Last Light (Novella) by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online

could never have. And some said that Shakespeare had no contemporary relevance.
    In the foyer, as Pogo closed the door, Makani dropped to her knees to assure Bob that he was the great love of her life. Four years old, no longer puppy enough to forget his manners and leap up to put his paws on her shoulders, he pressed his big head into her hands, whimpering with pleasure as she stroked his face and then rubbed behind his ears. She cooed to him and said his name—“Bob, my lovely Bob, sweet Bobby”—and took the forepaw he offered, squeezing it affectionately.
    By touch, from this dog or any other, Makani received only a general—though sometimes intense—sense of its emotional state. At the moment, Bob overflowed with loving devotion and delight and relief that she hadn’t gone away forever.
    “We’ve had an awesome time,” Pogo said.
    “He’s got big energy. He can be crazy sometimes.”
    “Not the Bobster. He’s a mellow dude.”
    Wanting to smell her hair, Bob thrust his quivering black nose into it and sniffed noisily, probably because her hair was the best record of her day and was scented with the sea, the sun, beer, and God knew what else. To dogs, there were no bad smells.
    Abruptly, the Labrador scampered out of the foyer and along the hall, toward the back of the house, most likely to retrieve one of his squeaky tennis balls and present it to her as a gift.
    “Catch some good waves?” Pogo asked.
    “There were more top-to-bottom barrels today than anyone could ride.”
    “Sweet. You want a beer or somethin’?”
    She was surprised to hear herself say, “Just so you don’t throw it in my face,” because that comment led inevitably to his question.
    “Why would I throw it in your face?”
    She was even more surprised to hear herself say, in a tremulous voice, “Man, I’m in really big trouble, I’m going over the falls, and I don’t know what to do,” because she had never spoken of her gift with him or with anyone but Rainer Sparks.
    Putting a hand on her shoulder, he said, “There’s no trouble here, O’Brien. This is a safe zone. You want to talk?”
    She was having second thoughts. “I don’t want to get you killed.”
    “I thank you for that.”
    “I’m serious, Pogo. It’s that bad.”
    His eyes were a different shade of blue from hers, but meeting his stare, she felt somehow that she was looking into a reflection of herself. She knew that telling him everything would in no way damage their relationship or put her at risk.
    When still Makani hesitated, Pogo said, “I won’t be as easy to kill as you seem to think, O’Brien. Whether you want to talk about it or not,
I
want to talk about it. So don’t make me force it out of you with thumbscrews and a cattle prod, okay?”
    Her mouth trembled under the weight of a worried smile. “Okay.”
    “Let’s go to the kitchen. I was having coffee and punishing myself with Kerouac. The coffee’s good and makes perfect sense.”

9
Where, Oh, Where Has My Little Dog Gone?
    Rainer considered setting Makani’s house on fire.
    She wouldn’t need a home anymore. She’d be dead soon.
    She was fond of the bungalow.
    He would enjoy telling her that he had burned it down.
    Or save himself the trouble. Just
claim
to have torched it.
    For sure, he would kill the dog in front of her.
    She had thrown beer in his face. Defied him.
    Her death would not be easy.
    After she drove away, he went into the house. Looked in the refrigerator. Made a ham-and-cheese sandwich.
    Eating at her kitchen table, watching the GPS map displayed on his smartphone, he followed the blinking dot that was her ’54 Chevy as she drove south on Coast Highway.
    These days, you could buy a dog collar with a microminiature transponder in it, so your pooch could never be lost. Rainer had put one in her car.
    She was his dog, after all. His little bitch.
    She had been his since he first saw her ten years earlier. She just hadn’t known it.
    He always got what he wanted.