Koontz, Dean - The Voice of the Night by Koontz Dean

Author:Koontz, Dean [Koontz, Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

24

The interior of the Chevrolet stank. There were quite a few distinctly different, unpleasant odors, and

Colin was able to imagine the source of some of them, although not all. Old grease alive with mold.

Damp upholstery laced with mildew. Rotting carpet. But one of the smells that he could not identify was

the strongest of them all: an odd fragrance like cook-ing ham, sweet one moment but rancid the next. It

made him wonder if there was a dead animal in the car, a decaying squirrel or mouse or rat, festooned

with writhing maggots, just inches away in the im-penetrable dark. At times the image of an oozing

corpse became so vivid in his mind that he gagged with revulsion, even though he knew the noise he

made, small as it was, might draw Roy's attention.

Colin was stretched out on the Chevrolet's musty back seat, on his right side, facing front, knees

drawn up a bit, arms against his chest, fetal, afraid, sweating yet shivering, seeking safety in the deep

shadows but uncomfortably aware that there was no real security to be found in this place. The car's rear

window and two rear side windows were intact, but all the glass in front was gone. Now and again, a

breeze eddied into the car, but it didn't freshen the air; it only stirred the odors until they became thicker,

even more pungent than they had been. He listened intently for any sound of Roy that the breeze might

bring, but for a long time the junkyard was silent.

Night had come at last. On the western horizon, every trace of the sun had been blacked over. A

frag-ment of the moon hung low in the east, but its light did not penetrate the interior of the automobile.

Lying in the darkness, Colin had nothing to do but think, and he could think of nothing but Roy. Colin

could no longer resist the truth: This was not a game: Roy was really a killer. Roy would have pushed the

truck down the hill. No doubt about it. He would have wrecked the train. He would have raped and

killed Sarah Callahan if Colin hadn't found holes in his plan. And, Colin thought, he would have cracked

my head open with that tire iron if I hadn't gotten away from him. There was not the slightest doubt about

that either. The blood-brother oath no longer meant anything. Perhaps it never had. He supposed it was

even possible that Roy had killed those two boys, just as he claimed he had: one pushed off the cliff at

Sandman's Cove, the other drenched with lighter fluid and set afire.

But why?

The truth was clear, but its origins were not. The truth made no sense to him, and that was

fright-ening. The facts were all in plain sight; but the facts were the end product of a long manufacturing

pro-cess, and the machinery that had made them could not be seen.

Questions tumbled through Colin's mind. Why does Roy want to kill people? Does he get pleasure

from it? What kind of pleasure, for God's sake? Is he a lunatic? Why doesn't

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