Chapter Four:

Emily shuttled the boys home after a few more minutes, promising the school that they'd be back in the morning, and asking, please, that they keep a closer eye on Kurt Bains. Alice stayed behind, to speak with Principal Schrimsher and Dr. Shorr. She hadn't been planning on the meeting, having left most of the relevant notes back in the Seed-Koepnick's still-spartan guest bedroom. But, then again, what this week had been planned?

The principal called Derick's teachers down for the meeting, and while they waited Dr. Shorr got her long-awaited chance to speak.

"Dr. Guinyard, I'm glad we've got the chance to talk about Derick, and thank you so much for working with him this afternoon. I can only imagine how difficult it would have been without your presence."

"Yes, well, thank you," Alice said.

"When Ray told me that we'd be getting a student of Derick's caliber, I did some research, and I managed to find quite a few of your papers on the topic of the social development of prepubescent geniuses. They were quite revealing."

"Thank you again. If you had any question I could answer, if we have time."

"No, no, nothing from your papers. They were all completely clear on what you brought forward, but I was confused on your tactics today. I mean, you got through to Derick so fast. How?"

"Derick and his family have been my patients for seven years now," Alice said, doing the math. "They were my first patients, back when I was associated with the University of New York, and then they followed me when I moved into private practice."

"I was under the impression that you were still associated with the University."

"I consult," Alice nodded.

"But today? Conventional wisdom dictates,"

Alice chuckled, cutting the psychologist off. Conventional Wisdom. "Well, sometimes all conventional wisdom will get you is someone to stand at your side while you scratch your head. These kids don't fall inside convention. To them, convention is a dangerous thing, sometimes fatal."

God, sometimes fatal.

Another memory came up. Another genius, a long time ago. Back when she was a resident. The second genius she met, Marylou Alcott. The one who walked in front of a bus twenty minutes after Alice released her. The one who truly got her into child psychiatry, the study of the minds of geniuses.

Alice pushed the memory away. Derick. Derick was why she was here.

"The only thing I can say, Dr. Shorr, is wipe the slate clean. Forget everything you know about Derick, everything you know about conventional psychology, everything you know about every other kid who's come through this office. Gone. Then figure it all out again, with him in mind."

"That's a big order. I mean, forget everything?" Dr. Shorr laughed. The principal joined in.

Alice didn't.

Marylou.

"Yeah, it is. But for these kids, people like me are even rarer than people like them. Figure out what makes the kid giddy, and work from there. Then find what makes him so scared he shakes. Those are your extremes, and there will be more than just two, believe me. But everything else encompassed within those extremes are what makes their minds tick. It's a lot of trial and error, but it's rarely a shot in the dark."

A few Hail Marys, but not a shot in the dark, Alice thought, remembering this morning.

Dr. Shorr nodded in silent agreement at Alice's paused, figuring the speech was over. "If I get permission from Derick and his mother, then I'll open up Derick's file to you, help you get an understanding."

"Thank you," Dr. Shorr said. "And I trust you'll be available if I find Derick's case a bit trying?"

"Absolutely," Alice chuckled, wondering if the woman knew exactly what she was getting into.

The meeting itself took about an hour, but the post-meeting discussion took two. Alice, who was a veteran of these discussions, was aware of the need to do this. Psychologically, academically, intellectually, Derick needed his teachers to know what to expect. And it was her duty, as Dr. Guinyard, to attend.

But Alice didn't wanna.

Teachers hated psychiatrists. They thought psychiatrists were pompous, overeducated, erudite little pissants who use words like "counterproductive" and "nonpareil" to justify their hourly rates. And Alice didn't blame them, psychiatrists could be a pain in the ass. It just didn't mean they couldn't be right.

They hated the idea of a psychiatrist coming into their school, telling them how to teach their student; even one so gifted as Derick. The last thing they wanted was someone stepping on their toes.

So Alice gave them what she'd learned from experience. Told them stories of how Derick can make leaps of logic, correctly, and have you dancing around your words. She told them to expect for him to ask questions a freshman in college to ask, because he would be thinking that far ahead. But, she suggested, try to get him to write the question down; once he recognizes that the question is so far ahead of the other students, he'll understand asking it aloud will be socially damaging. Then he'd be more likely to ask quietly, after class.

When Alice was finally released she'd been forced into the promise that she'd speak with the Seed-Koepnick family that evening about releasing Derick's records. At that time she'd been at the school for three-and-a-half hours, had missed lunch, had a headache from caffeine, and was probably suffering from the early stages of an ulcer.

She was so completely absorbed in her own thoughts on the meetings and things she had yet to do, that she didn't realize someone was leaning against her car. When she did recognize him, Alice was barely a dozen feet away; far, far too close for comfort.

She gasped and dropped her keys.

"Hello, doctor Guinyard," he sneered, walking towards her.

"Mr. Seed," Alice said, straightening her head, looking him in the face, praying he didn't see the fear that was knotting her stomach.

Michael Seed was Christopher and Derick's father, Emily's ex-husband, and someone sufficiently terrifying that the courts in New York had given Emily sole custody of the boys and each one of them restraining orders.

And it had been Alice who gave lynchpin testimony for all of it.

"I wasn't aware you were in LA," Alice said, standing her ground. "Don't you still live in New York?"

"I live where ever my son is." Michael said, stopping inches from Alice's face, grinning at her, exuding all the comfort of a screaming cougar. Then he stooped and picked up her keys, making a hideous mockery of whatever chivalry there was left in the world.

My son. Singular.

It didn't take a genius to figure out which son he was speaking of.

Derick.

Michael had taken a different stance than his then-wife had when Derick was identified as a very gifted little boy. Michael had wanted to pull Derick out of school and teach him from home, push him harder than Derick's young mind would have been able to handle. All Michael wanted was for his son to be the next Einstein. It had taken a a trial in kiddie court to get the judge to rule in favor of Emily, who had the more moderate opinion of letting Derick skip a few grades.

And he had ordered family therapy.

Which brought them to Alice's mentor, which brought them to her.

Michael had gone for no more sessions than were court-ordered. Emily kept taking herself and the boys, recognizing how difficult their life was going to get.

And when the pair had split, Michael sued for custody of Derick.

Only Derick.

Scarring both boys and creating Derick's genius as a wall between them.

Alice had testified in favor of giving Emily custody. When the judge pronounced his decision, Michael threatened his family and Alice.

Restraining orders were issued. Alice let hers lapse, thinking him a jealous father reacting to the moment. Emily didn't.

And at this moment Alice was beginning to question the wisdom of letting it expire.

"You know you're not supposed to come within 500 yards of your sons' school," Alice bluffed, praying, however naively, that this would be enough to scare Michael away.

Michael laughed. "In New York. Since moving here my bitch of an ex-wife failed to file a new one. I can legally get as close to my son as I want."

Alice decided to try a different approach. She sighed, shifted her weight, crossed her arms, and tried to look determined. "Tell me what you want, Michael, and then get outta here."

"Stay the hell away from the boy, or so help me, I will gut you, the bitch, and anyone who comes in my way."

Alice kept staring at him, willing her face impassive throughout all of this. But apparently Michael Seed was satisfied with this threat. He dangled Alice's keys in front of her face, and when she went to grab them, he tossed them into the gutter and spat on them once for good measure.

She waited until Michael had walked out of sight before moving to get them, her hands trembling.