Dean Koontz - From the Corner of His Eye

At nine o'clock that morning, Junior Cain and his bride, Naomi, had parked their Chevy Suburban along an unpaved fire road and headed north on foot, along deer trails and other natural pathways, into this shadowy vastness. Even by noon, the sun penetrated only in narrow shafts that brightened most of the woods by indirection.

When Junior was in the lead, he occasionally drew far enough of Naomi to pause and turn and watch her as she approached him. I Her golden hair shimmered always bright, in sunshine or shadow, and her face was that perfection of which adolescent boys dreamed, for which grown men sacrificed honor and surrendered fortune. Sometimes, Naomi led; following her, Junior was so enraptured by her lithe form that he was aware of little else, oblivious of the green vaults, the columnar trunks, the lush ferns, and the flourishing rhododendrons.

Although Naomi's beauty might alone have captured his heart, he was equally enchanted by her grace, her agility, her strength, and by the determination with which she conquered the steepest slopes and the most forbiddingly stony terrain. She approached all of life—-not just hiking—with enthusiasm passion, intelligence, courage.

They had been married fourteen months, yet dally his love grew stronger. He was only twenty-three, and sometimes it seemed that one day his heart would be too small to contain his feelings for her.

Other men had pursued Naomi, some better looking than Junior, many smarter, virtually all of them richer. Yet Naomi had wanted only him, not for what he owned or might one day acquire, but because she claimed to see in him “a shining soul."

Junior was a physical therapist, and a good one, working mostly with accident and stroke victims who were struggling to regain lost physical function. He would never lack for meaningful work, but he would never own a mansion on a hill.

Fortunately, Naomi's tastes were simple. She preferred beer to champagne, shunned diamonds and didn't care if she ever saw Parts. She loved nature, walks in the rain, the beach, and good books.

Hiking, she often sang softly when the trail was easy. Two of her favorite tunes were “Somewhere over the Rainbow” and “What a Wonderful World.” I Her voice was as pure as spring water and as warm its sunshine. Junior often encouraged her to sing, for in her song he heard a love of life and an infectious joy that lifted him.

Because this January day was unseasonably warm in the sixties, and because they were too close to the coast to be in the snow zone at any altitude, they wore shorts and T-shirts. The pleasant heat of exertion, the sweet ache of well-tested muscles the forest air scented with pine, the tautness and grace of Naomi's bare legs, her sweet song: This was what paradise might be like if paradise existed.

On a day hike, not intending to camp overnight, they carried light packs-a first-aid kit, drinking water, lunch-and thus made good time. Shortly after noon, they came to a narrow break in the forest and stepped onto the final coil of the serpentine fire road, which had arrived at this point by a route different front theirs. They followed the dirt track to the summit, where it terminated at a fire tower that was indicated oil their map by a red triangle.

The tower stood on a broad ridge line: a formidable structure of creosote-soaked timbers, forty feet on a side at the base. The tower tapered as it rose, though an open view deck flared out from the top. Ill the center of the deck was an enclosed observation post with large windows.

The sod was stony and alkaline here, so tile most Impressive trees were only a hundred feet tall, little more than half the size of many of the rain-forest behemoths that thrived on lower slopes. At 150 feet, the tower rose high above them.

The switchback stairs were in the center of the open framework, rising under the tower rather than circling the exterior. Aside from a few sagging treads and loose balusters, the staircase was in good condition, yet Junior became uneasy when he was just two flights off the ground. He wasn't able to pinpoint the cause of his concern, but instinct told him to be wary.

Because the autumn and winter had been rainy, the fire danger was low, and the tower was not currently manned. In addition to its more serious function, the structure also served as an observation platform open to any of the public determined enough to reach it.

The steps creaked. Their footfalls echoed hollowly through this half-enclosed space, as did their heavy breathing. None of these sounds was a reason for alarm, and yet...

As Junior ascended behind Naomi, the wedge-shaped open spaces between the crisscrossed framing beams grew narrower, allowing ever less daylight to penetrate. The space under the tower platform became gloomy, though never dark enough to require a flashlight.

The penetrating odor of creosote was now laced with the musty smell of mold or fungus, neither of which should have been thriving in the presence of timber treated with such pungent wood tar.

Junior paused to peer down the stairs, through the trestlework of shadows, half expecting to discover someone stealthily climbing behind them. As far as he could see, they were not being stalked.

Only spiders kept them company. No one had come this way in weeks, if not months, and repeatedly they encountered daunting webs of grand design. Like the cold and fragile ectoplasm of summoned spirits, the gossamer architecture pressed against their faces, and so much of it clung tenaciously to their clothes that even in the gloom, they began to look like the risen dead in tattered gravecloth.

As the diameter of the tower shrank, the steps came in shorter and steeper flights, finally ending at a landing only eight or nine feet below the floor of the observation platform. From here, a ladder led up to an open trapdoor.

When Junior followed his agile wife to the top of the ladder and then through the trap, onto the observation deck, he would have been knocked breathless by the view if he'd not already been left gasping by the climb. From here, fifteen stories above the highest point of the ridge and five stories above the tallest trees, they saw a green sea of needled waves rising in eternal ranks to the misty east and descending In timeless sets toward the real sea a few miles to the west.

“Oh ,” Eenie,” she exclaimed, “It's spectacular!"

Eenie was her pet name for him. She didn't want to call him Junior as did everyone else, and he didn't permit anyone to call him Enoch, which was his real name. Enoch Cain. Jr.

Well, everyone had a cross to bear. At least he hadn't been born with a hump and a third eye.

After wiping the cobwebs off each other and rinsing then- hands with bottled water, they ate lunch. Cheese sandwiches and , little dried fruit.

While they ate, they circled the observation deck more than once, relishing the magnificent vistas. During the second circuit, Naomi put one hand against the railing and discovered that some of the supports were rotten.

She didn't lean her weight against the handrail and wasn't in any danger of falling. The pickets sagged outward, one of them began to crack, and Naomi immediately retreated from the edge of the platform to safety.

Nevertheless, Junior was so unnerved that he wanted to leave the tower at once and finish their lunch on solid ground. He was trembling, and the dryness of his Mouth had nothing to do with the cheese.

Quavering, his voice, and strange to his own ear: “I almost lost you."

“Oh, Eenie, it wasn't even close."

... Too close, too close."

Climbing the tower, he hadn't broken out in .I sweat, but now he felt perspiration prickle his brow.

Naomi sullied. She used her paper napkin to daub at his damp forehead. “You're sweet. I love you, too."

He held her tightly. She felt so good in his arms. Precious.