A Genetic Abnormality

By Walter Winch

In 1993 Brian Stegner is a senior at St. Andrews School in northern Vermont, now the middle of winter. Brian's roommate, Eddy Yglesias, while researching a term paper, learns of a student that died under mysterious circumstances shortly before the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. Frank Adams a teacher at the school, who has become a surrogate father to Brian, learns of Eddy's discovery. The three of them slowly uncover a conspiracy that underpins the very beginning of St. Andrews and ultimately changes their lives forever. Brian, now a neuroscientist some twenty years later and living in Boston, finds himself confronting the real possibility that what was once considered science-fiction may no longer be the case. Has humankind, according to some, become a "failed" experiment? As he slowly peels away the layers of this very old conspiracy, Brian finds himself reliving the past and worries that his own family may now be in danger of some kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walter Winch
• Release date: Sep 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311795120

Walter Winch

Walter has lived and worked in the U.S., South America and the Caribbean, and has written both fiction and non-fiction, including radio drama, a stage play, newspaper column, an environmental blog for local paper and a grammar book for speakers of English as a Second Language. He has worked as a Peace Corps Director in the Caribbean, taught ESL at two universities in Miami, been a director of a private adult vocational school and has acted in repertory theater. Walter has a B.A. in History from Boston University and an M.A. in Political Science from Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut.Do you like radio stories? Go to http://www.prx.org/pieces/68054-ozark-reflections-an-american-story

Book preview

Chapter 1

Los Angeles, 2013

The question and answer session reached the mid-point. The speaker, a well known geneticist, had presented his assessment on where he thought genetics would go in the 21st century and the impact it could potentially have on future generations. The majority of the listeners seated in the futuristic glass auditorium were scientists, venture capitalists and assorted business people.

A man, probably in his early forties and seated near the front of the auditorium, stood up. Doctor, do you think genetics offers the possibility of immortality?

A faint smile appeared on the speaker's face. Er, in theory you mean?

The man who had asked the question then said, You've heard of the term 'singularity'?

Are you by any chance speaking of the inventor Ray Kurzwell? The man nodded. Well. He paused for a moment. If I recall, Kurzwell talks about machine intelligence dominating human intelligence in some forty years.

The year is 2045 to be exact.

Yes. 'Transhumanism' is the word I think that's most often used. I guess I have some deep reservations, but admittedly my personal view. And I have to say, by 2045 may be a bit premature for anything remotely like that.

For a new species you mean?

New species? I can't conceive of something like that.

How can you be certain, Doctor? The possibility may already exist.

Chicago, 1988

He jumped in the air, the elderly woman said to the policeman. Like that car commercial on television. She had been the only witness, at least the only one who had come forward. Evelyn Colgan had come out of the supermarket on the outskirts of Chicago at 8 o'clock in the morning, the parking lot nearly deserted. She thought it had been some kind of small truck, maybe brown, but it could have been light-brown, possibly a sort of beige color maybe. To just drive away after hitting that man. Imagine that, had been her last comment.

Vermont, 1993

Head down, Brian Stegner shuffled across the field to the small, one-bedroom house on the far north side of the campus, next to the woods. As he neared the house he glanced up at the dark woods and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

Hesitating for a second, he knocked on the front door. A minute later it was opened. Hi, Brian. Frank Rollins peered up at the sullen, overcast sky. More snow I bet.

In the living room fireplace two large logs crackled. Brian sat down on the worn beige sofa, while Frank plopped down in his accustomed leather chair. As I told you this afternoon, it's about time we got together. It's been a couple of months hasn't it?

Yeah, about three months.

That was a terrific game yesterday, Brian. Maybe the most exciting I've seen in the five years I've been teaching at St. Andrews.

Brian ran his hands through his sandy blond hair, which ended just below his ears. I'm glad we won, Mr. Rollins.

Now that the hockey season is over, you ready for spring vacation?

Yeah, I guess so.

Frank dangled one leg over the arm of the chair. You going to spend it with Eddy in Boston?

I don't think so.

Oh?

No, I'm staying here. I've got a lot of work to do, and getting ready for final exams.

Uh, huh. Final exams are more than two and-a-half months away, Frank said. Maybe you ought to give yourself some slack.

I think I'll stay here, Mr. Rollins.

Frank clasped his hands behind his head and looked puzzled. Brian studied the man who sat across from him, whom he thought was probably in his mid-forties. There were flecks of gray in Frank's dark brown hair, and around the corners of his light-brown eyes were deep lines that had become more pronounced as he stared back. Have you decided definitely on Princeton next year?

