by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|It wouldn’t go away. Jeremy Pike had a disability but also a gift. He was an idiot-savant.
Jeremy Pike rocked himself to sleep. He rocked himself awake. Jeremy never stopped rocking. He had worn more seats of his pants out than his caretakers in Wing C, at the Utah State Training School could count. It is why he lived dressed in nothing at all but his birthday suit and spent his days wearing down carpet pieces donated as a tax write-off by an American Fork city business. That had to stop.
Jeremy Pike, at twenty-four had the mental age of a three year old. He was profoundly mentally retarded.
Not much to live for, you’d think, and you’d be right if that is all he was. He was very disabled, never would be able to care for himself, had no-one to love him. You might reason in his condition, no-one cared if he lived or died. You’d be wrong.
Ideo-savant’s have extremely powerful and unique gifts. Some exhibit incredible memories for people, dates and time. I met ‘The Rainman’ movie’s origin inspired by a real person named Kim Peek. I know these kinds of talents exist. He rattled off how many months, days and minutes each of us at our table had lived when offered our birth dates.
The rumor that Jeremy Pike could not only foretell the date of your death but how it would happen seemed too incredible to believe. “He puts a curse on them,” Hazel Adams, his caretaker said.
“How?” I wondered aloud. As a psychologist consulting about special cases, I’d been brought in to sort this mess out. Attempts had been made on the young man’s life. He had been brought in along with his current caretaker, accused of trying to smother him with a pillow.
“He is given a name and rocks to it, sing-songing with how the deed is done. He adds a word or two like ‘Car. Car’. The name and way of passing is in the news, before the article, too, dies.”
The next moment her hand slammed down articles of deaths by drowning, car accidents, jay walking, and grisly forms of murder. “Come see for yourself, sir, your name is being pronounced.”
Jeremy Pike knew I was going to commit suicide that day with the gun in my desk. It stunned me when the words hummed softly out of his mouth. Doctor’s, police and psychologists are among the highest professions offing themselves.
Hazel Adams handed me the pillow she’d been accused of trying to use. “You are free to go,” I suggested, “No charges will be filed.”
Jeremy Pike had put the thought of suicide growing in my head. He instinctively didn’t want a professional testing, probing, mucking up his rocking life.
Jeremy Pike’s gift wouldn’t go away until he did. I knew what I had to do. Who fed him my name didn't count. There would be one more death before my own.