Dean Koontz - Cold Fire

it seemed odd she'd be out there knitting at two o'clock in the morning.”

As the librarian recounted what she could recall of Lena's death, confirming that Holly's dream had really been Jim's memory, Holly was touched by both dread and nausea. What Eloise Glynn did not seem to know, what perhaps no one knew, was that Lena had not been in that mill alone.

Jim had been there, too.

And only Jim had come out of it alive.

Holly glanced at him and saw that he had lost all color in his face again.

He was not merely pale. He was as gray as the sky outside.

Mrs. Glynn asked Holly for her driver's license, to complete the library card, and even though Holly didn't want the card, she produced the license.

The librarian said, "Jim, I think what got you through all that pain and loss, more than anything, was books. You pulled way into yourself, read al! the time, and I think you used fantasy as sort of a painkiller.”

She handed Holly the license and library card, and said to her; "Jim was an awfully bright boy. He could get totally into a book, it became real for him.”

Yeah, Holly thought, did it ever.

"When he first came to town and I heard he'd never been to a real school before, been educated by his parents, I thought that was just terrible, even if they did have to travel all the time with that nightclub act of theirs" Holly recalled the gallery of photographs on Jim's study walls in Laguna Niguel: Miami, Atlantic City, New York, London, Chicago, Las Vegas.

"— but they'd actually done a pretty fine job. At least they'd turned him into a booklover, and that served him well later." She turned to Jim. "I suppose you haven't asked your grandpa about Lena's death because you figure it might upset him to talk about it. But I think he's not as fragile as you imagine, and he'd know more about it than anyone, of course." Mrs.

Glynn addressed Holly again: "Is something wrong, dear?" Holly realized she was standing with the blue library card in her hand, statue-still, like one of those waiting-to-be-reanimated people in the worlds within the books upon the shelves within these rooms. For a moment she could not respond to the woman's question.

Jim looked too stunned to pick up the ball this time. His grandfather was alive somewhere. But where? "No," Holly said, "nothing's wrong. I just realized how late it's getting-" A shatter of static, a vision: her severed head screaming, her severed hands crawling like spiders across a floor, her decapitated body writhing and twisting in agony; she was dismembered but not dead, impossibly alive, in a thrall of horror beyond endurance Holly cleared her throat, blinked at Mrs. Glynn, who was staring at her curiously.

"Uh, yeah, quite late. And we're supposed to go see Henry before lunch.

It's already ten. I've never met him." She was babbling now, couldn't stop. "I'm really looking forward to it.”

Unless he really did die over four years ago, like Jim had told her, in which case she wasn't looking forward to it at all. But Mrs. Glynn did not appear to be a spiritualist who would blithely suggest conjuring up the dead for a little chat.

"He's a nice man," Eloise Glynn said. "I know he must've hated having to move off the farm after his stroke, but he can be thankful it didn't leave him worse than he is. My mother, God rest her soul, had a stroke, left her unable to walk, talk, blind in one eye, and so confused she couldn't always recognize her own children. At least poor Henry has his wits about him, as I understand it. He can talk, and I hear he's the leader of the wheelchair pack over there at Fair Haven.”

"Yes," Jim said, sounding as wooden as a talking post, "that's what I hear.”

"Fair Haven's such a nice place," Mrs. Glynn said, "it's good of you to keep him there, Jim. It's not a snakepit like so many nursing homes these days.”

The Yellow Pages at a public phone booth provided an address for Fair Haven on the edge of Solvang. Holly drove south and west across the valley.

"I remember he had a stroke," Jim said. "I was in the hospital with him, came up from Orange County, he was in the intensive-care unit. I hadn't. hadn't seen him in thirteen years or more.”

Holly was surprised by that, and her look generated a hot wave of shame that withered Jim. "You hadn't seen your own grandfather in thirteen years?" "There was a reason. ”

"What?" He stared at the road ahead for a while, then let out a guttural sound of frustration and disgust. "I don't know. There was a reason, but I can't remember it. Anyway, I came back when he had his stroke, when he was dying in the hospital. And I remember him dead, damn it.”

"Clearly remember it?" "Yes.”

She said, "You remember the sight of him dead in the hospital bed, all his monitor lines flat?" He frowned. "No.”

"Remember a doctor telling you he'd passed away?" "No.”

"Remember making arrangements for his burial?" "No.”

which case she wasn't looking forward to it at all. But Mrs. Glynn did not appear to be a spiritualist who would blithely suggest conjuring up the dead for a little chat.

"He's a nice man," Eloise Glynn said. "I know he must've hated having to move off the farm after his stroke, but he can be thankful it didn't leave him worse than he is. My mother, God rest her soul, had a stroke, left her unable to walk, talk, blind in one eye, and so confused she couldn't always recognize her own children. At least poor Henry has his wits about him, as I understand it. He can talk, and I hear he's the leader of the wheelchair pack over there at Fair Haven.”

"Yes," Jim said, sounding as wooden as a talking post, "that's what I hear.”

"Fair Haven's such a nice place," Mrs. Glynn said, "it's good of you to keep him there, Jim. It's not a snakepit like so many nursing homes these days.”

The Yellow Pages at a public phone booth provided an address for Fair Haven on the edge of Solvang. Holly drove south and west across the valley.

"I remember he had a stroke," Jim said. "I was in the hospital with him, came up from Orange County, he was in the intensive-care unit. I hadn't. hadn't seen him in thirteen years or more.”

Holly was surprised by that, and her look generated a hot wave of shame that withered Jim. "You hadn't seen your own grandfather in thirteen years?" "There was a reason. ”

"What?" He stared at the road ahead for a while, then let out a guttural sound of frustration and disgust. "I don't know. There was a reason, but I can't remember it. Anyway, I came back when he had his stroke, when he was dying in the hospital. And I remember him dead, damn it.”

"Clearly remember it?" "Yes.”

She said, "You remember the sight of him dead in the hospital bed, all his monitor lines flat?" He frowned. "No.”

"Remember a doctor telling you he'd passed away?" "No.”

"Remember making arrangements for his burial?" "No.”

"Then what's so clear about this memory of him being dead?" Jim brooded about that awhile as she whipped the Ford around the curving roads, between gentle hills on which scattered houses stood, past white-fenced horse pastures green as pictures of Kentucky. This part of the valley was lusher than the area around New Svenborg. But the sky had become a more somber gray, with a hint of blue-black in the clouds bruised.

At last he said, "It isn't clear at all, now that I look close at it.

Just a muddy impression. not a real memory.”

"Are you paying to keep Henry at Fair Haven?" "No.”

"Did you inherit his property?" "How could I inherit if he's alive?" "A conservatorship then?" He was about to deny that, as well, when he suddenly remembered a hearing room, a judge. The testimony of a doctor. His granddad's counsel, appearing on the old man's behalf to testify that Henry was of sound mind and wanted his grandson to manage his property.