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.