They offered me a full scholarship.

Frank smiled. Along with Boston College. Brian nodded. As I recall, you were born in New Jersey. Not that far from Princeton.

Um-m. Brian touched the pale half-moon scar just below his lower lip. That was a long time ago. He returned his hand to the back of the couch.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know that your term paper was excellent.

Thanks, Mr. Rollins.

But I do have a couple of questions.

About the paper?

Yes. Some of the principal figures you discussed seemed to be portrayed, for lack of a better term, in a fairly rigid way.

I'm not sure I understand, Brian said cautiously.

Well, for example, you said that President Woodrow Wilson was a, 'weak man,' who stumbled into numerous bad decisions and never controlled events as he 'should have'—or could have.

I think he could have done things differently if he'd really wanted to, or if he'd been more forceful.

Interesting, Frank said. What about human nature in general? You know, mankind being less than perfect. Making mistakes. Dealing with their fears and insecurities.

Brian leaned forward, becoming impatient. People like President Wilson are in those positions because they are supposed to be able to make decisions—and act on them without hesitation. Brian paused. Sure, I guess we all make mistakes, but we ought to make the right decisions most of the time. Again, Brian paused. Why did you ask me that?

No particular reason. Curious, I guess. After all, you're a senior who'll be graduating in three months. Captain of the hockey team, co-captain of the football team, second in your class and a full scholarship to Princeton. Those are significant accomplishments. Don't you think?

I guess so, Brian said vaguely, leaning back on the couch and thinking that his accomplishments meant almost nothing to him.

Can I ask you a personal question, Brian?

I guess that depends.

I guess it does. What's the reason you're going to stay here during spring break?

To study.

So you said ... but I think there's more to it than that. Tree branches weighted down with snow brushed against the roof of the house. Frank glanced up to the ceiling and then back at Brian.

Brian's impatience shifted into irritation. Mr. Rollins, if there's nothing else, I'd like to go back to my dorm.

Sure. I have nothing else. But you're the person who said President Wilson could have done things differently.

What's that supposed to mean?

Maybe you're not being honest with me or, more importantly, yourself.

Mr. Rollins, you're not a psychiatrist—

No, I'm not, Frank interrupted. Brian stood and started toward the door. Is that scar a constant reminder of your father? Frank said softly.

Brian whirled around, astonished. What do you know about my father?

Nothing really. But I do know you were brought up in two or three different foster homes. That was after your mother died and your father abandoned you. It was just before he left you that he hit you, with something, and left that scar. You were what, five or six?

Brian didn't move but he recalled, again, that first month so long ago when he went to the first foster home, and the nightmares he had that first year, along with the constant fear and distrust of everyone.

Sit down, Brian. A few more minutes won't make any difference. Brian hesitated but then went back to the couch. I'm going to make myself a cup of coffee. You want one?

Why not. The wind suddenly picked up and the tree branches now thudded angrily against the roof at regular intervals. Brian sat on the couch clenching and unclenching his fists, the wind growing louder.

He started to get up just as Frank returned from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and handed one to him. Brian forced his breathing to slow down, the trees now tapping lightly on the roof. You know, Brian, besides being your senior adviser and one of your teachers, I've watched you these past four years at St. Andrews. You're one of the finest high school athletes I've ever seen and a good student. And in spite of yourself, you're well liked by your classmates.

Mr. Rollins, I don't—

No. Frank held up his hand. "Let me finish. Then you can say whatever you want to. And I mean whatever you want to. Frank put his coffee mug on the floor beside the chair. You turned nineteen a month ago, right?"

Yeah.

Older than the other seniors. Started school later? Brian nodded. "Brian, each year I've watched you construct a shell around yourself. You won't let anyone get too close, and you won't let any of your own feelings out.

Oh, you're a very good actor. You say the right things to your classmates and to your teachers. I've even heard some of the teachers say what an incredible overachiever Brian Stegner is. I think it's a lot of bull. Frank picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, his eyes not straying from Brian. So why are you staying here during the vacation?

You know why.

No, I don't think you're staying here to study.

What, what do you know. You've been teaching history and government at this prep school in Vermont—in the middle of nowhere—for five years. Brian noticed the brittle smile on Frank's face. Yeah, and in another five years I might be called Mr. Chips.

I'm sorry I said that.

Brian was startled by Frank's sudden hard expression. Damn it, you're sorry for what? I'm not interested in some inane BS apology. Tell me why you want to stay here. No more games, Brian.

Games? Brian clenched his fists. I don't play games.

