Not sure when I wrote this (high school?), but it’s interesting that my character descriptions in the original version — plus some other wording — aren’t acceptable by modern standards. I’ve fixed this, but it’s funny that ignorant ‘hillbilly me’ at that time didn’t know any better.
Lynne Mueller had said the boy was twenty-two years old. To me he looked closer to fifteen, but then stunted growth is not uncommon among autistic children. We stood in the darkness watching through the one-way glass. He was sitting on the floor, building a tower out of alphabet blocks. Tall and lanky, his intense face was topped with an unruly mop of reddish-brown hair. The unevenness of the tiny wooden blocks prevented even the surest hand from making a tower more than a few feet tall. His tower fell as he was putting on the eighth block, and he grew angry and scattered the blocks around the room. The expression on this face was comic in its harshness. I chuckled softly, and he looked up — almost if he had heard me — which was, of course, impossible through the glass. His eyes were very large, very deep, and very gray. His name was Eric.
He moved to collect the blocks, and I opened my mouth to speak — but Lynne Mueller whispered, “Watch.” — I watched.
The Woodridge Center for Autistic Children was located just north of the city on a few acres of state-owned land. The road to the Center ran along the south fence to the gate on the east side — where it entered and meandered past large shade trees to the main building and small parking lot. A state-funded program provided employment at the Center for minorities — which gave the Center a better balance of both ethnicities and gender than many other local businesses.
Lynne Mueller, a polished woman in her late late twenties, was in charge of the place. She had telephoned me earlier in the week, and persuaded me to come look at Eric. She had said something about parapsychological powers — which was my hobby as head professor at the psychology department at the state university. Interested, I had arrived a half-hour earlier.
Eric began to build another tower, an odd look of determination on his face. The tower grew steadily. Two, three, four, five feet tall. I found myself holding my breath — waiting for its inevitable collapse. Finally, the tower was six feet tall, and used all but one of the blocks. This last block he held in his hand as he retreated unhurriedly to a corner of the room. I could not believe that the tower still stood.
Lynne Mueller took my arm, “Come,” she whispered. As we left the observation room, I paused at the doorway just in time to see Eric fling the remaining block, destroying the tower with silent crash. His face was set in a tight-lipped grin of triumph.
I sat across from her in her office as she nervously picked at a thumbnail, avoiding my gaze. “So he builds towers. There are documented cases, Miss Mueller, of autistic children who can do any one of a number of incredible things. Perform split-second mathematical calculations, construct replicas of barely-glimpsed machinery…”
“But it’s more than that,” she interrupted, looking up “Eric could do any one of those — if he wanted. Ha can do anything he wants… Let me show you Lisa.” She picked up a folder off the desk.
“The girl you mentioned on the telephone?” She nodded.
She led me through a maze of corridors that was the Center. Occasional windowed doors broke the monotony of the pale blue walls. She stopped at one of the doors, and ushered me inside.
A young girl sat in a rocking chair, staring at nothing. A teddy-bear lay at her feet. A frowning woman attended another girl in the same room who seemed intent on running into a wall. Lynne Mueller hurried over, and together they succeeded in quieting the girl. Lynne Mueller returned and said, “The one in the chair is Lisa Burke. She is the second child of a rather well-off couple. Apparently, the mother had been taking some kind of medication during pregnancy. Lisa was born autistic, and with her left arm not fully formed. She had no hand”
“Had?” I looked again at the girl. Her hands clutched the arms of the rocker. “And you attribute the acquisition of a hand to Eric?”
She nodded. “One afternoon, the two of them were alone with minimum supervision. That evening, someone noticed she was no longer missing a hand.”
I could not hide my incredulity.
“She is not the only one. An older boy who spent some time with Eric shows signs of no longer being blind. It seems that Eric has the power to fix what he doesn’t like — to do what he wants.”
She seemed suddenly withdrawn. “I’m afraid of him… or for him. Who is he to have such miraculous powers? There are whispers among the staff of a new messiah.”
She was silent for a time. I brought her back to reality. “I’d like to observe Eric for a few days…”
A woman hurried into the room. “Miss Mueller! Miss Mueller!” she cried, out of breath “Eric is gone! He walked out through a hole on the east fence!”
I pictured the massive fences surrounding the Center, and tried to imagine the time it would take to cut though — even if one had the proper tools.
“A hole?” Lynne Mueller was saying. She looked at me as we left to investigate. “There was no hole there this morning.”