I felt panicked. "For the good news?"
"Understand, I'm speaking hypothetically. Possibly she's lying to you, and she doesn't hear your voice. Or, as you guessed, the drugs she takes might make her hallucinate. There could be many explanations. Without seeing her, without the proper tests, I wouldn't dare to judge her symptoms. You're a friend, so I'm compromising. Possibly she's homicidal."
"Tell me what to do."
"For openers, I'd stay away from her."
"I'm trying. She called from California. She's threatening to come back here to see me."
"Talk her out of it."
"I'm no psychologist. I don't know what to say to her."
"Suggest she get professional advice."
"I tried that."
"Try again. But if you find her at your office, don't go in the room with her. Find other people. Crowds protect you."
"But at eight a.m., there's no one in the building."
"Think of some excuse to leave her. Jean, if she comes to the house, don't let her in."
Jean paled. "I've never seen her. How could I identify her?"
"Chuck described her. Don't take chances. Don't trust anyone who might resemble her, and keep a close watch on the children."
"How? Rebecca's twelve. Sue's nine. I can't insist they stay around the house."
Diane turned her wine glass, saying nothing.
"Oh, dear Lord," Jean said.
The next few weeks were hellish. Every time the phone rang, Jean and I jerked, startled, staring at it. But the calls were from our friends or from our children's friends or from some insulation/magazine/home-siding salesman. Every day, I mustered courage as I climbed the stairwell to my office. Silent prayers were answered. Sam was never there. My tension dissipated. I began to feel she no longer was obsessed with me.
Thanksgiving came – the last day of peace I've known. We went to church. Our parents live too far away for us to share the feast with them. But we invited friends to dinner. We watched football. I helped Jean make the dressing for the turkey. I made both the pumpkin pies. The friends we'd invited were my colleague and his wife, the clinical psychologist. She asked if my student had continued to harass me. Shaking my head from side to side, I grinned and raised my glass in special thanks.
The guests stayed late to watch a movie with us. Jean and I felt pleasantly exhausted, mellowed by good food, good drink, good friends, when after midnight we washed all the dishes, went to bed, made love, and drifted wearily to sleep.
The phone rang, shocking me awake. I fumbled toward the bedside lamp. Jean's eyes went wide with fright. She clutched my arm and pointed toward the clock. It was three a.m.
The phone kept ringing.
"Don't," Jean said.
"Suppose it's someone else."
"You know it isn't."
"If it's Sam and I don't answer, she might come to the house instead of phoning."
"For God's sake, make her stop."
I grabbed the phone, but my throat wouldn't work.
"I'm coming to you," the voice wailed.
"Sam?"
"I heard you. I won't disappoint you. I'll be there soon."
"No. Wait. Listen."
"I've been listening. I hear you all the time. The anguish in your voice. You're begging me to come to you, to hold you, to make love to you."
"That isn't true."
"You say your wife's jealous of me. I'll convince her she isn't being fair. I'll make her let you go. Then we'll be happy."
"Sam, where are you? Still in Berkeley?"
"Yes. I spent Thanksgiving by myself. My father didn't want me to come home."
"You have to stay there, Sam. I didn't send my voice. You need advice. You need to see a doctor. Will you do that for me? As a favor?"
"I already did. But Dr. Campbell doesn't understand. He thinks I'm imagining what I hear. He humors me. He doesn't realize how much you love me."
"Sam, you have to talk to him again. You have to tell him what you plan to do."
"I can't wait any longer. I'll be there soon. I'll be with you."
My heart pounded frantically. I heard a roar in my head. I flinched as the phone was yanked away from me.
Jean shouted to the mouthpiece, "Stay away from us! Don't call again! Stop terrorizing – "
Jean stared wildly at me. "No one's there. The line went dead. I hear just the dial tone."
I'm writing this as quickly as I can. I don't have much more time. It's almost three o'clock.
That night, we didn't try to go back to sleep. We couldn't. We got dressed and went downstairs where, drinking coffee, we decided what to do. At eight, as soon as we got the kids dressed and into the car, we drove to the police.
They listened sympathetically, but there was no way they could help us. After all, Sam hadn't broken any law. Her calls weren't obscene; it was difficult to prove harassment; she'd made no overt threats. Unless she harmed us, there was nothing the police could do.
"Protect us," I insisted.
"How?" the sergeant asked.
"Assign an officer to guard the house."
"For how long? A day, a week, a month? That woman might not even bother you again. We're overworked and understaffed. I'm sorry – I can't spare an officer whose only duty is to watch you. I can send a car to check the house from time to time. No more than that. But if this woman does show up and bother you, then call us. We'll take care of her."
"But that might be too late!"
Back at home, we made the children stay inside. Sam couldn't have arrived from California yet, but what else could we do? I don't own any guns. If all of us stayed together, we had some chance for protection.
That was Friday. I slept lightly. Three a.m., the phone rang. It was Sam, of course.
"I'm coming."
"Sam, where are you?"
" Reno."
"You're not flying?"
"No, I can't."
"Turn back, Sam. Go to Berkeley. See that doctor."
"I can't wait to see you."
"Please – "
The dial tone was droning.
The first thing in the morning, I phoned Berkeley information. Sam had mentioned Dr. Campbell. But the operator couldn't find him in the yellow pages.
"Try the University," I blurted. "Student Counseling."
I was right. A Dr. Campbell was a university psychiatrist. On Saturday, I couldn't reach him at his office, but a woman answered at his home. He wouldn't be available until the afternoon. At four o'clock, I finally got through to him.
"You have a patient named Samantha Perry," I began.
"I did. Not anymore."
"I know. She's left for Iowa. She wants to see me. I'm afraid. I think she might be dangerous."
"Well, you don't have to worry."
"She's not dangerous?"
"Potentially she was."
"But tell me what to do when she arrives. You're treating her. You'll know what I should do."
"No, Mr. Ingram, she won't come to see you. On Thanksgiving night, at one a.m., she killed herself. An overdose of drugs."
My vision failed. I clutched the kitchen table to prevent myself from falling. "That's impossible."
"I saw the body. I identified it."
"But she phoned that night."
"What time?"
"At three a.m. Midwestern time."