Slack-a.s.s, Jack thought.

He climbed the stairs again, still seeing the world crawl around him. But if everything was in slow motion now, when he reached the third floor, they were simply frozen. Everything was still. Even his breath, when he exhaled, hung suspended in the air around his head. A bead of sweat stuck to his temple, refusing to roll any further. He moved toward the bathroom, trudging across the floor as if through thick mud. He flipped on the light and everything jumped a second ahead. His breath caught and the sweat bead was gone. He looked around, fighting with himself over whether there was anyone behind him or not. His mind said No, his creeping flesh said Most definitely!

What am I doing up here? he wondered.

Trying to figure out what fell and if anything's broken, he answered. Then you're going back to bed and getting some sleep before it's too late.

He crossed the bathroom, freezing and moving back a step when the reflection that pa.s.sed in front of the mirror wasn't his. He looked again, closer, blinked his eyes, and there was Jack Kitch looking back.

I'm tired, he thought.

He opened the door to the storage room and was wafted with cool air. His skin grew gooseflesh and his nose wrinkled with the smell coming from the dark.

He pressed the door back against the wall to let in more light, then peaked in. He scanned the room, the shelves, the stuff leaning against the walls. Nothing seemed out of place, but there was so much c.r.a.p in here, it would be hard to tell. He searched, hoping, looking, willing something to be broken, something heavy that could have fallen from a shelf and made enough noise to be heard on the first floor. But, dammit, no matter how badly Jack wanted it, nothing in here had made that noise.

He pulled back, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the tub to think. He'd heard the noise. No, he'd heard a noise. Who was to say it came from upstairs? Who was to say it came from inside the house? No one. He'd a.s.sumed it had because of his dream, because of Liz, because of everything else in his life right then adding to his stress and wearing him down.

He went out into the middle room and everything was moving normally now. The room was hot, but the heat wasn't pressing in on him, the air didn't try to strangle him with its stillness. He stood center-room and thought, There's nothing up here but me. Liz is out of her mind and I need to stop letting her influence me because I'm alone up here, the rest of the house is empty. It's just me.

That decided in his mind, he went to turn off the bathroom light. He caught another glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, just a half-second flash, but it was a trick of the light and motion because Jack wasn't really beaten and b.l.o.o.d.y as the reflection suggested.

He flipped off the light, went to the stairs, and suddenly everything was again frozen. He looked behind him again, and he was still alone. But there was something touching his back. He could almost feel the individual fingers pressing and flexing on his skin.

A muscle spasm, he told himself.

The hand moved up to cup his shoulder muscle. It squeezed.

Jack was still frozen at the top of the stairs. The world had stopped around him, everything except his heartbeat which came double-time and pounding. More sweat formed on his brow, his back, under his arms, but none of it moved. The air around him stank like rot and hung thick in front of his face.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed tighter and he felt a rush of hot air against his ear. A voice was saying, "Forgive me--(pant, pant)--forgive me."

Suddenly the noise came again, that pounding, heavy, almost desperate, but not up here. Outside. Something on the roof, it sounded like.

Jack shook off the paralysis and darted down the stairs, rounding the landing and feeling the banister loosen in his grip as he used it to haul himself around the corner, then down to the first floor. He walked into the bedroom with heavy feet, slammed the door behind him, and slid into the bed. He pulled the sheet around his chin, buried his face in the pillow, squeezed his eyes shut, and stayed that way until he fell asleep. The last thing he heard was crickets outside, and nothing else that night banged upstairs, and Jack thanked G.o.d for it as he waited for sleep.

Chapter Fifteen.

When Jack hadn't heard from Liz by eleven, he decided to go to the hospital at lunch anyway. It was halfway between Fett Tech and home, he could be there and back in half an hour. And if they weren't ready to send Joey home, at least Jack could find out how he was feeling.

