Read Online The Funhouse by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online Page B

unpredictable as an animal, with a shocking talent and taste for sadism. The second Conrad was kind, thoughtful, even charming, a good lover, intelligent, creative. For a while Zena believed that a lot of love and patience and understanding would change him. She was convinced that the frightening Mr. Hyde personality would fade completely away, and that in time Conrad would settle down and be just the good Dr. Jekyll. Instead, the more love and understanding she gave him, the more frequently he became violent and abusive, as if he were determined to prove that he was not worthy of her love.
    She knew that he despised himself. His inability to like himself and be at peace in his own mind, the frustration generated by his incurable self-hatred—
that
was the root of his periodic, maniacal rages. Something monstrous had happened to him a long, long time ago, in his formative years, some unspeakable childhood tragedy that had scarred him so deeply that nothing, not even Zena’s love, could heal him. Some horror in his distant past, some terrible disaster for which he felt responsible, gave him bad dreams every night of his life. He was consumed by an unquenchable guilt that burned in him year after year with undiminished brightness, turning his heart, piece by piece, into bitter ashes. Many times Zena had tried to learn the secret that gnawed at Conrad, but he had been afraid to tell her, afraid that the truth would repel her and turn her against him forever. She had assured him that nothing he told her would make her loathe him. It would have been good for him to unburden himself at last. But he could not do it. Zena could learn only one thing: the event that haunted him had transpired on Christmas Eve, when he was only twelve years old. From that night forward, he had been a changed person; day by day, he had become ever more sour, increasingly violent. For a brief spell, after Ellen gave him his much-wanted child, even though it was a hideously deformed baby, Conrad had begun to feel better about himself. But when Ellen killed the child, Conrad sank even deeper into despair and self-hatred, and it wasn’t likely that anyone would ever be able to draw him out of the psychological pit into which he had cast himself.
    After struggling for two years to make their marriage work, after living in fear of Conrad’s rage all that time, Zena had finally faced the fact that divorce was inevitable. She left him, but they didn’t cease to be friendly. They shared certain bonds that couldn’t be broken, but it was clear to both of them that they couldn’t live together happily. She rode the carousel backwards.
    Now, as Zena watched Conrad venting his rage on the table, she realized that most, if not all, of her love for him had been transformed into pity. She felt no passion anymore—just an abiding sorrow for him.
    Conrad cursed, sputtered through bloodless lips, snarled, pounded the table.
    The raven flapped its shiny, black wings and cried shrilly in its cage.
    Zena waited patiently.
    In time Conrad grew tired and stopped thumping the table. He leaned back in his chair, blinking dully, as if he were not quite sure where he was.
    After he was silent for a minute, the raven became silent, too, and Zena said, “Conrad, you aren’t going to find Ellen’s child. Why don’t you just give up?”
    “Never,” he said, slightly hoarse.
    “For ten years you had a bunch of private detectives on it. One after the other. Several at the same time. You spent a small fortune on them. And they didn’t find anything. Not a clue.”
    “They were all incompetent,” he said sullenly.
    “For years you’ve been looking on your own without any luck.”
    “I’ll find what I’m after.”
    “You were wrong again tonight. Did you really think you’d stumble across her kids
here
? At the Coal County, Pennsylvania, Spring Fair? Not a very likely place, if you ask me.”
    “As likely as any other.”
    “Maybe Ellen didn’t even live long