similar.”
“Exactly the same.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Dr. Rosenstein said. “Nevertheless, I’d very much like to read this paper.”
“I’m sure the police have his computer now. I don’t think Henri printed any copies.”
Dr. Rosenstein grunted.
Burnett reflected on how truly extraordinary a paper Henri had conceived. “Several of the equations were over my head. Then the one at the end. Never in my life have I seen anything like it. He used mathematical symbols I couldn’t find in any textbook. I don’t know what he discovered, but it had an effect on me. And him.”
“Henri Laroche was a unique and gifted individual.”
Burnett smiled and squeezed back a tear. “You believe the old story that we use only ten percent of our brainpower?”
“No. I think we all use a healthy portion.”
“‘A healthy portion?’”
Dr. Rosenstein offered a meditative smile. “More than half. However, I do believe some people use their brains far more effectively than others. Especially in certain areas, like music, art, mathematics.”
“Henri was a troubled genius,” Burnett said without thinking.
Dr. Rosenstein sat in silence for half a minute. Burnett assumed his remark had been inappropriate.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Dr. Rosenstein said. “And if you repeat it, I’ll deny it. But Henri spoke of you often. He considered you the closest friend he ever had.” He removed his glasses once again and meticulously wiped both sides of each lens with his shirt before placing them in his lap. “In my opinion, Henri Laroche likely had savant syndrome.”
Burnett nearly slid off the sofa.
“I won’t go into the specifics of my diagnosis; suffice it to say the challenges he faced were not as severe as most, and those he did have were kept under control with medication.”
Burnett sat in stunned silence.
The expression on Dr. Rosenstein’s face clearly indicated he wished he hadn’t revealed that piece of information. “I have a patient waiting. But I’d like to hear more about this dream. If you have some time Friday morning, I believe I have an opening. You can check with the receptionist.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 9
Later that same afternoon, Burnett stood in the doorway to Desmond’s office. He’d forgotten how compact an office the professor had. Though neatly arranged with a large computer monitor on a mahogany desk and two lateral filing cabinets side by side, the room felt far more cramped than any other office he’d visited.
Much to his surprise, Desmond sprang from his chair, bounded over, and enclosed him in a bear hug. After the professor released him and stepped back, Burnett heard him sniffle.
“I am so sorry about Henri,” Desmond said. “In addition to being a great guy, he was the most brilliant student I had ever taught.”
Burnett nodded, solemn, and considered Desmond’s statement. “Brilliant” was a word that had followed Henri since grade school. It had been used to describe him so often it had become a cliché. But few, aside from his closest friends, had ever described him as “a great guy.” People who didn’t know him well preferred more colorful labels such as “eccentric,” “volatile,” or the always dependable “obnoxious.”
“It’s a terrible tragedy,” Burnett said.
“I heard you were with him.”
He nodded. “Can I ask you something personal about him?”
“You knew him far better than I.”
“Was he going to fail your class?”
“That may be a little too personal.”
While it was, of course, true, Desmond could have nodded without a word.
“Did he mention he’d been having nightmares the past few weeks?” Burnett asked.
The question appeared to startle Desmond. He immediately recovered. “He did. He’d been working on a paper to earn extra credit. Apparently they started shortly after he’d finished an early draft.”
Now it was Burnett’s turn to be startled. He’d
“Exactly the same.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Dr. Rosenstein said. “Nevertheless, I’d very much like to read this paper.”
“I’m sure the police have his computer now. I don’t think Henri printed any copies.”
Dr. Rosenstein grunted.
Burnett reflected on how truly extraordinary a paper Henri had conceived. “Several of the equations were over my head. Then the one at the end. Never in my life have I seen anything like it. He used mathematical symbols I couldn’t find in any textbook. I don’t know what he discovered, but it had an effect on me. And him.”
“Henri Laroche was a unique and gifted individual.”
Burnett smiled and squeezed back a tear. “You believe the old story that we use only ten percent of our brainpower?”
“No. I think we all use a healthy portion.”
“‘A healthy portion?’”
Dr. Rosenstein offered a meditative smile. “More than half. However, I do believe some people use their brains far more effectively than others. Especially in certain areas, like music, art, mathematics.”
“Henri was a troubled genius,” Burnett said without thinking.
Dr. Rosenstein sat in silence for half a minute. Burnett assumed his remark had been inappropriate.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Dr. Rosenstein said. “And if you repeat it, I’ll deny it. But Henri spoke of you often. He considered you the closest friend he ever had.” He removed his glasses once again and meticulously wiped both sides of each lens with his shirt before placing them in his lap. “In my opinion, Henri Laroche likely had savant syndrome.”
Burnett nearly slid off the sofa.
“I won’t go into the specifics of my diagnosis; suffice it to say the challenges he faced were not as severe as most, and those he did have were kept under control with medication.”
Burnett sat in stunned silence.
The expression on Dr. Rosenstein’s face clearly indicated he wished he hadn’t revealed that piece of information. “I have a patient waiting. But I’d like to hear more about this dream. If you have some time Friday morning, I believe I have an opening. You can check with the receptionist.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 9
Later that same afternoon, Burnett stood in the doorway to Desmond’s office. He’d forgotten how compact an office the professor had. Though neatly arranged with a large computer monitor on a mahogany desk and two lateral filing cabinets side by side, the room felt far more cramped than any other office he’d visited.
Much to his surprise, Desmond sprang from his chair, bounded over, and enclosed him in a bear hug. After the professor released him and stepped back, Burnett heard him sniffle.
“I am so sorry about Henri,” Desmond said. “In addition to being a great guy, he was the most brilliant student I had ever taught.”
Burnett nodded, solemn, and considered Desmond’s statement. “Brilliant” was a word that had followed Henri since grade school. It had been used to describe him so often it had become a cliché. But few, aside from his closest friends, had ever described him as “a great guy.” People who didn’t know him well preferred more colorful labels such as “eccentric,” “volatile,” or the always dependable “obnoxious.”
“It’s a terrible tragedy,” Burnett said.
“I heard you were with him.”
He nodded. “Can I ask you something personal about him?”
“You knew him far better than I.”
“Was he going to fail your class?”
“That may be a little too personal.”
While it was, of course, true, Desmond could have nodded without a word.
“Did he mention he’d been having nightmares the past few weeks?” Burnett asked.
The question appeared to startle Desmond. He immediately recovered. “He did. He’d been working on a paper to earn extra credit. Apparently they started shortly after he’d finished an early draft.”
Now it was Burnett’s turn to be startled. He’d
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