Vision by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online

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 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