Mutation

Victor settled back into his seat. Obviously the kid had friends. He made a mental note to remind Marsha about Richie that evening.

The moment Victor pulled into his parking space, Philip’s hulking form appeared in front of the car as if by magic.

Seeing VJ, a smile broke across his face. He grabbed the front of the car and gave it a shake.

“Good gravy,” Victor said.

VJ jumped out of the car and gave the man a punch on the arm. Philip pretended to fall, backing up a few steps, clutching his arm. VJ laughed and the two started off.

“Wait a second, VJ,” Victor called. “Where are you going?”

VJ turned and shrugged. “I don’t know. The cafeteria or the library. Why? You want me to do something?”

“No,” Victor said. “I just want to be sure you stay away from the river. This warm weather is only going to make it rise higher.”

In the background Victor could hear the roar of the water going over the spillway.

“Don’t worry,” VJ said. “See you later.”

Victor watched as they rounded the building, heading in the direction of the cafeteria. They certainly made an improbable pair.

In the office, Victor got right to work. Colleen gave him an update on all the issues that had to be addressed that day. Victor delegated what he could, the things he had to do himself he put in an orderly stack in the center of his desk.

That done, he took out the note that had been wrapped around the brick.

“Remember our deal,” Victor repeated. “What the hell does that mean?” Suddenly furious, he picked up the phone and called Gephardt’s attorney, William Hurst, and Sharon Carver.

He didn’t give any of them a chance to talk. As soon as they were on the phone he shouted that there were no deals and that he’d put the police onto anyone who’d harassed his family.

Afterward he felt a little silly, but he hoped the guilty party would think twice before trying again. He did not call Ronald because he couldn’t imagine his old friend stooping to violence.

With that taken care of, Victor picked up the first of Colleen’s notes and started on the day’s administrative duties.

Marsha’s day was a seemingly endless stream of difficult patients until a cancellation just before lunch gave her an hour to review VJ’s tests. Taking them out, she remembered the intensity of his anger over the thrown brick. She looked at clinical scale four that was supposed to reflect such suppressed hostility. VJ had scored well below what she would have expected with such behavior.

Marsha got up, stretched and stared out her office window.

Unfortunately she looked over a parking lot, but beyond that there were some fields and rolling hills. All the trees in view still had that midwinter look of death, their branches like skeletons against the pale blue sky.

So much for psychological testing, she thought. She wished that she could have talked with Janice Fay. The woman had lived with them until her death in 1985. If anyone would have had insight into VJ’s change in intelligence, it would have been Janice. The only other adult who had been close to VJ

during that period was Martha Gillespie at the preschool. VJ

had started before his second birthday.

On impulse, Marsha called to Jean: “I think I’ll be skipping lunch; you go whenever you want. Just don’t forget to put the phone on service.”

Busy with the typewriter, Jean waved understanding.

Five minutes later, Marsha was going sixty-five miles an hour on the interstate. She only had to go one exit and was soon back to small country roads.

The Crocker Preschool was a charming ensemble of yellow cottages with white trim and white shutters on the grounds of a much larger estate house. Marsha wondered how the school made ends meet, but rumor had it that it was more of a hobby for Martha Gillespie. Martha had been widowed at a young age and left a fortune.

“Of course I remember VJ,” Martha said with feigned indignation. Marsha had found her in the administrative cottage. She was about sixty, with snow white hair and cheery, rosy cheeks. “I remember him vividly right from his first day with us. He was a most extraordinary boy.”

Marsha recalled the first day also. She’d brought VJ in early, worried about his response since he had not been away from home except when accompanied by Janice or herself. This was to be his first brush with such independence. But the adaptation had proved to be harder for Marsha than for her son, who ran into the middle of a group of children without even one backward glance.

“In fact,” Martha said, “I remember that by the end of his first day he had all the other children doing exactly what he wanted. And he wasn’t even two!”

“Then you remember when VJ’s intelligence fell?” Marsha asked.

Martha paused while she studied Marsha. “Yes, I remember,”

she said.

“What do you remember about him after this occurred?”

Marsha asked.

“How is the boy today?”

“He’s fine, I hope,” Marsha said.

“Is there some reason you want to upset yourself by going through this?” Martha asked. “I remember how devastated you were back then.”