understood?"
"Yes, Your Honor ," Loomis breathed, taking his leave with no ceremony whatever.
In the following months there were more "occurrences," and in Loomis's mind there was no doubt whom to ascribe them to. Every time Michael was slighted, or fancied he was, by a staff member or another inmate, some awful vengeance was visited upon the offending person. It might be a day, a week, a month later, but Michael got even.
The problem for Loomis was that no one ever observed the boy doing it directly. One day, as the boys were watching television in the lounge, a fifteen-year-old got up and turned the sound lower. Michael rose and turned it up again. The other boy turned it lower again. Michael accepted the situation with a resigned shrug.
That evening, as the older boy was showering, the water turned scalding. The lad was harmed only enough to discomfort him for a week, but it could have been serious, and everyone knew who was behind it. Yet apparently Michael had not left his room.
There were other incidents. A nurse who quarreled with Michael fell down the stairs two days later, fracturing her pelvis. A boy who borrowed a game from Michael and forgot to return it suffered a vicious rash that hospitalized him for a month.
What doubly disturbed Loomis was that subtly but definitely, the boy was capturing the leadership of the juvenile ward, because no one dared to challenge him. Everyone, staff and inmates alike, indulged him, and so he pretty much got his way.
Loomis wondered when his own turn would come, but it never did, and he believed it was because no matter how much Loomis challenged the boy, no matter how much he thwarted him, Michael knew that Loomis was trying to help him. The boy grudgingly acknowledged Loomis's authority, and that, Loomis concluded, was probably the only thing that prevented Michael from walking scot-free out of the institution. "You could, you know," Loomis said to him one afternoon during their regular therapy session. "That's how much they fear you. If you were to ask an orderly for keys, ask a guard or trustee to turn his back at the appropriate moment, you could stroll out of here, such is the power you exert over them. Isn't that true, Michael?"
The boy's eyes clouded and he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Ah, but you won't do it," Loomis said, almost smugly. "You won't do it because you have it made here. Here you have your own little world. If you were to escape, why, what would await you out there but strife and hassle? So you stay here, snug and secure, isn't that true, you little dev—"
Loomis caught himself. No matter what he believed, it was unprofessional to express it that way, and besides, when you got right down to it, no one had ever seen the kid do anything to anybody.
Which is why, at this outburst of Loomis's frustration, Michael simply fluttered his long eyelashes, smiled, and said, "I don't understand, Dr. Loomis."
Loomis dreaded his next six-month review of Michael's case with Judge Christopher, because if Loomis couldn't produce any hard evidence of wrongdoing on Michael's part, the judge might very well order his release.
So it went, through the summer and early fall. Then, one day in mid-October, at the end of another fruitless therapy session, Michael dropped a bomb.
"Can we have a Halloween party, Dr. Loomis?"
Loomis's eyes all but bulged out of their sockets. "A Halloween party! You of all people . . ."
"All the other kids think it would be. a wonderful idea. So does Nurse Kramer, and Dr. Martin said he'd have no objection."
"Nurse Kramer and Dr. Martin are my subordinates, and they . . ."
"Are you sure you don't want us to have one?" Michael asked. His feelings were clearly very strong.
"Of course I'm . . ." He caught himself in mid-sentence, and suddenly he realized a Halloween party might be just the thing. A plan formed in his mind, and after a moment's reflection he said, "Well, actually, I see no harm."
The mere
"Yes, Your Honor ," Loomis breathed, taking his leave with no ceremony whatever.
In the following months there were more "occurrences," and in Loomis's mind there was no doubt whom to ascribe them to. Every time Michael was slighted, or fancied he was, by a staff member or another inmate, some awful vengeance was visited upon the offending person. It might be a day, a week, a month later, but Michael got even.
The problem for Loomis was that no one ever observed the boy doing it directly. One day, as the boys were watching television in the lounge, a fifteen-year-old got up and turned the sound lower. Michael rose and turned it up again. The other boy turned it lower again. Michael accepted the situation with a resigned shrug.
That evening, as the older boy was showering, the water turned scalding. The lad was harmed only enough to discomfort him for a week, but it could have been serious, and everyone knew who was behind it. Yet apparently Michael had not left his room.
There were other incidents. A nurse who quarreled with Michael fell down the stairs two days later, fracturing her pelvis. A boy who borrowed a game from Michael and forgot to return it suffered a vicious rash that hospitalized him for a month.
What doubly disturbed Loomis was that subtly but definitely, the boy was capturing the leadership of the juvenile ward, because no one dared to challenge him. Everyone, staff and inmates alike, indulged him, and so he pretty much got his way.
Loomis wondered when his own turn would come, but it never did, and he believed it was because no matter how much Loomis challenged the boy, no matter how much he thwarted him, Michael knew that Loomis was trying to help him. The boy grudgingly acknowledged Loomis's authority, and that, Loomis concluded, was probably the only thing that prevented Michael from walking scot-free out of the institution. "You could, you know," Loomis said to him one afternoon during their regular therapy session. "That's how much they fear you. If you were to ask an orderly for keys, ask a guard or trustee to turn his back at the appropriate moment, you could stroll out of here, such is the power you exert over them. Isn't that true, Michael?"
The boy's eyes clouded and he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Ah, but you won't do it," Loomis said, almost smugly. "You won't do it because you have it made here. Here you have your own little world. If you were to escape, why, what would await you out there but strife and hassle? So you stay here, snug and secure, isn't that true, you little dev—"
Loomis caught himself. No matter what he believed, it was unprofessional to express it that way, and besides, when you got right down to it, no one had ever seen the kid do anything to anybody.
Which is why, at this outburst of Loomis's frustration, Michael simply fluttered his long eyelashes, smiled, and said, "I don't understand, Dr. Loomis."
Loomis dreaded his next six-month review of Michael's case with Judge Christopher, because if Loomis couldn't produce any hard evidence of wrongdoing on Michael's part, the judge might very well order his release.
So it went, through the summer and early fall. Then, one day in mid-October, at the end of another fruitless therapy session, Michael dropped a bomb.
"Can we have a Halloween party, Dr. Loomis?"
Loomis's eyes all but bulged out of their sockets. "A Halloween party! You of all people . . ."
"All the other kids think it would be. a wonderful idea. So does Nurse Kramer, and Dr. Martin said he'd have no objection."
"Nurse Kramer and Dr. Martin are my subordinates, and they . . ."
"Are you sure you don't want us to have one?" Michael asked. His feelings were clearly very strong.
"Of course I'm . . ." He caught himself in mid-sentence, and suddenly he realized a Halloween party might be just the thing. A plan formed in his mind, and after a moment's reflection he said, "Well, actually, I see no harm."
The mere
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