"In the first place," Michael said, "I'm not sure I believe that anything paranormal really happens. In the second, it's always so sudden."

She laughed. So did he.

"Well, it is," he said finally. "I suppose I had better go and say something to him. I know it's not his fault. I don't want him unhappy. ..."

He had started toward the door. He paused.

"I still wonder," he said.

"I know."

"I'm sure our kid didn't have that funny mark on his wrist."

"Don't start that again. Please. It just takes you around in circles."

"You're right."

He departed his office and walked back toward Dan's room. As he went, he heard the sounds of a guitar being softly strummed. Now a D chord, now a G... Surprising, how quickly a kid that age had learned to handle the undersized instrument... Strange, too. No one else in either family had ever shown any musical aptitude.

He knocked gently on the door. The strumming stopped.

"Yes?"

"May I come in?"

"Uh-huh."

He pushed the door open and entered. Dan was sprawled on the bed. The instrument was nowhere in sight. Underneath, probably.

"That was real pretty," he said. "What were you playing?"

"Just some sounds. I don't know."

"Why'd you stop?"

"You don't like it."

"I never said that."

"I can tell."

He sat down beside him and squeezed his shoulder.

"Well, you're wrong," he said. "Everybody's got something they like to do. With me, it's my work." Then, finally, "You scared me, Dan. I don't know how it happens that machines sometimes go crazy when you come around--and things I don't understand sometimes scare me. But I'm not really mad at you. I just sound that way when I'm startled."

Dan rolled onto his side and looked up at him. He smiled weakly.

"You want to play something for me? I'll be glad to listen."