The Eyes of Darkness

office. They plugged it in and tried to get it to repeat what it had done earlier, but they had no luck; the machine behaved exactly as it was meant to behave.
    "Someone could have programmed it to spew out this stuff about Danny," Elliot said. "But I don't see how he could make the terminal switch itself on."
    "It happened," she said.
    "I don't doubt you. I just don't understand."
    "And the air ... so cold . . ."
    "Could the temperature change have been subjective?"
    Tina frowned. "Are you asking me if I imagined it?"
    "You were frightened—"
    "But I'm sure I didn't imagine it. Angela felt the chill first, when she got the initial printout with those lines about Danny. It isn't likely Angela and I both just imagined it."
    "True." He stared thoughtfully at the computer. "Come on."
    "Where?"
    "Back in your office. I left my drink there. Need to lubricate my thoughts."
    She followed him into the wood-paneled inner sanctum.
    He picked up his brandy snifter from the low table in front of the sofa, and he sat on the edge of her desk. "Who? Who could be doing it to you?"
    "I haven't a clue."
    "You must have somebody in mind."
    "I wish I did."
    "Obviously, it's somebody who at the very least dislikes you, if he doesn't actually hate you. Someone who wants you to suffer. He blames you for Danny's death . . . and it's apparently a personal loss to him, so it can hardly be a stranger."
    Tina was disturbed by his analysis because it matched her own, and it led her into the same blind alley that she'd traveled before. She paced between the desk and the drapery-covered windows. "This afternoon I decided it has to be a stranger. I can't think of anyone I know who'd be capable of this sort of thing even if they did hate me enough to contemplate it. And I don't know of anyone but Michael who places any of the blame for Danny's death on me."
    Elliot raised his eyebrows. "Michael's your ex-husband?"
    "Yes,"
    "And he blames you for Danny's death?"
    "He says I never should have let him go with Jaborski. But this isn't Michael's dirty work."
    "He sounds like an excellent candidate to me."
    "No."
    "Are you certain?"
    "Absolutely. It's someone else."
    Elliot tasted his cognac. "You'll probably need professional help to catch him in one of his tricks."
    "You mean the police?"
    "I don't think the police would be much help. They probably won't think it's serious enough to waste their time. After all, you haven't been threatened."
    "There's an implicit threat in all of this."
    "Oh, yeah, I agree. It's scary. But the cops are a literal bunch, not much impressed by implied threats. Besides, to properly watch your house . . . that alone will require a lot more manpower than the police can spare for anything except a murder case, a hot kidnapping, or maybe a narcotics investigation."
    She stopped pacing. "Then what did you mean when you said I'd probably need professional help to catch this creep?"
    "Private detectives."
    "Isn't that melodramatic?"
    He smiled sourly. "Well, the person who's harassing you has a melodramatic streak a mile wide."
    She sighed and sipped some cognac and sat on the edge of the couch. "I don't know . . . Maybe I'd hire private detectives, and they wouldn't catch anyone but me."
    "Send that one by me again."
    She had to take another small sip of cognac before she was able to say what was on her mind, and she realized that he had been right about the liquor having little effect on her. She felt more relaxed than she'd been ten minutes ago, but she wasn't even slightly tipsy. "It's occurred to me . . . maybe I wrote those words on the chalkboard. Maybe / wrecked Danny's room."
    "You've lost me."
    "Could have done it in my sleep."
    'That's ridiculous, Tina."
    "Is it? I thought I'd begun to get over Danny's death back in September. I started sleeping well then. I didn't dwell on it when I was alone, like I'd done for so long. I thought I'd put the worst pain behind me. But a month ago I started dreaming about Danny again. The first week, it happened twice. The second week, four nights. And the past two weeks, I've dreamed about him every night without fail. The dreams get worse all the time. They're full-fledged nightmares now."
    Elliot returned to the couch and sat beside her. "What are they like?"
    "I dream he's alive, trapped somewhere, usually in a deep pit or a gorge or a well, someplace underground. He's calling to me, begging me to save him. But I can't. I'm never able to reach him. Then the earth starts closing in