The Eyes of Darkness

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This better version is for Gerda, with love.

After five years of work, now that I’m nearly finished improving these early novels first published under pen names, I intend to start improving myself.

Considering all that needs to be done, this new project will henceforth be known as the hundred-year plan.

At six minutes past midnight, Tuesday morning, on the way home from a late rehearsal of her new stage show, Tina Evans saw her son, Danny, in a stranger’s car. But Danny had been dead more than a year.

Two blocks from her house, intending to buy a quart of milk and a loaf of whole-wheat bread, Tina stopped at a twenty-four-hour market and parked in the dry yellow drizzle of a sodium-vapor light, beside a gleaming, cream-colored Chevrolet station wagon. The boy was in the front passenger seat of the wagon, waiting for someone in the store. Tina could see only the side of his face, but she gasped in painful recognition.

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