The Gift

As a boy, Carl Sloan began to perform miracles, healing the sick. But the world hated him—for being born a thousand years too soon....
The tenseness in the tiny court room was a live thing that you could feel clear down to your insoles. The thick silence was broken as the judge said solemnly: Your objection will be taken under advisement by the court, Counselor. In what manner will the childhood of the defendant be relevant to this case, Mr. Prosecutor?
It is my purpose to show, your Honor, that the defendant has been of unsound mind since birth, and therefore has long been a public menace, not merely a victim of circumstance as the defense would have us believe. The prosecuting attorney nodded briefly in the direction of the table for the defense.
Objection overruled, the judge said. You may call your witness.
Thank you, your Honor. The prosecutor helped the flighty woman into the witness box.
Will you please give the court your name?
The woman simpered. Ida Mae Holk. Mrs. Ida Mae Holk.
The prosecutor cleared his throat and ruffled the papers in his hand.
How long have you known the defendant, Mrs. Holk?
Why, ever since he was about two years old. Him and his Ma came to Elmwood right after his Pa was killed in that big Oak Ridge explosion. He was born right there on the government project, you know. Never could understand why Mrs. Sloan, that was his Ma, never did get married again, her being so pretty and all, and any number of nice widowers just—
Uh, yes, Mrs. Holk, the prosecutor interrupted. Was your acquaintance with the defendant continuous throughout his childhood?
Well, it was until he was ten years old. They sent him away to that crazy house then.