Dean Koontz - From the Corner of His Eye

“All here together now."

“Other Bartys and other Agneses in other houses like this-all here together now."

“Yeah."

“And in some of them, your dad's alive."

“Yeah."

“And in some of them, maybe I died the night you were born, and you live alone with your dad."

“Some places, it has to be like that.” some places it has to be that your eyes are okay?"

“There's lots of places where I don't have bad eyes at all. And then lots of places where I have it worse or don't have it as bad, but still have it some."

Agnes remained mystified by this talk, but a week before, in the rain-swept cemetery, she had learned there was substance to it.

She said, “Honey, what I'm wondering is ... could you walk where you don't have bad eyes, like you walked where the rain wasn't ... and leave the tumors in that other place? Could you walk where you have good eyes and come back with them?"

“It doesn't work that way."

“Why not?"

He considered the issue for a while. “I don't know."

“Will you think about it for me?"

“Sure. It's a good question."

She, smiled. “Thanks. I love you, sweetie."

“I love you, too."

“Have you said your silent prayers?"

“I'll say them now."

Agnes said hers, too.

She lay beside her boy in the darkness, gazing at the covered window, where the faint glow of the moon pressed through the blind, suggesting another world thriving with strange life just beyond a thin membrane of light.

Murmuring on the edge of sleep, Barty spoke to his father in all the places where Joey still lived: “Good-night, Daddy."

Agnes's faith told her that the world was infinitely complex and full of mystery, and in a peculiar way, Barty's talk of infinite possibilities supported her belief and gave her the comfort to sleep. Monday morning, New Year's Day, Agnes carried two suitcases out of the back door, set them on the porch, and blinked in surprise at the sight of Edom's yellow-and-white Ford Country Squire parked in the driveway, in front of the garage. He and Jacob were loading their suitcases into the car.

They came to her, picked up the luggage that she had put down, and Edom said, “I'll drive."

“I'll sit up front with Edom,” Jacob said. “You can ride in back with Barty. “

In all their years, neither twin had ever set foot beyond the limits of Bright Beach. They both appeared nervous but determined.

Barty came out of the house with the library copy of Podkayne Of Mary, which his mother had promised to read to him later, in the hospital. “Are we all going?” he asked.

“Looks that way,” said Agnes.

“Wow."

“Exactly."

In spite of major earthquakes pending, explosions of dynamite hauling trucks on the highway, tornadoes somewhere churning, the grim likelihood of a great dam bursting along the route, freak ice storms stored up in the unpredictable heavens, crashing planes and runaway trains converging on the coastal highway, and the possibility of a sudden violent shift in the earth's axis that would wipe out human civilization, they risked crossing the boundaries of Bright Beach and traveled north into the great unknown of territories strange and perilous.

As they rolled along the coast, Agnes began to read to Barty from Podkayne of Mars: “ 'All my life I've wanted to go to Earth. Not to live, of course-just to see it. As everybody knows, Terra is a wonderful place to visit but not to live. Not truly suited to human habitation.“'

In the front seat, Edom and Jacob murmured agreement with the narrator's sentiments. Monday night, Edom and Jacob booked adjoining units in a motel near the hospital. They called Barty's room to give Agnes the phone number and to report that they had inspected eighteen establishments before finding one that seemed comparatively safe.

In regard for Barty's tender age, Dr. Franklin Chan had arranged for Agnes to spend the night in her son's room, in the second bed, which currently wasn't needed for a patient.

For the first time in many months, Barty didn't want to sleep in the dark. They left the door of the room open, admitting some of the fluorescent glow from the hallway.

The night seemed to be longer than a Martian month. Agnes dozed, fitfully, waking more than once, sweaty and shaking, from a dream in which her son was taken from her in pieces: first his eyes, then his hands, then his ears, his legs....

The hospital was eerily quiet, except for the occasional squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the vinyl floor of the corridor.

At first light, a nurse arrived to perform preliminary surgical prep on Barty. She pulled the boy's hair back and captured it under a tight fitting cap. With cream and a safety razor, she shaved off his eyebrows.

When the nurse was gone, alone with his mother as they waited for the orderly to bring a gurney, Barty said, “Come close."

She was already standing beside his bed. She leaned down to him.

“Closer,” he said.

She lowered her face to his.

He raised his head and rubbed noses with her. “Eskimo."

“Eskimo,” she repeated.

Barty whispered: “The North Pole Society of Not Evil Adventurers is now in session."

“All members present,” she agreed.

“I have a secret."

“No member of the society ever violates a secret confidence,” Agnes assured him.

“I'm scared."

Throughout Agnes's thirty-three years, strength had often been demanded of her, but never such strength as was required now to rein in her emotions and to be a rock for Barty. “Don't be scared, honey. I'm here.” She took one of his small hands in both of hers. “I'll be waiting. You'll never be without me."

“Aren't you afraid?"

If he had been any other three-year-old, she would have told a compassionate lie. He was her miracle child, however, her prodigy, and he would know a lie for what it was.

“Yes,” she admitted, her face still close to his, “I'm afraid. But Dr. Chan is a fine surgeon, and this is a very fine hospital."

“How long will it take?"

“Not long."

“Will I feel anything?"

“You'll be asleep, sweetie."

“Is God watching?"

“Yes. Always."

“It seems like He isn't watching."

“He's here as sure as I am, Barty. He's very busy, with a whole universe to run, so many people to look after, not just here but on other planets, like you've been reading about."

“I didn't think of other planets."

“Well, with so much on His shoulders, He can't always watch us directly, you know, with His fullest attention every minute, but He's always at least watching from the corner of His eye. You'll be all right. I know you will."

The gurney, one wheel rattling. The young orderly behind it, dressed all in white. And the nurse again.

“Eskimo,” whispered Barty.

“This meeting of the North Pole Society of Not Evil Adventurers is officially closed."

She held his face in both hands and kissed each of his beautiful jewel eyes. “You ready?"

A fragile smile. “No."

“Neither am I,” she admitted.

“So let's go."

The orderly lifted Barty onto the gurney.

The nurse draped a sheet over him and slipped a thin pillow under his head.

Having survived the night, Edom and Jacob were waiting in the hall. Each kissed his nephew, but neither could speak.

The nurse led the way, while the orderly pushed the gurney from behind Barty's head.

Agnes walked at her son's side, tightly holding his right hand.

Edom and Jacob flanked the gurney, each gripping one of Barty's feet through the sheet that covered them, escorting him with the same stony determination that you saw on the faces of the Secret Service agents who bracketed the President of the United States.