Shadows (40 page)

Engersol was perfectly still for a moment, then quickly typed a command into the computer, turning off the sound system. He turned to Hildie Kramer. “Well?”

Hildie’s eyes flicked to the monitor, where Amy’s image still covered the screen, looking down upon them as if she were watching every move they made. “Can she hear us?”

Engersol shook his head. “I’ve deactivated the microphone.”

“Can she actually do what she threatened to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Engersol admitted, his mind racing as
he tried to figure out what Amy Carlson’s mind might be capable of. “I suppose it might be possible, but—”

Without warning, the speaker in the ceiling came alive again, and Amy’s voice filled the room.

“It
is
possible,” she said. “I can do anything I want to do.”

George Engersol and Hildie Kramer stared at each other as both of them realized what had happened.

Amy Carlson, acting only with the power of her mind and the computer to which it was wired, had reactivated the microphone.

She was listening to them.

   At one-thirty in the morning Jeanette Aldrich sat numbly on the sofa in the den. On the television an old movie was playing on the university’s cable channel, but Jeanette was paying no attention to it.

The chaos of the day still threatened to overwhelm her. Her first instinct when she’d heard about Amy Carlson’s death was to withdraw Jeff from the Academy immediately.

That instinct, of course, had been based on her instant assumption that Amy had committed suicide. When she learned the truth—or at least what bits and pieces of the truth the police knew—she had decided to wait, at least until she learned exactly what
had
happened to Amy.

Besides, Jeff’s words that morning had kept echoing in her mind.

If you make me leave the Academy, I’ll do what Adam did!

When he’d uttered them, his face twisted with anger and his fists clenched as if he was about to hit her, the words had slammed into her mind like bullets into her body, searing her, shocking her so deeply she hadn’t been able to return to work at all. Instead she’d come home, sitting alone in this very room, staring out the window, wondering how it had happened that one of her children had died and the other one seemed to have slipped totally beyond her control.

Would he really do it?

At last she’d dug the thesis she’d copied the day before
out of the depths of her bag and begun searching its pages for clues. As she read the case histories of the children who had killed themselves at the Academy, she tried to discover parallels between them and her remaining son.

She was only halfway through the thesis when the phone rang and she heard about the discovery of Amy Carlson’s body on the beach below the bluff north of town.

Only after Chet had finally gone to bed had she returned to the thesis, finishing it, then sitting unseeingly in front of the television, trying to assimilate what she had discovered.

There were common threads among all the cases she’d read about. Troubled children, each of whom, like Adam, had attempted suicide at least once before.

All of them, like Adam, had had few friends, spending most of their time in front of their computer screens, relating to the programs and games on the machine rather than to living people.

None of them, she told herself, were children like Jeff, who, in contrast to his brother, was friendly and outgoing, and full of mischief.

Jeff was certainly the kind of boy who would play the sort of trick that had been inflicted on her.

But from what she’d read, he wasn’t the sort of boy who would kill himself.

Adam, yes.

Jeff, never.

Feeling at least somewhat reassured by what she’d found in the thesis, and exhausted by the confusion of the whole day, Jeanette picked up the remote control and brought the sound up. The movie was something in black and white, with women, eyebrows plucked to thin lines, wearing broad-shouldered dresses while they smoked endless cigarettes and sipped martinis in art-deco nightclubs.

It seemed as if they’d made hundreds of movies just like this.

Jeanette was about to switch channels when the screen suddenly changed.

Adam appeared, dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt.

“No!” Jeanette screamed. “Stop it! Whoever’s doing this
to me, just stop it!” She grabbed the remote control, fumbled with it for a moment, then found the power button.

The screen went dark.

“Jeanette? Honey? What’s wrong?”

She heard Chet’s voice calling from upstairs, but made no reply, her eyes still fixed on the television set. Her heart was racing, and she was fighting a chill that threatened to overwhelm her. Dropping the remote control to the floor, she put her hands over her face and started to sob. A few seconds later Chet came into the room, snapping on the overhead light

“Jeanette? Darling, what is it? What happened?” He sat down on the sofa next to her, slipping his arm around her as he stroked her hair with his free hand.