He found Joey alone in his room and figured Liz had gone to get him a snack or a drink.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked. Joey nodded, but kept his eyes on the television. Jack glanced up and saw Bugs Bunny. He looked back and asked, "How's your head?"

"Better," Joey said.

"Good. Has Liz said when you get to go home?"

"I don't know," Joey said. His eyes stayed on the television, but his head turned slightly toward Jack, as if he would look at him if his eyes hadn't been drawn inexorably to the screen. "I haven't seen her since last night."

"What?" Jack said. "Where's she been?"

"I dunno," Joey said, shrugging his shoulders. "She gave me a shower and then I came to bed. She was gone when I woke up."

"You don't know where she is?"

Joey shook his head. Jack kissed his forehead and said, "I'll be back. If a nurse or someone comes in, ask them when you can go home. I'm going to see if I can find your stepmother."

Joey didn't respond and Jack closed the door behind him.

What in the h.e.l.l did she think she was doing leaving him alone like that? And where the f.u.c.k did she go?

For the first time in their marriage, a voice of doubt spoke up.

She's alone all day, it said. Who's to say what she does at home? Maybe she's seeing someone else. Maybe that's where she is.

Shut up, Jack told the voice. That's ridiculous. She's not seeing someone else.

How do you know?

Because I do.

That sounds logical.

Shut up.

He stopped at the nurses' station and asked, "Has anyone seen my wife? We brought my son in? Joseph Kitch? I had to go to work and my wife, Liz, was supposed to be staying with him. But I can't find her."

The nurses hadn't seen her.

Angel County Hospital had a huge gla.s.s birdcage set off from one of the waiting rooms. Jack looked there, but didn't find Liz. He found a pay phone and called the house in case she'd, for whatever reason, called a cab and gone home some time after he left this morning. No one answered. He looked in the gift shop. He checked the chapel. He checked the cafeteria. There was Liz sitting alone in a booth along the wall, sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette. Jack slid into the seat across from her.

"When did you start smoking?"

"When I was fourteen," Liz said.

"Hmm. I seem to have missed that the past couple years."

"I quit a week or so after Alex left."

"A test of willpower?"

"Something like that."

"Where've you been?"

"Pretty much right here," she said.

"Pretty much?"

She puffed, inhaled, and sighed smoke out the side of her mouth. She rubbed a red eye and said, "Well, you know, I wandered around the hospital for a while. After a while I think I started scaring the nurses--they were looking at me pretty weird--so I came down here. Been here since late last night."

Jack sat silent for a minute, biting the inside of his lip.

"Want to tell me why?"

Liz had apparently been slipping into a daze; when Jack spoke, she had to focus on him and ask, "Huh?"

"Want to tell me why you left Joey by himself in the middle of the hospital and went off to roam the halls?"

"I don't know," she said.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean, I don't know if I want to tell you. You aren't gonna believe me, so why waste the time?"

Jack looked at his watch.

"Time is one thing I don't have a lot of, Liz. I'm supposed to be back at work in about five minutes, so spill it. What's wrong with you?"

Liz tried a laugh and looked down at the table.

"There's nothing wrong with me," she said. "You want to find out what's wrong, go to the house and try the third floor. Whole bunch of stuff wrong up there."

Jack got a hot flash as last night came back to him. He'd spent the day trying to shove it away and convince himself he'd dreamed it, a nightmare brought on by stress from Joey's fall and Liz's insane insistence of ghosts. He'd almost convinced himself, except for the small nag at the back of his skull.

"There's nothing wrong with the house," he said. His voice cracked on "house". He cleared his throat and hoped Liz didn't call him on it. One look at her told him she was only half-listening anyway. "And I'm sure nothing from the house had anything to do with you walking the halls here."

"No, why would it?" Liz said.

Jack looked at his watch again. He was late. Leaving now wouldn't matter, he wasn't going to make it back on time. I'm on salary anyway, he thought. If the engineers can take an hour lunch at least twice a week, I can once in a month.

