Innocence. Dean Koontz

Innocence - Dean  Koontz


Скачать книгу
rel="nofollow" href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter Forty-six

       Chapter Forty-seven

       Chapter Forty-eight

       Chapter Forty-nine

       Chapter Fifty

       Chapter Fifty-one

       Chapter Fifty-two

       Part Three: What Might Have Been And What Has Been

       Chapter Fifty-three

       Chapter Fifty-four

       Chapter Fifty-five

       Chapter Fifty-six

       Chapter Fifty-seven

       Chapter Fifty-eight

       Chapter Fifty-nine

       Chapter Sixty

       chapter Sixty-one

       Chapter Sixty-two

       Chapter Sixty-three

       Chapter Sixty-four

       Chapter Sixty-five

       Chapter Sixty-six

       Chapter Sixty-seven

       Chapter Sixty-eight

       Chapter Sixty-nine

       Chapter Seventy

       Chapter Seventy-one

       Chapter Seventy-two

       Chapter Seventy-three

       Chapter Seventy-four

       Chapter Seventy-five

       Chapter Seventy-six

       Chapter Seventy-seven

       Chapter Seventy-eight

       Chapter Seventy-nine

       Chapter Eighty

       Chapter Eighty-one

       Chapter Eighty-two

       Chapter Eighty-three

       Chapter Eighty-four

       Chapter Eighty-five

       Chapter Eighty-six

       About the Author

       By Dean Koontz

       Read on for a preview from Dean Koontz’s latest novel

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

PART ONE

       One

      HAVING ESCAPED ONE FIRE, I EXPECTED ANOTHER. I didn’t view with fright the flames to come. Fire was but light and heat. Throughout our lives, each of us needs warmth and seeks light. I couldn’t dread what I needed and sought. For me, being set afire was merely the expectation of an inevitable conclusion. This fair world, compounded of uncountable beauties and enchantments and graces, inspired in me only one abiding fear, which was that I might live in it too long.

       Two

      I WAS CAPABLE OF LOVE, BUT I LIVED IN SOLITUDE after Father died. Therefore I loved only the precious dead, and books, and the moments of great beauty with which the city surprised me from time to time, as I passed through it in utmost secrecy.

      For instance, sometimes on clear nights, in the solemn hour when most of the population sleeps, when the cleaning crews are finished and the high-rises darkle until dawn, the stars come out. They are not as bright over this metropolis as they must be over a Kansas plain or a Colorado mountain, but they still shine as if there is a city in the sky, an enchanting place where I could walk the streets with no fear of fire, where I could find someone to love, who would love me.

      Here, when I was seen, my capacity for love earned me no mercy. Quite the opposite. When they saw me, men and women alike recoiled, but their fear quickly gave way to fury. I would not harm them to defend myself, and I remained therefore defenseless.

       Three

      ON CERTAIN NIGHTS, BEAUTIFUL BUT SAD MUSIC found its way into my deep windowless rooms. I didn’t know from where it came, and I couldn’t identify the tune. No lyrics accompanied the melody, but I remained convinced that I had once heard a smoky-voiced chanteuse sing this song. Each time the song came, my mouth moved as if forming the words, but they eluded me.

      The piece was not a blues number, yet it weighed on the heart as did the blues. I might call it a nocturne, although I believe that a nocturne is always an instrumental. Words existed to this melody. I was certain they did.

      I


Скачать книгу