Jeanette struggled with her sobs for a moment, then managed to get them under control. “Oh, God, Chet! I think I must be going crazy!”

“Hush,” Chet crooned. “You’re not going crazy. Just settle down and tell me what happened.”

Jeanette took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then took another. She started to speak, felt a lump rise in her throat, and fell silent again. Only when she was certain she could control her voice did she try to tell Chet what had happened.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I came down and fixed a cup of coffee. Then I turned on the TV. There—There was a movie on. One of those things where Barbara Stanwyck kills everyone she marries. And then—then—” She broke off, the lump in her throat rising once more.

“It’s all right. Just tell me what happened.”

Jeanette turned to stare at Chet, her eyes wide. “Adam,” she whispered. “He was on the television set.”

Chet gazed at her blankly. “Adam?”

“On the television,” Jeanette repeated. “The movie just stopped, and there he was.”

Chet shook his head. “Honey, you know that’s not possible. You must have just dozed off and started dreaming—”

“No” Jeanette said, her voice sharp. “Damn it, it wasn’t a dream. Here! Look for yourself!” She reached down and snatched the remote control off the floor, then pressed the
power button. There was a soft click from the TV set, and the screen began to brighten. Suddenly an image formed, rolled up the screen, then steadied.

An image of Barbara Stanwyck, in black and white, her expression hard as she glared with hatred at the man whose arms were wrapped around her. An instant later Barbara kissed the object of her wrath.

Jeanette stared at the screen. “Oh, God, Chet,” she said quietly. “Do you think maybe I really am going nuts?”

“What I think,” Chet said as he stood up, “is that you’re damned near the end of your rope, that you need a good night’s sleep but aren’t going to get one, and that I’d better make myself a cup of coffee so I can stay awake and convince you that you’re a sane, if tired, lady. Be right back.” He started for the door, but before he was even halfway there he heard a strangled sound from Jeanette. Turning back, he found her staring at the television, her eyes wide.

His own eyes shifted to the set.

And he saw Adam.

Saw him, and heard him.

From the television’s speakers his son’s voice filled the room.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I guess what must have happened was I scared Mom, and she shut off the set. But maybe you’re both there now. If you are, and want to talk to me, turn on the computer.”

“This is nuts,” Chet Aldrich said, his voice barely audible as he sank back onto the
sofa
. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s him,” Jeanette breathed. “Oh, God, Chet, it’s Adam!”

“It’s not Adam at all,” Chet said, his shock at seeing the image on the television screen giving way to rage. “It’s another goddamn stunt that Jeff’s pulling, but this time I’ve got him!” Picking up the remote control from the coffee table, he switched on the video recorder and began taping what was on the television.

“Don’t you want to talk to me?” Adam said, his voice
taking on a plaintive sadness. “All you have to do is turn on the computer.”

“Oh, really?” Chet grated. “Well, let’s just see about that, shall we?” He went to the desk and snapped on the Macintosh he’d bought a few months ago. The system booted itself up, and then, almost immediately, the computer beeped as the modem answered a call from outside. A few seconds later the screen cleared and the cursor flashed slowly, almost as if beckoning him. Chet sat down, thought a second, then quickly typed:

IT’S DAD, JEFF. AND I’M PRETTY MAD ABOUT THIS
.

“It’s not Jeff, Dad,” Adam said from the television set. It’s me.

Chet hesitated, then typed again:

DONT GIVE ME THAT CHAP, SON. ALL YOU’RE DOING IS PISSING ME OFF AND HURTING YOUR MOTHER. THIS ISNT FUNNY
.

On the screen Adam’s expression changed. His smile faded away and his eyes glistened with tears. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” he said. “I just wanted Mom to know I’m okay, that’s all.”

On the couch Jeanette’s body was racked by a sob, and Chet groaned silently.

He typed:

ADAM IS DEAD. YOU WERE AT HIS FUNERAL, AND SO WERE WE. THIS HAS GONE FAR ENOUGH. I DONT KNOW HOW YOU’RE DOING THIS, BUT BELIEVE ME, I’LL FIND OUT!

