Frankenstein: The Complete 5-Book Collection. Dean Koontz
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Название: Frankenstein: The Complete 5-Book Collection

Автор: Dean Koontz

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика

Серия:

isbn: 9780007525898

isbn:

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      He strangled her now, cut off the blood supply to her brain, crushed her windpipe, strangled her, strangled her, but with such fury, in such a blind rage, that by the time he finished, he was not a man of power but merely a grunting beast fully in the thrall of nature, out of control, lost to reason and rationality.

      In her dying, Erika had not only denied him but defeated him, humiliated him, as he had not been in more than two centuries.

      Choking with wrath, he pulled books off the shelves, threw them to the floor, scores of books, hundreds, tore them and ground them under his heels. Tore them and ground them. Threw them and tore them.

      Later, he went to the master suite. He showered. Restless and energized, he had no interest in relaxation. He dressed to go out, though he did not know for where or what purpose.

      From another decanter, he poured another cognac into another snifter.

      On the intercom, he spoke with William, the butler, who was on duty in the staff room. “There’s a dead thing in the library. William.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Contact my people in the sanitation department. I want that useless meat buried deep in the landfill, and right away”

      At the window, he studied the lowering sky, which had grown so dark with thunderheads that an early dusk had come upon the city.

       CHAPTER 85

      AT HARKER’S APARTMENT BUILDING, Carson and Michael took the elevator to the fourth floor to avoid the stink of mildew in the public stairwell.

      Homicide, CSI, and curious neighbors had long ago faded away. The building almost seemed deserted.

      When they reached the fourth floor, they found Deucalion waiting in the hallway, outside Harker’s apartment.

      To Carson, Michael murmured, “I didn’t see the Batmobile parked out front.”

      “You won’t admit it,” she said, “but you’re convinced.”

      To her surprise, he said, ‘Almost.”

      Evidently having heard Michael’s murmured words, Deucalion said, “I used the Batcopter. It’s on the roof.”

      By way of apology, Michael said, “Listen, that crack didn’t mean anything. That’s just me. If I see a joke, I go for it.”

      “Because you see so much in life that disturbs you, the cruelty, the hatred,” Deucalion said. “You armor yourself with humor.”

      For the second time in an hour, Michael found himself without a comeback.

      Carson had never imagined that such a day would dawn. Maybe this was one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse.

      She slit the police seal on the door, used her Lockaid gun, and led them inside.

      “Minimalism minimalized,” said Deucalion as he moved into the sparsely furnished living room. “No books.”

      “He’s got some books in the attic,” Carson said.

      “No mementoes,” Deucalion continued, “no decorative items, no photographs, no art. He hasn’t found a way to have a life. This is the cell of a monk … but one who has no faith.”

      Trying to get back in the saddle, Michael said, “Carson, he’s an absolute whiz at this.”

      Deucalion looked toward the kitchen but didn’t move in that direction. “He sometimes sits at the table in there, drinking. But whiskey doesn’t provide him with the escape he needs. Only occasional oblivion.”

      Earlier, the standard premises search had turned up a case of bourbon in the kitchen.

      Looking toward the bedroom, Deucalion said, “In there, you will most likely find pornography Only a single item. One video.”

      “Exactly,” she confirmed. “We found one.”

      When it turned up in the search, Michael had referred to the porn video by various titles – Transvestitesylvania, The Thing with Two Things – but now he said nothing, impressed to silence by Deucalion’s insights.

      “He found no thrill in images of copulation,” Deucalion said. “Only an even more profound sense of being an outsider. Only greater alienation.”

       CHAPTER 86

      FEARFUL OF THE day-bright world in all its dazzling busyness, Randal Six earlier took refuge in an alleyway Dumpster.

      Fortunately, this enormous container is half filled with nothing more offensive than office trash, largely paper and cardboard. There is no restaurant or produce-market garbage, no organic stench and slime.

      Throughout the day, until the storm clouds come, the sun beats down on Randal. This is the first sun of his life, bright and hot, frightening at first, but then less so.

      He sits with his back to a corner, cushioned by paper refuse, his world reduced to manageable dimensions, and works one crossword puzzle after another in the book that he brought with him from his room in the Hands of Mercy.

      Frequently traffic passes through the alleyway. And people on foot. Initially he pauses in his puzzle at each possibility of an encounter, but eventually he realizes that they are not likely to disturb him.

      If a sanitation truck comes to empty the Dumpster, he is not sure how he will cope. This possibility didn’t occur to him until he had already taken sanctuary in the container. His hope is that trash is not collected every day.

      Having missed breakfast and then lunch, he grows hungry as the day progresses. Considering his accomplishments to this point, he can endure a little hunger.

      At Mercy, Randal’s untouched meals will alert the staff to his absence, though perhaps not for a while. Sometimes, when particularly deep in autistic detachment, he leaves a meal untouched for hours. He has been known to eat both breakfast and lunch an hour before dinner – then leave his dinner until near midnight.

      Before departing Mercy, he closed his bathroom door. They may think that he is in there.

      From time to time, people toss bags of trash and loose objects into the bin. The top of the big Dumpster is over their heads, so they cannot easily look in and see him.

      Sometimes the trash strikes him, but it’s never a problem. When the people leave, Randal pushes the new stuff away and reestablishes his cozy nest.

      Midafternoon, a man singing “King of the Road” approaches along the alley. He can’t carry a tune.

      Judging by the sound, he’s pushing some kind of cart. The wheels clatter on the cracked pavement.

      Between lines of the song, the cart-pusher СКАЧАТЬ