Really?

"Go to hell!"

They both stood at the same time and faced one another. Brian at six-one being a good inch taller than Frank. It's nice to know you're not artificial intelligence, Stegner. What does your 'program' tell you to do now?

Get off my goddamn back, I mean it.

No. Tell me now.

Brian raised his hand. He wanted to smash Frank in the face. He wanted to kill him.

So, you're going to hit me but you're afraid to reveal your feelings.

Ahh! Brian spun around. With all his strength he shoved the couch across the room, sending it crashing into a bookcase. Then, noticing the empty coffee mug, he picked it up and flung it against the fireplace.

Brian stood in the center of the room shaking uncontrollably. His anger slowly faded away but was replaced by absolute desolation. Brian sank to his knees and put his hands over his face.

He felt Frank's arm go around his shoulder. Tell me, he heard Frank say in a gentle voice.

I'm going ... want to ... kill myself.

You want to commit suicide.

Christ. He had not cried since he was six years old.

Chapter 2

How did you know? Brian said. They both sat on the couch with a pot of coffee in front of them on the table. They had been sitting there for more than an hour.

Frank looked at Brian with a tired expression. I didn't know exactly. Maybe had some idea. They sat quietly together for several minutes. Brian thought his teacher was thinking about something. Finally, Frank said to Brian, Go over to the desk and open the top left-hand drawer. There's something there. Brian went over to the desk and lifted from the drawer a gray metal box. Bring it here.

Brian returned to the couch. Open it, Frank said. Brian opened the box and pulled out a forty-five automatic. He looked at Frank and then at the revolver he was now holding.

"In 1969, Brian, I was in Viet Nam. We were out on patrol and at the time I was about a hundred yards from my squad. I surprised this soldier, Viet Cong, who was by himself on this trail. He threw his arms over his head ... to surrender. But I raised that gun you're holding and fired. I shot him three or four times in the face. He couldn't have been more than seventeen years old.

About two or three months later I got out of the army and eventually ended up in a hotel room in New York. I put that gun against my temple and pulled the trigger. But it didn't go off. Maybe it wasn't meant to.

Jesus, Brian heard himself say, almost in a whisper. He put the gun back in the metal box and closed it. You think about it, don't you?

Sometimes, Frank replied.

But you were in a war.

Yeah, the best excuse of all.

Was it because you killed that soldier you wanted to commit suicide?

No. That was only part of it...

When Frank did not offer any further explanation, Brian got up from the couch and walked over to the fireplace. With his back to Frank, he said, Do you ever feel, you know, empty?

Empty? You mean like you've achieved what you wanted to, or proved something, and it's not what you thought it would be?

I don't know. Maybe. Brian returned to the couch.

Brian, you've been pushing yourself for a long time. Pretty remarkable in many ways. I don't think I've known anyone your age, with the kind of rigid discipline you have. But, self-pity is something that most of us indulge in at times. It doesn't solve anything.

"But hell, I don't feel anything."

"Oh, I think you feel a hell of a lot more than you know. You demonstrated that tonight. Seems to me you wanted to play the cruelest game of all. To commit suicide when you've accomplished so much. To get even with the world?

Sure, you may have done well for the wrong reasons. And, as you say, you felt really empty. But that's not the world's fault, your father's, whatever. What about your father?

Brian shook his head. I don't know. He hesitated. I thought if he was still alive and I found him, I'd kill him. Maybe he caused my mother's death in some way. I don't know.

And now? Frank said.

Now? There's a lot to work out.

Oh yeah. You're right. There is.

Near midnight Brian left. The wind had died down but the sky had gotten even darker over the past few hours. He walked across the field, turning once to look back at the cottage. Frank was looking out the window, his shadow silhouetted by the living room light.

* * * *

At 8:50 Brian's first class finished. Two weeks had passed since his visit to Frank Rollins' house. As he walked out of the classroom his roommate, Eddy Yglesias, ambled toward him in the hallway. I thought you were sick this morning, Brian said.

Mrs. Barton didn't think so. She told me it was my glands.

Your what?

Eddy cocked his head to one side. You know, man, horny.

The school nurse said you were horny?

Hell, no. That's what she meant.

Brian couldn't help smiling as he studied his roommate. Whereas Brian was tall and fair with distant navy-blue eyes, Eddy was exactly five feet nine inches tall, with a nut brown complexion and large dark eyes that always sparkled with a trace of humor. You wanna go skiing this afternoon? Eddy said.

I can't. I've got to see Mr. Rollins.

