"I don't get it," he said. "You don't have any idea of what Ames is doing, but you're convinced that it's some kind of terrible experimental program that's turning our kids into monsters. And you won't let me discipline my own son, even after what he did this afternoon." He'd stared at her for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was uneven. "What the hell do you want me to do, Sharon?"
She had looked up at him pleadingly. "I want you to agree that he won't go back to Ames until we know what's going on out there. And I don't want you to start punishing him for something I'm absolutely certain he didn't intend to do."
Blake had regarded her speculatively for a moment. "And how are we going to do that?" he asked, his voice cool. "Am I supposed to go out there and confront Ames? Tell him you think he's some kind of modernMengele and demand to see all his medical data? Hell, I wouldn't even understand whatever he might tell me!"
"But you understood enough to let him start medicating Mark, didn't you?" Sharon demanded, her voice bitter.
That's what had set Blake off. "Yes, I did, damn it!" he exploded. "And it hasn't hurt Mark at all. He's in better shape than he's ever been in. I should think you'd be pleased about it."
She'd almost told Blake about the mice then, but had quickly changed her mind. It wasn't so much that she'd stolen them from his own company, but that in his present mood he only would have mocked her further, then demanded to know what she'd done with the mice. And if she told him she'd given them toMacCallum…
She shuddered inwardly, remembering his rage a year ago when he discovered a program he'd been about to market had been leaked to a competitor, who'd cloned it-with a few improvements-and then beatenTarrenTech to the marketplace.
Since dinner they'd barely spoken to each other, but the tension of the argument, heightened by Mark's failure to emerge from his room at all, still hung over them.
"All right," she sighed. "We won't talk about it, then. Good night." She stood up and started out of the room, Blake's eyes following her. But it wasn't until she was at the door that he spoke.
"You want me to come with you?" he asked uncertainly.
Sharon turned back to face him. "I never thought I'd hear myself saying this, but if I can't talk to you, I certainly have no desire to sleep with you. Maybe you'd better stay down here tonight."
Blake made no reply at all as she left the den and started up the stairs.
She paused outside Mark's door, as she'd done twice before that evening. As before, she could hear no sounds from within, yet she was certain he wasn't asleep. Indeed, she could almost picture him lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his hands folded behind his head. Should she leave him alone, or go in and try to talk to him?
After hesitating, she tapped softly at the door. For several seconds there was no answer. Then she heard Mark's voice. "It's not locked."
She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, gasping at the sight of the wreckage. Clothes, bedding, feathers-the chaos was everywhere. The dresser drawers were scattered around the room, and the lamp still lay in the corner where Mark had flung it. She bit her lip, forcing herself to ignore the damage. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice gentle. She moved to the bed, where Mark was sprawled face down on the bare mattress. As she touched his shoulder, he rolled away and lay on his back, looking bleakly up at her.
"I don't know what happened," he said. "It-It was like there was someone else inside me. I didn't want to hit you, Mom. I-I just couldn't help myself."
Sharon's eyes closed for a moment and she felt them sting with hot tears. "It's all right, darling," she said, her voice quavering.
Mark sat up straight and shook off the hand she had once more extended toward him. "It is not!" he said. "It's not all right at all. I killedChivas, Mom! I killed my own dog!" His own eyes filled with tears then, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. "What's wrong with me?" he demanded.
Once again Sharon tried to reach out to him, but he swung his feet off the bed and stood up. As he looked down at her, she saw again a strange light in his eyes-the same dark glow of fury she'd seen in the kitchen earlier. "M-Mark?" she asked. "Mark, what's happening?"
Mark backed away from her. "I-I don't know," he stammered. "It-Mom, it's starting to happen again."
Sharon was on her feet now, too. "What, Mark? What's happening?"
But Mark only shook his head and edged toward the door. "I've got to go, Mom. I've got to get out of here!"
"Mark, wait!" Sharon pleaded, but it was too late. He was already out of the room, then she heard him pounding down the stairs. By the time she got to the top of the stairs herself, he was at the hall closet, rummaging in it for a jacket. He stared up at her briefly, his eyes burning. Then he was gone, the front door slamming behind him.
A moment later Blake emerged from the den, peering up the stairs at his wife. "What the hell's going on around here?" he demanded. "Was that Mark?"
Sharon nodded. "Something's wrong with him, Blake," she said. "When I went in, he was all right for a minute, but then he just went crazy again."
Blake's brow furrowed. "What did you say to him?"
"Nothing!" Sharon exclaimed. "I just wanted to tell him that I wasn't angry at him, to let him know I love him. And he was so unhappy. Blake, you should have seen him! And then all of a sudden…" She struggled for a moment, searching for the right words, then gave up. "I can't even describe it," she said. "He said it was like having someone else inside him." She sank to the top stair and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God, Blake. What's happening to him? I'm so scared. So terribly, terribly scared."
Blake climbed the stairs quickly and took Sharon in his arms. "It's going to be all right, baby," he crooned. "He's just going through a rough period, that's all. And he'll grow out of it. You'll see."
Behind him there was the soft click of a doorknob, then Kelly was standing in the hall, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She came over and put her arms around her father's neck. "What's wrong with Mark?" she asked. "Is he sick?"
"No," Blake told her, circling her waist with his free arm and drawing her close. "Nothing's wrong with Mark at all, and I don't want you to worry about it."
"B-But he killedChivas," the little girl whimpered.
This time it was Sharon who responded to their daughter.
"It wasn't Mark, darling," she said. "Whatever happens, I don't want you to think Mark killedChivas. He wouldn't do that, honey. Not your brother. Not Mark."
"Then who did?" Kelly asked, cocking her head as she tried to puzzle out her mother's words.
"I don't know," Sharon admitted. "But it wasn't Mark!"
Mark hurried through the dark streets, uncertain of where he was going or why. His mind was whirling, trying to sort out what had happened.
Why had the rage swept over him again? He'd been okay when his mother came in. He'd finished crying and was lying there, trying to figure out what had happened.
And his mother had wanted to help him.
She hadn't been mad at him, hadn't yelled at him, hadn't even mentioned the way he'd wrecked his room! All she'd wanted to do was help him.
And then the fury had come over him again. He'd rolled over and looked at her, and all of a sudden the flame inside him had ignited once more and he'd wanted to reach out, put his fingers around her throat, and squeeze and squeeze…
Squeeze like he'd squeezedChivas, until she stopped talking, stopped breathing, even stopped writhing in his grip.
And he'd have done it, if he'd stayed another minute.
He slowed down and looked around. Across the street was theHarrises ' house, and he suddenly knew what he had to do. He glanced up and down the street, then darted across it, slipping between the houses into theHarrises ' backyard.
The house was dark, as was the house behind it, and the one next door.