The Servants of Twilight by Dean Koontz

Author:Dean Koontz [Koontz, Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781101543283
Google: e482BIY8yBEC
Amazon: B0052RHG30
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2011-08-02T05:00:00+00:00

42

In Kyle Barlowe’s dream he was being murdered; a faceless adversary was stabbing him repeatedly, and he knew he was dying, yet it didn’t hurt and he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t fight back, just surrendered, and in that acquiescence he discovered the most profound sense of peace he had ever known. Although he was being killed, it was a pleasant dream, not a nightmare, and a part of him somehow knew that not all of him was being killed, just the bad part of him, just the old Kyle who had hated the world, and when that part of him was finally disposed of, he would be like everyone else, which is the only thing he had ever wanted in life. To be like everyone else . . .

The telephone woke him. He fumbled for it in the darkness.

“Hello?”

“Kyle?” Mother Grace.

“It’s me,” he said, sleep instantly dispelled.

“Much has been happening,” she said.

He looked at the illuminated dial of the clock. It was 4:06 in the morning.

He said, “What? What’s been happening?”

“We’ve been burning out the infidels,” she said cryptically.

“I wanted to be there if anything was going to happen.”

“We’ve burned them out and salted the earth so they can’t return,” she said, her voice rising.

“You promised me. I wanted to be there.”

“I haven’t needed you—until now,” Mother Grace said.

He threw off the covers, sat up on the edge of the bed, grinning at the darkness. “What do you want me to do?”

“They’ve taken the boy away. They’re trying to hide him from us until his powers increase, until he’s untouchable.”

“Where have they taken him?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t know for sure. As far as Ventura. I know that much. I’m waiting for more news or for a vision that’ll clarify the situation. Meanwhile, we’re going north.”

“Who?”

“You, me, Edna, six or eight of the others.”

“After the boy?”

“Yes. You must pack some clothes and come to the church. We’re leaving within the hour.”

“I’ll be there right away,” he said.

“God bless you,” she said, and she hung up.

Barlowe was scared. He remembered the dream, remembered how good it had felt in that dream, and he thought he knew what it meant: He was losing his taste for violence, his thirst for blood. But that was no good because, now, for the first time in his life, he had an opportunity to use that talent for violence in a good cause. In fact his salvation depended upon it.

He must kill the boy. It was the right thing. He must not entirely lose the bitter hatred that had motivated him all his life.

The hour was late; Twilight drew near. And now Grace needed him to be the hammer of God.

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