You look lousy, you need a little 'r and r.'

It's about a term paper.

Okay, your afternoon. They headed in opposite directions: Eddy to chemistry class and Brian to advanced English.

At 5 o'clock Brian got out of the shower, put on a pair of shorts and walked down the dim, narrow hallway to his room, the worn wood floor creaking beneath his bare feet. The seniors lived in two houses on the west side of the campus opposite the baseball field.

Brian lived in Dunbar House, jokingly referred to as The House of Dracula. It was a three story white Gothic octagon structure built in the mid 1920s by an eccentric mill owner. From a distance the first thing one noticed was the distinctive triangular tops of the narrow windows.

Inside, wooden Gothic carvings came down from the ceiling separating one room from another. And, common to the style of that period, were numerous nooks and crannies where a person could seek privacy and solitude. While the many rooms had long since been converted into student quarters, the school and its Board of Trustees had diligently insisted the original style not be tampered with. Brian and Eddy lived on the third floor at the end of the hallway.

Eddy stood in front of the mirror with a set of weights in each hand doing arm curls. You save me any hot water? Eddy grunted.

As long as you don't spend your usual half-hour in there.

I'm getting out of shape, Eddy remarked setting down the weights. Eddy, however, weighed a solid 190 pounds and had been the co-captain of the football team, along with Brian. Eddy headed for the shower and Brian lay down on his bed.

A strange voice was calling him. He was on top of a hill looking down into a valley. Hey, wake up. Brian opened his eyes. Eddy was shaking him. You okay?

Huh. Brian rubbed his eyes.

It's 6:20, time to eat.

I feel like I've been sleeping for a week. What's the matter?

Your mouth was running a mile a minute, like you were talking with someone.

What did I say?

I don't know. A couple of nights ago you did the same thing. C'mon, let's go.

Brian hardly ever dreamed, at least any he could remember. No, that wasn't quite true he thought, sitting up on the edge of the bed. The dreams had started when he returned to school in September. He knew he had them but couldn't seem to remember any of them. But this one had been so vivid, he hadn't wanted to wake up. And the person standing in the valley, that was the first time he'd seen someone. The dream had been comforting, somehow almost exhilarating standing alone on that hill.

Five minutes later they were dressed. Brian knotted his tie, put on a burgundy-colored crew neck sweater and reached in the closet for his blue blazer. Eddy had on a pair of faded jeans, a plaid shirt and gray jacket and an old pair of loafers. Don't forget that rope you call a tie, Brian said.

Yeah, yeah. Eddy grabbed a frayed, pale green-striped tie and his ski parka. Christ, I'll be glad when I don't have to wear a tie to perform one of the basic functions of life.

Most of the freshmen and sophomores had left the dining hall by the time Eddy and Page reached the large cavernous room that would be turned into a study hall by 7:30.

That was pretty good, Eddy remarked. They had been back in their room for nearly an hour.

What? Brian glanced up from his desk. Eddy was lying on his bed. The seniors were not required to attend evening study hall.

"The Catcher in the Rye. You ever read it?"

Last year. Some people still want to ban it.

Keep it out of schools? Brian nodded. Freakin' air heads. Eddy got up and glanced out the window. Their room faced the northern woods. Leaning out the window in winter, it was possible to see to the right the road that led to the Canadian border, no more than a one-hour drive.

You decided on your paper yet? Brian said.

Yeah. I think I'm going to do it on the history of St. Andrews.

How come?

I was talking to Mrs. Patterson. She said there's a lot of information in the library. Did you know the school was founded in 1928?

No.

Man, can you imagine what it must have been like around here then. Jesus, we think it's the middle of nowhere now.

Hm. Brian was reading his physics book; he had a test the next day.

Their third period class the following morning was International Relations. Come-on, think, said Frank Rollins to his class. This country has an overabundance of parrot brains—my apologies to parrots. Let's be the exception to the rule. There were snickers from two students in the back of the classroom.

Frank called on Bob Sheffield, who sat to the right of Brian. Eddy sat on Brian's left. Bob, what's your opinion?

We were in international waters.

Frank leaned against the front of the metal desk and crossed his arms. And we don't recognize a 200-mile territorial limit, right?

No, only two miles.

Okay, Ted, what do you think the United States would do if the Russian Navy sailed into the Gulf of Mexico with an aircraft carrier, maybe three or four destroyers, and a couple of submarines? For the sake of argument let's say the Russians are still the bad guys and nothing has changed.

Chase them out fast, replied the student without hesitation.