“But it’s really me, Dad,” Adam said, his voice shaking now. “I can prove it. Ask me something. Ask me something I’d know, but that Jeff wouldn’t!”

“Jesus,” Chet rasped. “That’s it! I’m shutting this thing—”

“No!” Jeanette turned away from the television, her cheeks stained with tears. “Honey, don’t. What—What if it
is
Adam?” Her mind was racing as she tried to think of something that Adam would know but that Jeff wouldn’t Before she could think of anything. Adam spoke again.

“Remember when I was five, Mom? Remember when I came home from school because I wet my pants, and you promised you’d never tell anyone?”

Jeanette froze.

She still remembered it perfectly. It had been the middle of the morning, and Adam had come through the back door, sobbing with mortification at the accident he’d had just before recess at kindergarten. He’d waited until everyone else had left the room, then run the three blocks home, praying that no one had seen him. But what he’d been most afraid of was that his brother would find out about it and tease him. “He’ll tell everyone,” the little boy had pleaded.

Jeanette had known he was right, for ever since they’d learned to talk, Jeff had always taken a strange pleasure in teasing his brother until Adam burst into tears, then laughing at Adam’s fury. So Jeanette had helped the little boy get cleaned up and into fresh clothes, then let him stay home for the rest of the day, explaining to Jeff that Adam had felt sick to his stomach.

That had been the end of it, and it had never been mentioned again.

Until now.

“It’s him,” Jeanette whispered. “Oh, God, Chet, it is!”

Chefs expression hardened. “It’s not, Jeanette! It’s Jeff, goddamn it! I don’t know how he’s doing this, but you can bet I’m going to find out! And I’m not listening to any more of his crap, either!”

“I just wanted you to know I’m okay, Mom,” Adam was saying again. “I’m not dead. Really, I’m not. I’m—”

The screen went dark as Chet snapped off the set. A moment later he took the cassette out of the video recorder and put it into the battered briefcase in which he carried his papers and lecture notes. “First thing in the morning, I’m going to find out why they let Jeff do that,” he said. “And if I discover that he had help from some of the college kids, there are going to be a few expulsions at Barrington. I’ve heard of some cruel pranks, but this one beats them all!”

Jeanette stared at the darkened television set.

Chet was right, of course. It had to be a prank.

And yet, all the time she’d watched him, and listened to him, she’d had the strangest feeling that it wasn’t a prank at all.

She’d felt that she’d been watching a shadow.

A shadow of the dead.

J
eanette Aldrich hesitated in front of George Engersol’s office. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” she asked Chet for at least the fourth time that morning. “Maybe we should talk to Jeff first—”

“I’m not talking to him until I know how something like this could have happened,” Chet replied, remnants of last night’s fury still evident in his voice. “If Engersol can’t tell me, then I think we both know what has to happen.” Without giving Jeanette time to argue, he pulled the door open and led her inside.

Half an hour later, George Engersol sat behind his desk watching the tape for the second time. When the Aldriches had arrived—unannounced, and interrupting a discussion neither he nor Hildie had been happy to postpone—he’d listened patiently to them as they explained what had happened early that morning. At first he had assumed it would take no more than a few minutes to brush off what had happened last night as another of Jeff’s pranks. After watching the tape and instantly realizing what Adam had done, he turned to Chet and Jeanette. “I can’t imagine what Jeff was thinking of,” he said smoothly, his face a seamless mask of concern. “I know our youngsters have thought up some pretty sophisticated stunts, but this…” He let his voice trail off into a disapproving hiss, then turned to Hildie. “I think you’d better bring young Jeff up here,” he told her.

“The faster we deal with this, the better for all of us, don’t you think?”

Hildie had hesitated for a split second, but the look in Engersol’s eyes had told her not to argue with him, and she’d started out of his office. Even before she’d passed through the doorway, he stopped her. “And Hildie, I think you’d probably better tell the rest of my seminar that we won’t be meeting this morning. Tell them they may have the hour off, and then bring Jeff up here.”

Though her face had flushed when he’d spoken to her as if she were no more than one of his staff—and not a particularly important one, at that—Hildie had nonetheless accepted his orders in silence.