Special Talents (9 page)

"You mentioned psychological testing," Jeremy said.

"Oh, you won't have to go through that. Neither will Janet. She's all ready had hers because of her job at the research center. The psychological testing is only for the other people we select for the team."

"I'm aware of that," said Jeremy. "I only wanted to say I'd like to see what kind of psychological test it is. I might be able to help fine tune it and get better results. Sometimes those test can be somewhat generalized. I could help make sure it fits our needs."

"That's not a bad idea. I'll talk to the head psychiatrist when I get back and see what he thinks. I'm sure he'll be happy to have the help."

"What's his name?" Jeremy asked.

"Walt Hiensman. He's been with the agency from the beginning."

"I've met him at a couple of psychiatric conventions. He's very good. It's nice to know the people safeguarding our homeland are in such good hands."

"Nothing but the best," said Scarborough, smiling.

"What about other people in the agency?" Janet asked. "Besides Kamalene. Any of them been identified as having special talents?"

"Not so far. There may be some they may just be afraid to say anything. It's kind of like admitting to seeing a UFO. If some regular Joe claims to have seen a UFO, no one thinks much of it. But if say a professional pilot claims to have seen a UFO, he gets labeled a nut job and risks getting grounded."

"Which actually doesn't make a lot of sense," said Jeremy. "A UFO is simply a flying object you can't identify. It could be a plane, jet, helicopter, almost anything. I've seen plenty of them. A flashing light moving across the sky. It's a flying object that much I know. But I have no idea what kind it is. Simply calling it a 'UFO' doesn't necessarily mean you're talking about a flying saucer or little green men."

"Yeah, well when people hear 'UFO' that's usually what they think of first," said Scarborough.

As they were talking Jeremy's attention was drawn to the outside exit of the food court. He watched as a young black man wandered into the court. It was hard to tell exactly how old the man was from his condition but Jeremy judged he was probably somewhere in his early 20s.

But the man was completely out of place in the food court. Most of the people were dressed somewhat nicely. They were out for a day of shopping or to pick up something they needed. There were even a few in various types of uniforms who had probably stopped in for lunch.

This young man was totally different. He had long hair that hung to his shoulders and obviously hadn't been washed in at least several days. His beard was scraggly and unkempt and also hadn't been washed. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans that were obviously much too large for him. And he was wearing an old style field jacket that had once been standard issue in the military. As Jeremy watched the man cautiously made his way through the food court and the reaction from some of the people near him indicated he had a distinct odor to him.

Scarborough noticed Jeremy watching the man and looked over to see what he was looking at.

"Just some homeless guy," Scarborough said. "We have quite a few of them in D.C. especially the way the economy is. Mall security will probably be by shortly to move the guy on his way."

"That's a shame," said Janet. "We're supposed to be the richest country in the world. No one should have to live like that."

"True, but unfortunately it's a fact of life," said Jeremy. "Whenever I see one I always wonder what their story is. I'm sure no one chooses to be homeless. But there's usually a reason for it. I just wonder what his is."

As he continued to watch the young man he noticed the man try to move nonchalantly to a nearby table. The table still had several trays that had been left behind by the patrons who had been sitting there. Several half finished meals sat on the trays waiting for the food court staff to clean them up. As the man glanced furtively around, as if looking to see if anyone was watching him, he began to pick up some of the food and shove it in his mouth.

Jeremy also noticed some unusual behavior in the man. As he shoved food into his mouth with one hand, the other hand was massaging his temple. As if he were having a headache and was trying to massage the pain away. And the expression on the man's face indicated he was definitely in pain.

Jeremy also noticed that the man seemed to be muttering to himself as he looked around the food court. Jeremy couldn't hear what he was saying but he was definitely muttering something. Jeremy decided he was probably someone with a mental illness and may have been off his medication for a while. He had seen it all too frequently in his practice.

The man finished the food on the tray and moved to another nearby empty table. As he began to consume the remains of those meals, two mall security guards began to approach him. As the guards approached him the man began to back away. By now he was massaging both of his temples with both hands. As the guards moved in on him the man's voice raised several octaves.

"Get out of my head," the man nearly screamed. "Go away. Leave me alone. Get out of my head."

"Poor soul," said Scarborough. "He should be in a hospital."

"Not necessarily," said Jeremy, standing up and moving toward the young man. "Come on, Richard. We may need your credentials."

Jeremy moved over to where the three men stood. The two security guards were trying to get hold of the man but he kept backing away from them, the entire time screaming for them to get out of his head. Jeremy pushed past the two guards and stood in front of the man, his hands help out as if to help the man.

"It's okay. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you."

"You can't help me," screamed the man. "No one can help me. Just leave me alone. I just want to be left alone. And get out of my head. You're killing me."

Suddenly the man collapsed onto a nearby table sending the contents of the table sprawling in all directions. Jeremy move over and knelt down to examine the man. He had obviously passed out but there was no indication why. Jeremy looked up at Scarborough and nodded once to him. Scarborough pulled out his Homeland Security identification and showed it to the 2 security guards.

"Homeland Security," he said. "We'll take care of this."

The two guards looked at each other for a moment and then backed off. As a doctor Jeremy was trained to handle almost any medical situation. But it didn't necessarily help with the smell that was emanating from the man.