Frank sat down on the corner of his desk. Oh? But they're twelve miles from our shore, Ted, in international waters. Brian noticed the perplexed expression on Ted Abbot's face.

Well, they'd be a threat. And, and the Gulf is in our sphere of influence.

Hm-m, sphere-of-influence—who said?

Well ... we did.

And we've got the muscle? Frank offered.

Yeah, Ted replied.

Randy Shore raised his hand. Randy was first in the senior class and had been a straight A student his entire four years at St. Andrews. Yeah, Randy.

Mr. Rollins, I think this is a good example of the nation-state being an anachronism.

Frank's eyes scanned the class. What's Randy saying?

Brian raised his hand. The idea of nation might be, out-of-date.

Is that what you mean, Randy?

Yes.

Do you think the nation-state will wither away in the near future?

No, not in the near future.

Okay, we've only got a couple of minutes left, Frank continued. I think the important thing for us to consider in this class is how governments make decisions, rationalize them, and enforce them. For the next class be prepared to discuss President Kennedy's decision to send military advisers to Viet Nam. For a fraction of a second Brian's eyes met Frank's. The bell sounded.

Boy, I wish all my classes went that fast, Eddy said to Brian as they left the room.

Yeah, he's probably the best teacher I've had.

You know him pretty well.

No, I don't know him that well.

He sure as hell makes you think. Only four more days to go, Eddy said. See you later?

Right. On the way to his next class Brian thought about what Eddy had just said. No, he didn't know Frank well, but he was learning more about him.

* * * *

It's open, Frank called from inside. Brian found his teacher in his leather chair with a book in his lap.

What are you reading, Mr. Rollins?

Oh, about the Spanish conquest of South America. What time you guys leaving?

Saturday morning. Mr. Bernstein said he'd drive Eddy and me and two other guys into Anderson. What are you going to do, Mr. Rollins?

I'm spending the week in Stowe.

Skiing?

As much as I can.

Some of the students wondered what you did on the weekends.

Really? Frank's eyebrows rose slightly.

Yeah, I guess because you're the only teacher here not married. Well, except for Mr. Bernstein and Mr. Roberts. And Mrs. Jacobs was married.

You're forgetting Mr. Riggs.

Oh, yeah, well, he's so old.

A faint smile spread across Frank's face. "And Mr. Bernstein and Mr. Roberts are only in their 20s, while an old man like me should be married."

Ah, I guess so.

Have you wondered, Brian?

Er, I suppose.

Frank grinned. Well, I'm reasonably normal and I haven't taken any vows of celibacy.

I didn't mean it like that.

That's okay. Considering what you and I have been dealing with lately, I'd expect you to be curious about me. How you doing?

Pretty good.

I'm glad you've decided to go to Boston with Eddy.

Brian nodded. Me too. Brian shifted on the couch slightly. I've decided on something. I'm going to start looking for my father this summer.

Do you know why? said Frank, his voice lower.

I guess there's a lot of reasons.

Brian, do you think you might know exactly why?

Well, uh, everyone wants to know who their parents are.

That's the reason?

It's not revenge anymore, wanting to get him.

Okay, I guess there doesn't have to be a specific reason. Does there?

Brian stared at Frank. Well. Brian's hand moved up to his chin and then stopped in mid air. Yeah, there's a reason.

You want to tell me?

I don't know why it's so difficult—it's being alone. Not having anyone. A lot of that's my doing. But I want to find him, or at least make some attempt. I want to know I'm part of something. Does that make sense?

It does to me, Brian. But what if you don't find him? What if your search proves to be more painful than you imagined? What if you raise more questions than you find answers?

Brian felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. At least I will have tried.

Yes. Frank seemed to say this to no one in particular. I think it's important to make those decisions and examine the reasons.

Well, I've decided, Brian said.

Okay. It's your decision.

Thanks, Mr. Rollins.

For what?

Your advice. Both he and Frank smiled.

Outside, the cold air felt good as Brian trotted back to The House of Dracula. He was glad he had talked to Frank. But as he neared Dunbar House he recalled what Frank had said. What if your search proves to be more difficult that you imagined? And what if you raise more questions than you find answers?

Brian slowed down and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The old Gothic house was outlined against the sky. By the time he reached the third floor landing he wasn't sure. Was making the decision only the easiest part he thought?

Chapter 3

The campus was deserted when Frank strolled slowly to his house near 5 o'clock Saturday afternoon. All the students had left and most of the faculty. It was cold and already getting dark.

Frank opened the front door, took off his coat and tossed it on the couch. He then turned on the stereo to a station that played light