Young Writers Society

I

"What've ya got?" demanded Captain Rogers. He had just gotten the call about an accident on Virginia Avenue. Three automobiles, five victims, all deceased. It was an investigator's worst nightmare: multiple deaths, no leads, and no verifiable witnesses. But one of his subordinates, Lieutenant Richards, called in saying that a witness was found and was being detained.

"Right now," replied Lt. Richards, "I have my only witness sitting by himself in the interrogation room."

"And why is he not being interrogated?" implored Capt. Rogers.

"Because he won't talk," answered Lt. Richards. "He's a savant."

"A what?" asked Capt. Rogers.

"A savant," repeated Lt. Richards. "Our witness has Savant Syndrome. It's a form of severe mental retardation. He has no speech skills at all. He can only communicate through a series of loud shrieks. It's a tough call: I have no idea what he's saying, but he's our only witness, and protocol says we have to detain him until we get a statement."

Capt. Rogers looked at their witness. He was a middle-aged man with a graying, haggard beard. He wore a tattered beige trench-coat, jeans stained with mud and other unidentifiable substances, and a dated shirt, probably from the late '80s to early '90s. "Have you tried getting him to write a statement?" asked Capt. Rogers.

"Yes, sir."

"And?"

"He is incapable of writing. Pair that up with his inability to speak, and you have shit for a witness. He didn't pay attention to anything I asked him, either. He just... sat there and doodled."

Capt. Rogers took a sip of his coffee. "Doodled, you say? May I have a look at these doodles?"

Lt. Richards reluctantly pulled out the paper and passed it to the captain. Capt. Rogers opened it to the back, which was blank and a logical place to draw. But it was empty. Capt. Rogers flipped the paper over to the front side. The witness had somehow managed to make an intricate drawing using the lines given for a written statement. Several panels of different scenarios were scattered around the paper.

In the upper right-hand corner, the witness interpreted the lines to be the bars of a jail cell. An old man with seemingly thousands of wrinkles stared blankly back at Capt. Rogers. The old man's long, flowing beard effortlessly whirled and twirled around the bars of the jail cell, and merged seamlessly into another drawing, of which the given lines were complicated mazes. Several elaborately drawn figures were traveling down, up, over, and through the lines, pausing every so often to take part in some sort of ritualistic dance to please some undefined gods.

In the lower left-hand corner of the paper, Capt. Rogers noted a small scene involving a rusty truck at the corner of the street. The half-completed truck was abruptly finished with a sharp, dark line traveling down to the bottom of the page.

"What the hell is this?" asked the captain.

"He started drawing that when I told him to stop screwing around and write down what he saw," replied Lt. Richards. "Once he started drawing the truck, I pulled it away from him, and gave him a speech about the obstruction of justice. That's when I left the room and called you."

Capt. Rogers glared at Lt. Richards. Richards, dumbfounded, asked if anything was wrong. Capt. Rogers told him that there was a whole hell of a lot wrong, and immediately ordered Lt. Richards to get reams of drawing paper, colored pencils, charcoal, and anything else that would be needed to get as accurate of a pictorial statement as he could.

Lt. Richards, confused but compliant, ran off to get the supplies. Capt. Rogers went into the room. The witness looked at Rogers for a few seconds, smiled, then shrieked shrilly, clapping his hands, bouncing up and down, and bursting into laughter. Captain Rogers smiled and kept his witness comfortable.

II

Lieutenant Richards arrived twenty minutes later, carrying several reams of drawing paper, charcoal and colored pencils, shading sticks, and kneaded erasers. The witness sat in awe of all of the available supplies. Immediately, he reached for a charcoal pencil. Captain Rogers shouted, "Halt!" and the witness withdrew his hand.

"Now," said Capt. Rogers calmly, "I want you to draw us, as detailed as you can, on as many sheets of paper as you need, what you saw tonight. When you are finished with one scene, set down your supplies, and we will replace your paper. Nod if you understand."

The witness nodded, and grabbed the charcoal pencil and a sheet of paper. Rogers and Richards watched as the opening scene began to unfold: A rusted green truck with two passengers in it was sitting on the corner of Virginia and Bristol Avenues. The electronic message board of a nearby bank reported the time as 2:43 AM and the temperature as 61°F.

As more paper was being used, the more the scene developed: the occupants of the green truck began to pull out into the intersection. A tan sports car did not see them and plowed full speed into the truck. The truck spun completely around, its bed launching the sports car directly into a tree in front of the bank, where the electronic message board advertised the "Tree of Life" downtown. The truck, being completely reversed, sat in the middle of the intersection. The passenger of the truck leaned out of the window, bleeding from the left side of her face, her right eye partially closed and also bleeding. She appeared to be screaming. The witness drew every movement of her mouth off to the side of the original mouth. She appeared to be screaming "Help us."

At that time, a jet black Jeep was screeching to a halt. It had a mother and a small child inside. The Jeep started to veer to the left. The small child stood on the seat, and as the back of the Jeep hit the truck, the child's head crashed through the window. The impact forced the child's head completely through the glass, upon which her neck was sliced. She bled to death.

The impact also turned the Jeep, so that it would collide parallel to the truck. The Jeep's initial impact lurched the truck, causing the woman to fall forward. Her head was crushed by the side of the Jeep.

Blood and glass were strewn about all over the street. The view of the drawings changed from that bloody accident to a man in a tattered trench-coat and stained jeans with a graying, haggard beard. He was screaming, apparently for help. The whole event used over fifty sheets of paper, the last few of which had stains from the tears of the witness.

III

Lieutenant Richards and Captain Rogers studied the drawings, rich in detail, vibrant in color, and seemingly flawless. They decided that it would have to do for now. They thanked the witness and showed him out. The witness smiled and hugged the two officers.

As the witness walked toward his unknown destination, Lt. Richards turned to Capt. Rogers and said, "Can you believe that retard? Who the hell does he think he is?"

"I don't know," replied Capt. Rogers. "But I'll tell you what I think he is: the best damn witness I've ever had the pleasure of working with."

With that, Captain Rogers collected the supplies and the drawings, and left Lieutenant Richards in the doorway of the station, digesting the captain's words.