Chapter 1

Sarah Bernstein, Channel 4 News, cued her cameraman to begin recording.

She put on her carefully crafted TV smile and began, “We’re here today at the Golden Eagle Youth Camp to tell the story of a group of young people, ages eleven through fifteen, who are among societies forgotten children. They come from all around the state, either through the court system or through social services, and they’re cared for by a staff of teachers and youth counselors under the direction of Dr. Helen Widener, a well-known psychologist specializing in early teen intellectual and emotional development. Dr. Widener operates a privately endowed home for emotionally disturbed boys and girls in the inner city.

“Every summer, disenfranchised young people who have been remanded to Dr. Widener’s care spend two weeks at this camp doing nothing but enjoying themselves. That means no psychological testing, no routine therapy sessions, no classrooms, nothing but relaxation and fun — supervised, of course. While these young people come from disparate backgrounds, one thing they have in common is that none of them have parents or relatives to take them in and provide a home; at least none that the authorities have been able to locate. In short, they’ve been abandoned.

“Some of them were found living rough on the city streets, some of them were rescued from flesh peddlers, and one of them, a young man who appears to be fourteen or fifteen years old, was actually dropped off at a hospital emergency room by a man who found him wandering aimlessly along the river a few days ago. Nobody knows anything about his prior circumstances because he hasn’t shown up on any missing persons list, and so far, he hasn’t spoken a single word.

“We’ll be interviewing Dr. Widener as well as some of the counselors and children to give you a picture of what it’s like to...”

Sarah and her cameraman, Ken Early, spent the better part of the day recording interviews and capturing various camp activities. The final product, a one-hour documentary, was slated for presentation later in the summer. As Ken loaded their equipment into the back of the TV station’s van, Sarah saw the mute kid sitting alone in the grass under a tree. She watched him for a few moments and saw something that drew her interest. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back and cocked to one side like he was listening intently to or for something.

She moved toward him, and as she got closer, she saw his hands were splayed in front of him in the grass, his fingers moving like he was playing a piano. From the intense expression on his thin but handsome young face, it appeared he was imagining himself actually performing some piece of music.

As she neared to within a few feet, the snap of a twig under her foot jerked him out of his reverie. His dark, deep-set eyes snapped open and locked onto hers. For a moment she thought she was reading anger at being disturbed, but just as quickly his face became a stone mask. He stood, spun around and walked away.

She felt guilty for bothering him. What did he imagine he was playing, she wondered. What did he hear? He didn’t (or couldn’t) say a word, but that momentary flash of intense expression on his face shouted, “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Sarah walked back toward the van and saw Dr. Widener standing with two of her counselors. She veered toward them and asked, “Dr. Widener, do you have a moment?”

The tall, elegant silver-haired lady in her sixties smiled and answered, “Of course, Ms. Bernstein. How may I help you?”

Sarah turned and pointed at the young man disappearing into the trees. “That kid over there, the one who doesn’t talk, can you tell me any more about him? For instance, do you know if he plays piano or anything like that?”

Dr. Widener gave her a questioning look and asked, “Do you mean John? Why do you ask?”

“Is that his name? John?”

“John, as in John Doe. So far, we haven’t learned anything about him, including his real name.”

“I see. Well, a minute ago I was walking toward him and it looked like his fingers were moving in the grass like he was playing a keyboard. As soon as he heard me coming, he gave me an angry look and stalked off. I felt like I’d interrupted something important or very personal.”

The doctor thought for a moment before shaking her head and saying, “Mmm, I wouldn’t read too much into that, Ms. Bernstein. John lives very much in his own world and he may even be autistic to some degree, but that’s for further testing to determine. We suspect he’s highly intelligent, but again, at this point we simply don’t know his capabilities. I’m afraid that’s all I can share with you at this early stage of his evaluation. He’s here at the camp because even though he doesn’t interact with the other children, we brought him along to give him some space and try to ease the pressure of the intense scrutiny he’s been under since he came to us.”

“I see. Well, thank you. I’d very much like to follow up on his story if it’s okay with you. Could I check back with you from time to time and ask about his progress?”

Dr. Widener eyed the reporter with the long-held suspicion she carried for all members of the news media. “You can inquire if you wish, but you must understand that we can release no information that might be privileged or that could compromise him in any way. The last thing he needs in his fragile state is to be made a public figure.”

“Oh sure, I can understand that. I’m not really thinking about running a story on him or anything, I’m just concerned. I get a sense that he’s rather, I don’t know, special somehow. I’ll check back in a couple of weeks if you don’t mind.”