He rubbed his eyes and said, "Just tell me why the h.e.l.l you left Joey alone all night when all you had to do was sit with him. You could have slept, you could have stayed up watching television, you could have got a book from the gift shop, I don't care what you did as long as you did it with Joey there. So why did you leave him all night?"

Liz crushed out her cigarette and took two more sips from her coffee before she set the cup aside and asked, "What color are Joey's eyes?"

"I take it that has something to do with this?"

"What color are they?"

Jack thought for a second before saying, "Brown."

"Not anymore."

He raised his eyebrows, squinted his eyes, a Huh? gesture. "And now they're . . . ?"

"They're green. Well, pretty much. There's still some brown in them, but they're almost all green now. I noticed it last night, but it was after working all day upstairs and I wasn't sure if I was just tired and confused or if his eyes had really changed color."

"His mother had green eyes. They've probably been a mix forever. Lots of peoples' eyes are a mix of colors."

Liz sighed.

"I knew you were going to have some kind of explanation. I told you it was a waste of time."

"I just want to know what this has to do with why you were so irresponsible?" Jack said. "If I'd known you were going to go off and leave him alone, I'd have stayed and watched him myself. You know, just because he's not your son doesn't mean--"

Liz cut him off with, "Don't you ever say anything like that again. Who's the one who stays home with him every single day? Who's the one who feeds him, bathes him, talks to him? It sure as h.e.l.l isn't you. I'm more parent to that boy than you've been since we moved here."

"Sorry for being the one to have a job," he said. "But that house isn't going to pay for itself."

"f.u.c.k that house," she replied. "That house can burn down for all I care. What I'm trying to tell you through your stupid f.u.c.king logic-haze is that Joey's brown eyes are now green. His blonde hair is now red--in case you hadn't noticed--and last night after his shower, while I was drying him off, I saw the boy--your six-year-old son--has pubic hair. Not a lot, but a dozen is more than any six-year-old should have."

Jack had turned away from her, trying not to hear because none of it made any logical sense and as soon as she shut up, he'd be able to think and figure out what she was talking about and at least two good ways to explain it.

"Now, I may not be the electronics genius you are," she said, "but I know enough to see things that are going on right in front of me and not dismiss it because I can't explain it. I'm telling you what's going on and I'm telling you that f.u.c.king house has something to do with it. I want you to tell me everything you know about what went on up there."

Jack shrugged. "I don't know anything," he said. "A guy killed his kids, then himself. That's it."

"When?"

"I don't know," he said. "Few years ago, maybe. Five, six, I don't know. I wasn't here, I was in Houston, remember?"

"There's got to be more there," Liz said. She pulled a half-empty cigarette pack from the seat beside her, shook one out, stuck it in her mouth and lit it with a match from the book tucked into the pack. She puffed, blew smoke. Sighed. Watched an old woman in blue scrubs buy a carton of milk and a salad.

Jack put his hand on her wrist and she snapped back to look at him.

"I want you to tell me what the h.e.l.l's wrong with you," he said.

She looked at him and he could see she wanted to say something, but she decided she didn't have the words she needed and she looked down at the table instead.

"I don't know," she finally whispered. "I don't even know. Everything's so f.u.c.king crazy. I got stuff at the house, voices and shadows and people killing their children upstairs. Then Joey's different and you're you and that ain't helping a bit and--"

"Thanks," Jack said.

"I'm sorry. You know me, Jack. You know I'm not crazy--"

"I never said you were."

"No, but you look at me like I am. When I tell you what I've seen and heard in that house, you look at me like I just said the invasion forces had landed from s.p.a.ce. I'm not talking about anything that hasn't been doc.u.mented a thousand times over already, but you just won't listen and you don't see any of it. I don't know, maybe because they know you don't believe in it and that when I say there's ghosts you'll think I'm insane."

Jack leaned over the table and kissed her forehead.

"I don't think you're insane," he said. "I think we just need to get Joey and you and me home and we'll figure something out from there, okay?"