that normality had not returned when he’d awakened from the
nightmare.
The dog padded behind him.
Together, they rounded one end of the L-shaped work area and stood at
Toby’s side. A riot of constantly changing colors surged across the
computer screen from left to right, melting into and through one
another, now fading, now intensifying, now bright, now dark, curling,
pulsing, an electronic kaleidoscope in which none of the ceaselessly
transfigured patterns had straight edges. It was a full-color
monitor.
Nevertheless, Jack had never seen anything like this before.
He put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
Toby shuddered.
He didn’t look up or speak, but a subtle change in his attitude implied
that he was no longer as spellbound by the display on the monitor as he
had been when Jack first spoke to him from the doorway.
His fingers rattled the keys again.
“What’re you doing?” Jack asked.
“Talking.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
Masses of yellow and pink, spiraling threads of rippling ribbons of
purple and blue. The shapes, patterns, and rhythms of change were
mesmerizing when they combined in beautiful and graceful ways–but also
when they were ugly and chaotic.
Jack sensed movement in the room, but he had to make an effort to look
up from the compelling protomic images on the screen. Heather stood in
the doorway, wearing her quilted red robe, hair tousled. She didn’t
ask what was happening.
if she already knew. She wasn’t looking directly at Jack or Toby but
at the window behind them. Jack turned and saw showers of snowflakes
repeatedly changing color as the display on the monitor continued its
rapid and fluid metamorphosis.
“Talking to whom?” he asked Toby.
After a hesitation, the boy said, “No name.”
His voice was not flat and soulless as it had been in the graveyard but
neither was it quite normal.
“Where is he?” Jack asked.
“Not he.”
“Where is she?”
“Not she.”
Frowning, Jack said, “Then what?”
The boy said nothing, gazed unblinking at the screen.
“It?” Jack wondered.
“All right,” Toby said.
Approaching them, Heather looked strangely at Jack.
“It?”
To Toby, Jack said, “What is it?”
“Whatever it wants to be.”
“Where is it?”
“Wherever it wants to be,” the boy said cryptically.
“What is it doing here?”
“Becoming.”
Heather stepped around the table, stood on the other side of Toby, and
stared at the monitor.
“I’ve seen this before.”
Jack was relieved to know the bizarre display wasn’t unique, therefore
not necessarily related to the experience in the cemetery, but
Heather’s demeanor was such that his relief was extremely
short-lived.
“Seen it when?”
“Yesterday morning, before we went into town. On the TV in the living
room.
Toby was watching it … sort of enraptured like this. Strange.”
She shuddered and reached for the master switch.
“Shut it off.”
“No,” Jack said, reaching in front of Toby to stay her hand. “Wait.
Let’s see.”
“Honey,” she said to Toby, “what’s going on here, what kind of game is
this?”
“No game. I dreamed it, and in the dream I came in then I woke up and
I was here, so we started talking-”
“Does this make any sense to
you?”
she asked Jack.
“Yes. Some.”
“What’s going on, Jack?”
“Later.”
“Am I out of the loop on something? What is this all about?” When he
didn’t respond, she said, “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Jack said. “But let’s see where it ads, whether we can
figure this out.”
“Figure what out?” The boy’s fingers pecked busily at the keys.
Although no words appeared on the screen, it seemed as if new colors
and fresh patterns appeared and progressed in a rhythm that matched his
typing.
“Yesterday, on the TV . . . I asked Toby what it was,” Heather said.
“He didn’t know. But he said . . . he liked it.” Toby stopped
typing. The colors faded, then suddenly intensified and flowed in
wholly new patterns and shades.
“No,” the boy said. “No what?” Jack asked. “Not talking to you.
Talking to …
it.” And to the – screen, he said, “No. Go away.” Waves of sour
green. Blossoms of blood red appeared at random points across the