The Mask by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online Page A

guidance, had watched her grow from a brooding, self-centered, self-destructive teenager into a warm, self-assured, admirable young woman with hopes and dreams, a woman of character, a sensitive woman. Playing a part in that exciting transformation had been perhaps the most satisfying thing that Grace had ever done.
    The only regret she had about her relationship with Carol was the role she had played in putting the baby up for adoption. But there had been no reasonable alternative. Carol simply hadn’t been financially oremotionally or mentally capable of providing for the infant. With that responsibility to attend to, she would never have had an opportunity to grow and change. She would have been miserable all her life, and she would have made her child miserable, too. Unfortunately, even now, sixteen years later, Carol felt guilty about giving her baby away. Her guilt became overpowering on each anniversary of the child’s birth. On that black day, Carol sank into a deep depression and became uncharacteristically uncommunicative. The excessive anguish that she suffered on that one day was evidence of the deep-seated, abiding guilt that she carried with her, to a lesser degree, during the rest of the year. Grace wished she had foreseen this reaction, wished she had done more to assuage Carol’s guilt.
    I’m a psychologist, after all, she thought. I should have anticipated it.
    Perhaps when Carol and Paul adopted someone else’s child, Carol would feel that the scales had at last been balanced. The adoption might relieve some of her guilt, in time.
    Grace hoped it would. She loved Carol like a daughter and wanted only the best for her.
    And of course she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Carol. Therefore, Carol’s appearance in a nightmare wasn’t the least bit mysterious. It was certainly
not
an omen.
    Clammy with stale sweat, Grace turned to the study window again, seeking warmth and light, but the day was ashen, chilly, forbidding. Wind pressed on the glass, soughed softly under the eaves one floor above.
    In the city, near the river, a roiling column ofsmoke rose into the rain and mist. She had not noticed it a minute ago, but it must have been there; it was too much smoke to have appeared in only a few seconds. Even from this distance, she could see a glint of fire at the base of the dark column.
    She wondered if lightning had done the dirty work. She recalled the storm flashing and roaring with extraordinary power in those first seconds after she had awakened. At the time, groggy and bleary-eyed, she had thought her sleep-dulled senses were misleading her and that the extreme violence of the lightning was largely illusory or even imaginary. Could that incredible, destructive barrage have been real after all?
    She glanced at her wristwatch.
    Her favorite radio station would carry its hourly newscast in less than ten minutes. Maybe there would be a story about the fire and the lightning.
    After she’d straightened the throw pillows on the sofa, she stepped out of the study and spotted Aristophanes at the far end of the downstairs hall, near the front door. He was sitting up straight and tall, his tail curled forward and across his front paws, his head held high, as if he were saying, “A Siamese cat is the very best thing on earth, and I am an exceedingly handsome example of the species, and don’t you dare forget it.”
    Grace held one hand toward him, rapidly rubbing her thumb against her forefinger. “Kitty-kitty-kitty.”
    Aristophanes didn’t move.
    “Kitty-kitty-kitty. Come here, Ari. Come on, baby.”
    Aristophanes got up and went through the archway on his left, into the dark living room.
    “Stubborn damn cat,” she said affectionately.
    She went into the downstairs bathroom and washed her face and combed her hair. The mundane task of grooming herself took her mind off the nightmare. Gradually, she began to relax. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot. She rinsed them out with a few drops of