That was a lie, of course. A feature story is exactly what she had in mind, and Sarah knew that Widener knew that as well. The good doctor was going to be tough to get around.

Sarah and Ken spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening back at the studio editing and compiling the material they’d gathered for their documentary. So far they had just over thirty-eight edited minutes of material, and that meant they still had sixteen minutes to fill and a lot more work ahead of them. That would necessitate at least one more visit to either the camp or the facility where the children lived, underwent therapy and attended classes.

As they began packing up to go home, Ken asked, “Why don’t I buy you dinner and maybe a few drinks to get you in the mood for a night of wanton sex and sleaze?”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Aren’t you ever going to give it up, Ken? I’ve told you ‘no’ a thousand times, and if you ask a thousand more times, you’ll get the same answer. You know, if the general manager ever heard you say something like that, you’d be out on your ass in a New York minute for sexual harassment.”

Ken laughed, “Ya think? Let me speculate about why you haven’t filed a complaint against me yet. For one thing, your inflated ego loves the attention, and for another, from what I’ve seen and heard, our lecherous GM has a hard time keeping his paws off the young female employee’s bodies, especially Teresa Montoya’s ass. For him to come after me would be a classic pot/kettle scenario. You know that and so does he.”

“Whatever, but you may as well stop asking because it’s never gonna happen in your lifetime, okay?”

He bobbed his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t give up that easily. Personally, I think you’re kind of a bitch, but I want that fine body and I know you want mine. And I know that because I’ve caught you checking out my ass a bunch of times.” He turned around and wiggled his butt at her. “It’ll happen.”

She rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, little man!”

Ken smirked and cupped his crotch. “What makes you think I’m little?”

Sarah ignored the crude gesture and walked out the door. A few seconds later, she stuck her head back in and said, “Um, I’m thinking about doing a follow-up on one of the kids at that camp. You want to help with that?”

He leered at her lasciviously and teased, “Hah! So now you’re making up excuses for us to be together. I knew you had the hots for me!”

“No, Mr. Delusional, I don’t. You just happen to be the best cameraman available, but if you get too cocky, I’ll be happy to find someone else.”

He waved it off with a flick of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Okay, sure, give me a call if you get something lined up.”

“First I have to figure out a way to get in to see him.”

Sarah Bernstein, Ace Reporter (in her own estimation) already had an idea she was working on.

An hour after the Channel 4 team left, Anton Balan, currently known as John Doe, sat in the shade of that same tree, again with his eyes closed and oblivious to his surroundings as he played Rachmaninoff’s third piano concerto in his mind. He was totally unaware of his finger movements as he pictured them flying up and down the keyboard in rapid-fire arpeggios and pounding out the chords of the notoriously difficult piece. He could hear every note of every instrument in the orchestra. He could sense the composer’s soaring emotions and the intense drama of the music as it consumed him totally.

By the time the piece reached its powerful finale, Anton was actually sweating from the perceived effort. The third movement crashed to an end, and as the echo of the last chord faded from his mind, he leaned back against the tree and felt his heart pounding in his chest.

And then the music was gone ... for the moment. Anton’s next journey of the imagination might find him in the role of Bilbo Baggins in a contest of wits with Gollum as they traded riddles, or perhaps Oberon scheming against Titania with the aid of his minion, Puck. His world was made up almost entirely of what he’d read in books or heard on recordings, always with him assuming the primary role. The intensity and scope of his fantasies left room for little more than a distant, vague awareness of the world in which his physical body existed. Fiction and fantasy had almost, but not quite, supplanted the horrible reality from which he had recently escaped.

Gradually he became aware of the cacophony of voices surrounding him and opened his eyes. The other kids were laughing, shouting, chattering, involved in their own activities; some swimming or canoeing in the lake, a couple of them shooting baskets, everyone absorbed in some distraction.

On Dr. Widener’s orders, Anton was left to himself, never pushed to participate in group activities, but that didn’t mean he was being ignored. There was always one counselor tasked with keeping a close eye on the boy, recording his activities in detail and reporting them at the daily staff meeting. So far, questioning him had proven fruitless, possibly even counterproductive, so it was hoped that monitoring his actions might provide some insight into what was going on in his secret world.

The dining hall bell announced the evening meal, reminding him that his body probably needed food. Lacking a clear signal from without, he might easily go for a day or two without eating anything, but he was already rail thin and could ill afford to miss any meals.