Dean Koontz: The Voice of the Night

Roy laughed. “You know what ‘hypocrite’ means?”

“Sure.”

“Well, Colin, I hate to say this ‘cause you’re my good friend, my real good friend. I like you a lot. But as far as this thing goes, you’re a hypocrite. You think I’m sick because the idea of a train wreck interests me, but then you spend most of your spare time going to horror movies or watching them on television or reading books about zombies and werewolves and vampires and other monsters.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Those stories are filled with murders!” Roy said. “Death. Killing. That’s practically all they’re about. People get bitten and clawed and torn apart and chopped up with axes in those stories. And you love ‘em!”

Colin winced at the mention of axes.

Roy leaned close. His breath carried the scent of Juicy Fruit chewing gum.

“That’s why I like you, Colin. We’re two of a kind. We got things in common. That’s why I wanted to get you the job of team manager. So we could knock around together during football season. We’re both smarter than other people. We both get straightA averages in school without half trying. Each of us has been given IQ tests, and each of us has been told he’s a genius or the next thing to it. We see deeper into things than most kids do and even deeper than a hell of a lot of grown-ups. We’re special. Very special people.”

Roy put a hand on Colin’s shoulder and locked eyes with him, seemed to be looking not just at him but also deep into him and ultimately through him. Colin could not look away.

“We’re both interested in the things that count,” Roy said. “Pain and death. That’s what intrigues you and me. Most people think death is the end of life, but we know different, don’t we? Death isn’t the end. It’s the center. It’s the center of life. Everything else revolves around it. Death is the most important thing in life, the most interesting, the most mysterious, the most exciting thing in life.”

Colin cleared his throat nervously. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“If you aren’t afraid of death,” Roy said, “then you can’t be afraid of anything. When you learn to conquer the biggest fear, you conquer all the smaller fears at the same time, isn’t that right?”

“I … I guess so.”

Roy spoke in a stage whisper for emphasis, spoke with amazing intensity, fervently. “If I’m not afraid of death, then no one can do anything to hurt me. Nobody. Not my old man or the old woman. No one. Not ever again as long as I live.”

Colin didn’t know what to say.

“Are you afraid of death?” Roy asked.

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to learn not to be.”

Colin nodded. His mouth went dry. His heart was racing and he felt slightly dizzy.

“You know the first thing you’ve got to do to get over your fear of dying?” Roy asked.

“No.”

“Become familiar with death.”

“How?”

“By killing things,” Roy said.

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can.”

“I’m a peaceable kid.”

“Deep down everyone’s a killer.”

“Not me.”

“Shit.”

“Same to you.”

“I know myself,” Roy said. “And I know you.”

“You know me better than I know me?”

“Yeah.” Roy grinned.

They stared at each other.

The garage was as quiet as an undisturbed Egyptian tomb.

At last Colin said, “You mean … like we’d kill a cat?”

“For starters,” Roy said.

“For starters? Then what?”

Roy’s hand tightened on Colin’s shoulder. “Then we’d move on to something bigger.”

Suddenly Colin realized what was happening and he relaxed. “You almost had me going again.”

“Almost?”

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Do you?”

“You’re testing me again.”

“Am I?”

“You’re setting me up,” Colin said. “You want to see if I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“Wrong.”

“If I’d agreed to kill a cat to prove something to you, you’d have busted out laughing.”

“Try me.”

“No way. I know your game.”

Roy let go of his shoulder. “It’s not a game.”

“You don’t have to test me. You can trust me.”

“To some extent,” Roy said.

“You can trust me completely,” Colin said earnestly. “Jeez, you’re the best friend I ever had. I wouldn’t disappoint you. I’ll do a good job as team manager. You won’t be sorry you recommended me to the coach. You can trust me with that. You can trust me with anything. So what’s the big secret?”

“Not yet,” Roy said.

“When?”

“When you’re ready.”

“When will that be?”

“When I say you are.”

“jeez.”

Colin’s mother came home from work at five-thirty.

He was waiting in the cool living room. The furniture was all shades of brown, and the walls were papered in burlap. Wooden shades covered the windows. The lighting was indirect, soft and easy on the eyes. It was a restful room. He was on the big sofa, reading the latest issue of his favorite comic book, The Incredible Hulk.

She smiled at him, ruffled his hair, and said, “What kind of a day have you had, Skipper?”

“It was okay,” Colin said, aware that she didn’t really want the details and would gently cut him off when he was halfway through the story. “What about your day?” he asked.

“I’m pooped. Will you be a love and mix me a vodka martini the way I like?”

“Sure.”

“Twist of lemon.”

“I wouldn’t forget it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

He got up and went into the family room, where there was a well-stocked wet bar. He couldn’t stand the taste of hard liquor, but he mixed her drink quickly, with professional skill; he had done it hundreds of times.

When he returned to the living room, she was sitting in a large chocolate-brown chair, her legs tucked under her, head laid back, eyes closed. She didn’t hear him coming, so he stopped just inside the doorway and studied her for a moment.

Her name was Louise, but everyone called her Weezy, which was sort of a kid’s name but which suited her because she looked like a college girl. She was wearing jeans and a short-sleeve blue sweater. Her bare arms were tan and slender. Her hair was long, dark, shiny; and it framed a face that Colin suddenly thought was pretty, really quite beautiful, although some people might say the mouth was too wide. As he looked at her, he began to realize that thirty-three was not really old, as he’d always thought.

For the first time in his life, Colin was consciously aware of her body: full breasts, narrow waist, round hips, long legs. Roy was right; she had a terrific figure.

Why didn’t I ever notice it before?

He answered himself at once: Because she’s my own mother, for God’s sake!

Heat blossomed in his face. He wondered if he was turning into some sort of pervert, and he forced himself to stop looking at her well-filled sweater.

He cleared his throat and went to her.

She opened her eyes, lifted her head, took the martini, and sipped it. “Mmmmm. Perfect. You’re a sweetheart.”

He sat on the sofa.

After a while she said, “When I got into this thing with Paula, I didn’t realize that the owner of a business has to work harder than the employees.”

“Was the gallery busy today?” Colin asked.

“We had more people in and out of there than you’d find in a bus station. This time of year you expect a lot of browsers, tourists who don’t really intend to buy anything. They figure that because they’re vacationing in Santa Leona they’re entitled to a few free hours of each shopkeeper’s time.”