The Vision by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online Page A

breasts, cupped them, pressed them together, gently massaged them. He got on his knees before her, nuzzled her cleavage and kissed her nipples.
    She took his head in her hands, pushed her fingers through his lush, shining hair.
    Alan was wrong about him.
    “My lovely Max,” she said.
    He moved his lips down her taut belly as she lay back, kissed her thighs, delicately licked the warm center of her. He slipped his hands under her buttocks, lifted slightly.
    After many minutes during which her murmurs rose and fell, rose and fell again like the enigmatic susurration of the sea, he raised his head and said, “I love you.”
    “Then love me.”
    He took off his robe and joined her on the bed.
    * * *
    Agreeably exhausted, they separated at midnight, but the spell was not broken. Still enchanted, eyes closed, she drifted. In some ways she was more intensely aware of her body than she had been during intercourse.
    Within minutes, however, memories of the vision returned to her: bloodied and crumpled faces. With her eyes closed, the backs of her lids were like twin projection screens on which she saw nothing but carnage.
    She opened her eyes and the dark room appeared to crawl with strange shapes. Although she didn’t want to disturb Max, she couldn’t keep herself from tossing and turning.
    Eventually he switched on the light. “You need a sedative.” He swung his legs out of bed.
    “I’ll get it,” she said.
    “Stay put.”
    A minute later he came back from the bathroom with a glass of water and one of the capsules that she too frequently required.
    “Maybe I shouldn’t take it on top of liquor,” she said.
    “You drank only half of your Scotch.”
    “I had vodka before that.”
    “The vodka’s through your system by now.”
    She took the sedative. It stuck in her throat. She choked it down with another swallow of water.
    In bed again, he held her hand. He was still holding it when the chemically induced sleep finally began to creep over her.
    As consciousness spun away from her like a child’s ball rolling down a hillside, she thought about how wrong Alan was about Max, how terribly and completely wrong.

Tuesday, December 22

6
    “Anaheim Police.”
    “Are you a police officer, Miss?”
    “I’m the receptionist.”
    “Could I speak to an officer?”
    “What’s the nature of your complaint?”
    “Oh, no complaint. I think you people do a wonderful job.”
    “I meant, are you reporting a crime?”
    “I’m not sure. A very strange thing happened here.”
    “What is your name?”
    “Alice. Alice Barnable.”
    “Your address?”
    “Peregrine Apartments on Euclid Avenue. I’m in apartment B.”
    “I’ll connect you with someone.”
    “Sergeant Erdman speaking.”
    “Are you really a sergeant?”
    “Who’s this?”
    “Mrs. Alice Barnable.”
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Are you really a sergeant? You sound too young.”
    “I’ve been a policeman for twenty years. If you—”
    “I’m seventy-eight, but I’m not senile.”
    “I didn’t say you were.”
    “So many people treat us senior citizens as if we’re children.”
    “I don’t, Mrs. Barnable. My mother’s seventy-five, and she’s sharper than I am.”
    “So you better believe what I’ve got to tell you.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “Four nurses share an apartment above mine, and I know they’re in some sort of bad trouble. I called up there, but no one answers the phone.”
    “How do you know they’re in trouble?”
    “There’s a puddle of blood in my spare bathroom.”
    “Whose blood? I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
    “You see, the water pipes that serve the apartment above mine are exposed, and they run up one corner of my spare bath. Now, I don’t want you to think I live in a cheap place. The pipes are painted white, hardly noticeable. The building’s old but elegant in its way. It’s not cheap. It’s quaint. My Charlie left me enough to let me live very comfortably.”
    “I’m sure he did,