It was Ollie Johnson, stumbling hatless up the flagstone path.
I held the door for him, but he burst by me with hardly a glance.
"Where is he?" he demanded, and stormed out into the kitchen without awaiting a reply.
I followed in time to see him fall on his face before our Soth and shed genuine tears. He lay there sobbing and hissing for over a minute, and an incredible idea began forming in my mind. I sent Vicki to her bedroom and stepped into the kitchen.
I said, "Will you please explain this?"
He didn't move or acknowledge.
Soth flipped him aside with a twist of his ankle and brushed past me into the living room, where he took up an immobile stance again before the video. He stared unblinkingly at the 40-inch screen.
"It's too bad," I said.
He didn't answer, but he moved his head slightly so that his parabolic ear could catch the sound of my movements.