"Oh, boy, this one is really ripe," said Janet, turning her head to try and avoid the stench from the guy.

"He hasn't had a bath in days," said Jeremy.

"He's just some bum that wanders in here from time to time and eats off the leftover trays," said one of the security guards. "We usually just move him on his way."

"That bum is a human being," said Scarborough. "Someone who may just be down on his luck and is surviving the best way he can. You should be thankful you have a decent job and a nice home. I'm sure he isn't this way by choice."

The two security guards just looked at each other and then decided to leave the situation to Jeremy, Janet, and Scarborough. They turned and headed back into the mall.

"That was pretty harsh," Janet whispered to Scarborough.

"I had an uncle who became homeless when he lost his job," said Scarborough. "Lived pretty much the way this guy does. They found him one January frozen to a heating grate trying to stay warm. No one should have to live like that."

"Let's get him out of here," said Jeremy. "Richard, I know he smells bad but we need to get him to your car. I'll pay for any cleaning it might need."

"Don't worry about it, Jeremy. It's the least we can do for another human being. I guess being a psychiatrist you just naturally gravitate toward the less fortunate in society.

"Sometimes," said Jeremy. "But that's not what's going on here." He lowered his voice so only Janet and Scarborough could hear him. "This guy was using an ability. Even like this, unconscious as he is, it's still working. It's one of the strongest I've ever seen. And I don't detect any sign of illness or injury."

"He's using an ability while he's unconscious?" Janet questioned. "I didn't think that was possible."

"Neither did I," said Jeremy. "But we need to get him out of here. And we need to get him someplace safe and secluded."

"I know of a place," said Scarborough. "It's on the outskirts of Silver Spring. Very secluded. It shouldn't take us long to get there."

"Good," said Jeremy. "Now, help me get him to the car. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

Together Jeremy and Scarborough picked up the man and began to carry him to the parking lot. Janet hurried ahead of them and held the doors open as they carried the man through them. A few minutes later they were driving out of the parking lot heading for Silver Spring, Maryland.

The young man opened his eyes and looked around. He was in what appeared to be a bedroom and a young woman sat next to his bed reading a magazine. He apparently had been bathed and shaved and was dressed in a pair of pajamas. As he looked around the room the woman noticed he was awake. She got up walked to the door.

"Dr. Sloan, he's awake."

A moment later Jeremy and Scarborough came into the room. Jeremy sat down in a chair next to the man while Scarborough took a seat in a chair at the foot of the bed. Jeremy picked up the man's left wrist and began to check his pulse.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Okay I guess," said the man, rubbing his head with his right hand.

"You still have a headache?"

"Yeah, all the time. Sometimes they get really bad. Where am I?"

"You're in a private residence on the outskirts of Silver Spring," said Jeremy taking some pills out of his pocket. "Here. Take these. They should help with the headache."

"What are they?"

"Painkillers. It's okay. I'm a doctor. What's your name?"

"Conrad. Conrad Miles."

"Well, Conrad, you gave us quite a scare. You passed out in the food court. You could have been seriously injured."

"Not that it would matter. Look, I don't have any money. And no insurance. I can't pay you for any of this."

"I'm not concerned with payment," said Jeremy. "My name is Jeremy Sloan. I'm a psychiatrist. This is Richard Scarborough. He helped me bring you here."

"A psychiatrist? That's perfect. I suppose now you're going to put me in some nut house and pump me full of drugs. Isn't that what you do with crazy people?"

"What makes you think you're crazy?" Jeremy asked.

"Normal people don't hear things. Things that aren't there."

"You hear things? You mean, like voices? Inside your head?"

"No, not voices. Things. I don't hear any voices telling me to do stuff. But I hear things. Like right now I'm hearing stuff about Homeland Security. And people with special talents. Threats from terrorists."

Jeremy just looked at Scarborough. Neither of them had mentioned anything about Homeland Security or terrorists. How could this young man possible know that?

"How old are you?" Scarborough asked.

"Nineteen," replied Conrad. He just looked at Scarborough. "And I don't need your pity. I just want to be left alone and have the things out of my head."

"Who said anything about pity?" Jeremy asked.

"No one. But it's written all over him." He looked at Scarborough. "He feels sorry for me. Like I'm some kind of freak that people need to feel sorry for. I'm no freak. I may be crazy but I'm no freak. I just want to be left alone."

"We'll let you get some rest," said Jeremy. "I'll have some food brought in for you. I'm sure you can use it. We'll talk again in a bit when you're headache has subsided. Right now, just get some rest."

"What was all that about?" Scarborough asked when he and Jeremy had moved into the other room. "I never said anything about feeling sorry for him."

"Not directly," said Jeremy. "But you do feel sorry for him, don't you? Because of what your uncle went through."

"Yeah, I suppose so. Like I said, no one should have to live like that."

"And that talk about Homeland Security and terrorists. Neither of us said anything about that."

"What about in the food court? I did identify myself as being with Homeland Security. Do you think it's possible he heard me?"

"Hang on a second. Kamalene. Take some food into Conrad, will you? He's probably starving."

"Sure Dr. Sloan."

"Richard, it is possible he overheard you identify yourself even while he was unconscious. We're still aware of our surroundings even when we're asleep or unconscious. But no one mentioned terrorists either in the food court or here."

"So what? He heard Homeland Security and just assumed?