The Vision by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online

hearing him speak and feeling him close, Mary grew calm.
    “Even when you’re searching for a lost ring or necklace or brooch,” Max said, “you have to see the box or drawer where it was kept. So what you saw tonight
had
to be a dream because you didn’t seek it.”
    “I feel better.”
    “Good.”
    “But not because I believe it was a dream. I know it was a vision. Those women were real. They’re either dead by now or they soon will be.” She thought of the brutally beaten faces and she said, “God help them.”
    “Mary—”
    “It was
real
,” she insisted, letting go of his hand and sitting on the mattress. “And it’s going to involve us.”
    “You mean the police will ask for your help?”
    “More than that. It’s going to affect us . . . intimately. It’s the start of something that’ll change our lives.”
    “How can you know that?”
    “The same way I know everything else about it. I sense it psychically.”
    “Whether or not it’s going to change our life,” he said, “is there any way we can help those women?”
    “We know so little. If we called the police, we couldn’t tell them anything worthwhile.”
    “And since you don’t know what town it will happen in, which police department would we call? Can you pick up the vision again?”
    “No use trying. It’s gone.”
    “Maybe it’ll return spontaneously, just the way it came the first time.”
    “Maybe.” The possibility chilled her. “I hope not. As it is, I’ve got too many nasty visions in my life. I don’t want them to start flashing on me when I’m not prepared, when I’m not
asking
for them. If that became a regular thing, I’d end up in a madhouse.”
    “If there isn’t anything we can do about what you saw,” Max said, “then we have to forget about it for tonight. You need a drink.”
    “I had some water.”
    “Would
I
ever suggest water? I meant something with more bite.”
    She smiled. “At this hour of the morning?”
    “It’s not morning. We went to bed early, remember. And we’ve been asleep only half an hour or so.”
    She looked at the travel clock. Eleven-ten. “I thought I’d been conked out for hours.”
    “Minutes,” he said. “Vodka and tonic?”
    “Scotch, if you’re having it.”
    He went to the small breakfast table by the window. The liquor bottles, glasses, and ice were there. In spite of his size, he was not awkward. He moved like a wild animal—fluidly, silently. Even the preparation of drinks was a study in grace when Max did it.
    If everyone were like him, Mary thought, the word “clumsy” wouldn’t exist.
    He sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “Will you be able to get back to sleep?”
    “I doubt it.”
    “Drink up.”
    She sipped the Scotch. It burned her throat.
    “What are you worrying about?” he asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “You’re worrying about the vision.”
    “Not at all.”
    “Look, worry accomplishes nothing,” he said. “And whatever you do, don’t think about a blue giraffe standing in the center of a giant custard pie.”
    She stared at him, incredulous.
    Grinning, he said, “What are you worrying about now?”
    “What else? A blue giraffe in a custard pie.”
    “See? I stopped you from worrying about the vision.”
    She laughed. He had such a stern, forbidding face that his humor always came as a surprise.
    “Speaking of blue,” he said, “you look perfect in that robe.”
    “I’ve worn it before.”
    “And every time you wear it you’re breathtaking. Perfect.”
    She kissed him. She explored his lips with her tongue, then teasingly drew back.
    “You look perfect in it, but you’d look even better out of it.” He put his drink beside her on the nightstand and untied the sash that was knotted at her waist, opened the long blue robe.
    A pleasant tremor passed through her. The cool air caressed her bare skin. She felt soft, vulnerable; she needed him.
    With his heavy hands, now light as wings, he traced lazy circles on her