before wiping it away. “I could probably eat you under the table.”
“Maybe in another life.”
“What do you expect to find out at this Duckton place?”
“If it’s still there. I tried to call the number I used to have, but it’s been changed. And the place’s number is not listed.”
“But what is the place, Decker? You called it home.”
“It was where people like me were poked, prodded, and tested.”
Jamison lowered her burger. “With all the memory geniuses? The…the institute?”
“Savants, autistics, Asperger’s, synesthesia, and hyperthymesia.”
“Hyper what?”
“Thymesia. In Greek, hyper means ‘excessive,’ and thymesia translates to ‘memory.’ Put ’em together and you get me. True hyperthymesia really relates to near-perfect recall of one’s personal or autobiographical past. I have that, but I also can’t forget anything I see, read, or hear. Perfect recall of, well, everything. I had no idea my brain was that big. But I apparently use more of it than most, but only because I got my ass handed to me on a football field.”
“And synesthesia?”
“I see colors where others don’t. In numbers, in places and objects. My cognitive sensory pathways apparently also got melded from the hit I took.”
“I appreciate your telling me all this. But I’m surprised too. You strike me as a private guy.”
“I am a private guy. I’ve never told anyone about this, except for my wife.”
“Then why tell me? We don’t really know each other.”
Before answering Decker ate a bite of pepperoni pizza, followed by a long swig of Coke. “We’re tracking down killers together, Jamison. They’ve murdered a lot of people, including an FBI agent. I figure I owe you the whole story because you’re putting your life on the line.”
She put her burger down and took a small drink of her beer. “You’re making me sound a lot braver than I am,” she said softly.
He ate another few bites of pizza and slurped down his Coke. “Let’s hope you’re wrong about that.”
Chapter
41
THEY HAD CHECKED in to their motel, grabbed some sleep, washed up, and changed their clothes. Now they were standing in front of an eight-story brick building with small windows that looked about sixty years old.
Jamison glanced at Decker and then over at the building’s address represented by metal numbers bolted to the façade. “Seven one-one Duckton. So this was home?”
Decker nodded but kept his eyes on the building. “It’s changed a little. It’s been two decades.”
“Was this a true research facility?”
“For the most part. They were basically trying to understand how the brain works. They were one of the first to approach the field in a multipronged, multidisciplinary methodological manner.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning that they didn’t just hook electrodes up to your head and measure brain activity that way. They did all the physiological things you would expect—the brain is an organ, after all, and it basically works on electrical impulses. But they also did counseling sessions and group and one-on-ones. They dug deeply into our lives. They wanted to know the science of folks like us, but they also wanted to know, well, us. What having an exceptional mind was like, how it had impacted, or changed, our lives.”
“Sounds pretty thorough.”
“They were.”
“But what was the result of all that?”
Decker shrugged. “I was never told. I was here for months and then was told I could go. There was never any follow-up. At least not with me.”
“Wait a minute, you were told you could go? Were you here involuntarily?”
“No, I volunteered.”
“Why?”
He turned to look at her. “Because I was scared, Jamison. My brain had changed, which meant pretty much everything about me had changed. My emotions, my personality, my social skills. I wanted to find out why. I wanted to find out…what my future might be like. I guess I wanted to find out what I would become, for the long term.”
“But I guess there were a lot of positives. I mean, a perfect memory makes school and work pretty easy.”
He looked back up at the building. “Do you like yourself?”
“What?”
“Do you like the person you are?”
Daisy smiled. “Oh sure, I remember them. They were a good customer.”
“Were? So they’re no longer here?”
“No, they moved out. It was, let me think—oh, probably seven or eight years ago. I remember the big trucks out front. As a general rule most businesses here stay here. It’s a great location, beautiful old building that’s been meticulously maintained,
really prime real estate. And it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to Chicago.”
“I suppose you don’t know where they went?”