Dean Koontz - From the Corner of His Eye

“I was born human, wasn't I?

He settled in the chair with no trepidation.

“I can do this with just a very little Novocain,” she said, “so your mouth won't be numb for dinner."

“How does it feel to be part of such an historical moment?"

“Lindbergh landing in France was nothing compared to this."

She removed a temporary cap from the second bicuspid on the lower left side and replaced it with the porcelain cap that had been delivered by the lab that morning.

Nolly liked to watch her hands while she worked. They were slim, graceful, the hands of an adolescent girl.

He liked her face, too. She wore no makeup, and pulled her brown hair back in a bun. Some might say she was mousy, but the only things mousy that Nolly saw about her were a piquant tilt to her nose and a certain cuteness.

Finished, she gave him a mirror, so he could admire his new bicuspid cap. After five years of dentistry, paced so as not to tax Nolly's tolerance, Kathleen had done well what nature had done poorly, giving him a perfect bite and a supernatural smile. This final cap was the last of the reconstruction.

She loosened her hair and brushed it out, and Nolly took her to dinner at their favorite place, which had the decor of a classy saloon and a bay view suitable for God's table. They came here often enough that the maitre d' greeted them by name, as did their waiter.

Nolly was, as usual, “Nolly” to everyone, but here Kathleen was “Mrs. Wulfstan."

They ordered martinis, and when Kathleen, perusing a menu, asked her husband what looked good for dinner, he suggested, “Oysters?"

“Yeah, you'll need 'em. “ Her smile wasn't the least mouse like.

As they savored the icy martinis, she asked about the client, and Nolly said, “He bought the story. I won't be seeing him again."

The adoption records on Seraphim White's baby weren't sealed by law, because custody of the child was being retained by family.

“What if he finds out the truth?” Kathleen worried.

“He'll just think I'm an incompetent detective. If he comes around wanting his five hundred bucks back, I'll give it to him."

A table candle glowed in an amber glass. To Nolly, in this glimmering light, Kathleen's face was more radiant than the flame.

A mutual interest in ballroom dancing had resulted in their introduction when each needed a new partner for a fox-trot and swing competition. Nolly had started taking lessons five years before he had met Kathleen.

“Did the creep finally say why he wants to find this baby?” she asked.

“No. But I'm sure as can be, the kid is better off undiscovered by the likes of him."

“Why's he so sure it's a boy?” she asked.

“Search me. But I didn't tell him different. The less he knows, the better. I can't figure his motivation, but if you were tracking this guy by his spoor, you'd want to look for the imprint of cloven hooves."

“Be careful, Sherlock."

“He doesn't scare me,” Nolly said.

“Nobody does. But a good porkpie hat isn't cheap."

“He offered me ten thousand bucks to burglarize Catholic Family Services."

“So you told him your going rate was twenty?"

Later, at home in bed, after Nolly proved the value of oysters, he and Kathleen lay holding hands. Following a companionable silence, he said, “It's a mystery."

“What's that?"

“Why you're with me."

“Kindness, gentleness, humility, strength."

“That's enough?"

” Silly man."

” Cain looks like a movie star."

” Does he have nice teeth?” she asked. “They're good. Not perfect."

” So kiss me, Mr. Perfect."

EVERY MOTHER BELIEVES that her baby is breathtakingly beautiful. She will remain unshakably convinced of this even if she lives to be a centenarian and her child has been harrowed by eight hard decades of gravity and experience.

Every mother also believes that her baby is smarter than other babies. Sadly, time and the child's choices in life usually require her to adjust her opinion as she never will in the matter of physical beauty.

Month by month during Barty's first year, Agnes's belief in his exceptional intelligence was only confirmed by his development. By the end of the second month of life, most babies will smile in response to a smile, and they are able to smile spontaneously in the fourth month. Barty was smiling frequently in his second week. In the third month, many babies laugh out loud, but Barty's first laugh came in his sixth week.

At the beginning of his third month, instead of at the end of his fifth, he was combining vowels and consonants: “ba-ba-ba, ga-ga-ga, la-la-la, ca-ca-ca."

At the end of his fourth month, instead of in his seventh, he said “Mama,” and clearly knew what it meant. He repeated it when he wanted to get her attention.

He was able to play peekaboo in his fifth month instead of his eighth, stand while holding on to something in his sixth instead of eighth.

By eleven months, his vocabulary had expanded to nineteen words, by Agnes's count: an age when even a precocious child usually spoke three or four at most.

His first word after mama was papa, which she taught him while showing him pictures of Joey. His third word: pie.

His name for Edom was E-bomb. Maria became Me-ah.

When Bartholomew first said “Kay-jub,” and held out one hand toward his uncle, Jacob surprised Agnes by crying with happiness.

Barty began toddling at ten months, walking well at eleven.

By his twelfth month, he was toilet-trained, and every time that he had the need to use his colorful little bathroom chair, he proudly and repeatedly announced to everyone, “Barty potty."

On January 1, 1966, five days before Barty's first birthday, Agnes discovered him, in his playpen, engaged in unusual toe play. He wasn't simply, randomly tickling or tugging on his toes. Between thumb and forefinger, he firmly pinched the little piggy on his left foot, and then one by one pinched his way to the biggest toe. His attention shifted to his right foot, on which he first pinched the big toe before systematically working down to the smallest.

Throughout this procedure, Barty appeared solemn and thoughtful. When he had squeezed the tenth toe, he stared at it, brow furrowed.

He held one hand in front of his face, studying his fingers. The other hand.

He pinched all his toes in the same order as before.

And then he pinched them in order again.

Agnes had the craziest notion that he was counting them, when at is age, Of course, he would have no concept of numbers.

“Honey,” she said, crouching to peer at him through the vertical slats of the playpen, “what're you doing?"

He smiled and held up one foot.

“Those are your toes,” she said.

“Toes,” he repeated immediately in his sweet, piping voice. This was a new word for him.

Reaching between the slats, Agnes tickled the pink piggies on his left foot. “Toes."

Barty giggled. “Toes."

“You're a good boy, smarty Barty."

He pointed at his feet. “Toes, toes, toes, toes, toes, toes, toes, toes, toes, toes."

“A good boy, but not yet a great conversationalist."

Raising one hand, wiggling the fingers, he said, “Toes, toes, toes, toes, toes."

“Fingers,” she corrected.

“Toes, toes, toes, toes, toes."

“Well, perhaps I'm wrong."

Five days later, on Barty's birthday morning, when Agnes and Edom were in the kitchen, making preparations for the visits that had earned her the affectionate title of Pie Lady, Barty was in his highchair, eating a vanilla wafer lightly dampened with milk. Each time a crumb fell from the cookie, the boy plucked it off the tray and neatly conveyed it to his tongue.