'It went beyond distancing,' said David, sinking lower and stretching his legs. 'He excluded us. Made it very clear that he had no use for human beings in general and us in specific' He stroked his moustache and frowned. 'Which doesn't mean we don't want to help him, just that we're probably a poor source of information.'
'The only one he ever talked to was Gary,' said Josh, 'and even that was rare.'
'Too bad Gary won't be here,' I said.
'He's been gone for a while,' said David.
'Any idea where I could find him?'
They exchanged uncomfortable looks.
'He moved out of his parents' house last summer. Last we heard he was drifting around downtown.'
'Dr. Flowers said he developed an interest in art. That's a switch, isn't it?'
'You wouldn't recognise him,' said Josh.
I remembered Gary as a neat, Sansei boy, a perfectionist with a passion for engineering and urban planning. His hobby had been constructing meticulously designed mega-communities, and Sarita's private nickname for him had been Little Bucky Fuller. I wondered what changes time had wrought, but before I could ask him about it, the door opened and a short, frizzy-haired girl stepped into the room. She held a large cloth purse in one hand and a sweater in the other and seemed confused. Hesitating, she stared at her feet, then self-consciously began walking toward me. I got up and met her halfway.
'Hi, Dr. Delaware,' she said shyly.
'Hi, Felicia. How have you been?'
'I've been fine,' she singsonged. 'How have you been?'
'Just fine. Thanks for coming.'
I realised that I'd lowered my voice and was talking especially gently, as if to a fretful child, which was exactly what she looked like.
She sat off to the side, away from the boys. Swinging her purse onto her lap, she scratched her chin and examined her shoes. Then she started to fidget.
She was the project's youngest and most precocious subject and the only one who resembled the stereotype of genius. Small, dreamy-eyed, and timorous, she inhabited an ethereal world of numerical abstractions. Unlike Josh and David, she'd changed little. There'd been a smidgen of growth - to five feet perhaps - and some evidence of physical maturity - a pair of hopeful buds asserting themselves beneath the white cotton of her blouse, a forehead grained with patches of pimples. But otherwise she still looked childlike, the pale face broad and innocent, the pug nose saddling thick-lensed glasses that made her eyes seem miles away. Her crinkly brown hair was devoid of style and tied in a loose ponytail, her short limbs padded with lingering layers of babyfat. I wondered which would arrive first, her Ph.D. or the completion of puberty.
I tried to make eye contact, but she'd already taken out a spiral notebook and buried her nose in it. Like Jamey, she was a loner, but whereas his detachment had been born of anger and bitterness, hers was the product of constant mental activity. She was sweet-tempered and eager to please, and though her efforts to be social were generally aborted by a tendency to drift into flights of theoretical fancy, she wanted desperately to relate.
'We were just talking about Gary,' I said.
She looked up, as if thinking of something to say, then returned to her book. The boys began talking to each other in low tones.
I looked at my watch. Ten after eight.
'We'll wait a few more minutes for Jennifer and then begin.'
Josh excused himself to make a phone call, and David stood and began circling the room, snapping his fingers
and humming off-key. A minute later Jennifer arrived, breathless and apologetic.
'Hi, Alex!' she said, bouncing over and planting a kiss on my cheek.
'Hello, Jen.'
She stepped back, sized me up, and said:
'You look exactly the same!'
'You don't.' I smiled.
She'd cut her long hair in a boyish bob and lightened it from dishwater to tawny gold. Heavy plastic pendants drooped from her ears, framing a high-cheeked gamin face. She wore a loose-fitting sky blue top, fashioned like a serape and cut off-centre to reveal one bare shoulder. Below the top was a snug denim miniskirt that exposed long, slender legs tapering to stack-heeled plastic sandals. Her half-inch fingernails were glossy pink, with toenails to match; her skin was the colour of heavily creamed coffee. At first glance, just another trend-chasing California mall bunny.
'I should hope not,' she said, and sat down on a folding chair. 'Well,' she said, looking around the room, 'at least I'm not the last one here.'
'Think again.' David grinned, and he went to fetch Josh.
'Sorry,' she said, feigning a cringe. 'I was grading papers and got stuck with one that was illegible.'
'Don't worry about it.'
The boys returned. Fusillades of nervous banter shot back and forth across the room, followed by silence. I looked out at four young, solemn faces and began.
'It's great to see all of you again. Dr. Flowers gave me a rundown on what you've been doing, and it's impressive.'
Obligatory smiles. Get down to business, Alex.
'I'm here because I've been asked to participate in Jamey's defence, and part of my job is to collect information about his mental status. You're the people he spent his days with for four out of the last five years, and I thought you might remember something that could shed some light on his breakdown. But before we get into that, let me say that I know all this has to be very upsetting for
you. So if anyone wants to talk about that, please feel free.'
The silence continued. Surprisingly Felicia was the one to break it:
'I think it's obvious,' she said, speaking in a near-whisper, 'that we're all extremely upset by what's happened - on multiple levels. We empathise and sympathise with Jamey, but at the same time the fact that we spent four years with him is frightening. Were we in danger during any of that time? Could some precaution have been taken to prevent what happened? Is there anything that we, as his peers, might have done? And finally, a more egocentric issue: His crimes have raised the risk of adverse publicity for the project and threaten to disrupt our lives. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been constantly harassed by reporters.'
Josh shook his head.
'My home number's unlisted.'
'So's mine,' said Jennifer. 'A couple of calls came in to Dr. Austerlitz's lab, but he told them I was out of the country.'
'I'm in the book, and they were on my case for three days running,' said David. 'Mostly tabloids, very low- level stuff. Saying no had little effect - they kept calling back - so I started answering them in Latin, and that did the trick.' To Felicia: 'Try it next time.'
She giggled nervously.
'You summed things up beautifully,' I told her. 'We can discuss any or all of the points you raised. Any preferences?'
Shrugs and downward glances. But I wasn't willing to let it go that easily.
They were geniuses but adolescents nevertheless, caught up in all the narcissism and fantasies of immortality that came with that territory. Time and time again they'd been reminded of their mental gifts, told they could handle anything life dished out. Now something had happened that had shattered their omnipotence. It had to be traumatic.
'Well, then,' I said. 'I'll start with this one: Do any of
you feel you could have done something to prevent what happened to Jamey, and if so, are you feeling guilty about it?'
'It's not guilt exactly,' said Jennifer, 'but I do wonder if I could have done more.'
'In what way?'
'I don't know. I'm sure I was the first to notice something was wrong. Perhaps I could have acted sooner to
