stirred something in her; probably the pain she saw in those haunted eyes.

When Rhonda arrived at the home a few months earlier, she wasn’t in as bad a condition as the John Doe, but she was definitely a mess, an emotional train wreck. She had been doped with heroin, prostituted and used as a fuck toy by a couple of dope peddlers from the time she ran away from home at the age of thirteen. When she wasn’t working the streets under the close eye of her pimps, she was kept locked in an apartment with barred windows above a sleazy dive on skid row.