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Authors: Dean Koontz
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real quick, honey, ∫ Mrs. Baker assured her.
Outside, thunder fell out of the sky with the sound of an avalanche.
Night would come early. Already, the storm had torn apart the autumn afternoon and had blown it away. The twilight had been swept in ahead of schedule.
™ Hiname’s deÆnitelyBill Richmond,∫ McGee said when he returned a few minutes later.
Susan sat stifØy in bed, still disbelieving.
The two of them were alone in the room. The nurses had changed shifts, and Mrs. Baker had gone home for the day.
McGee toyed with the stethoscope around his neck.™ And he’s deÆnitelyjust twenty-one years old.∫
™ But you weren’t gone nearly long enough to’ve checked out his background, ∫ Susan said. ™ Ifall you did was read through his medical records, then nothing has really been proved. He could have lied to his doctor, you know.∫
™ Well,it turns out that Leon-Dr. Viteski, that is-has known Bill’s parents, Grace and Harry Richmond, for twenty-Æveyears. Viteski says he delivered all three of the Richmond babies himself, right here in this very hospital. ∫
Doubt nibbled at Susan’s solid conviction.
McGee said, ™ Leortreated all of Bill Richmond’s childhood illnesses and injuries. He knows for an absolute fact that the kid was only eight years old, living in Pine Wells, just doing what eight-year-olds do, when Ernest Harch killed Jerry Stein, thirteen years ago, back there in Pennsylvania.”
“Three thousand miles away.”
“Exactly.”
Susan sagged under a heavy burden of weariness and anxiety. “But he looked just like Harch. When he stepped out of the elevator this afternoon, when I looked up and saw that face, those damned gray eyes, I could have sworn ...”
“Oh, I’m certain you didn’t panic without good reason,” he said placatingly. “I’m sure there’s a resemblance.”
Although she had come to like McGee a lot in just one day, Susan was angry with him for letting even a vaguely patronizing tone enter his voice. Her anger rejuvenated her a bit, and she sat up straighter in bed, her hands fisted at her sides. “Not just a resemblance,” she said sharply. “He looked exactly like Harch.”
“Well, of course, you’ve got to keep in mind that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen Harch.”
“So?”
“You may not remember him quite as well as you think you do,” McGee said.
“Oh, I remember. Perfectly. This Richmond is the same height as Harch, the same weight, the same build.”
“It’s a fairly common body type.”
“He has the same blond hair, the same square features, the same eyes. Such light gray eyes, almost transparent. How many people have eyes like that? Not very many. Feature by feature, this Bill Richmond and Ernest Harch are duplicates. It’s not just a simple resemblance. It’s a lot stranger than that. It’s downright uncanny.”
“Okay, okay,” McGee said, holding up one hand to stop her. “Perhaps they are remarkably alike, virtually identical. If that’s the case, then it’s an incredible coincidence that you’ve encountered both of them, thirteen years apart, at opposite ends of the country; but that’s all it is—a coincidence.”
Her hands were cold. Freezing. She rubbed them together, trying to generate heat.
She said, “When it comes to the subject of coincidences, I agree with Philip Marlowe.”
“Who?”
“Marlowe. He’s a private detective in those novels by Raymond Chandler. The Lady in the Lake, The Big Sleep, The Long Goodbye...”
“Of course. Marlowe. Okay, so what did he have to say about coincidences?”
“He said,‘Show me a coincidence, and when I open it up for you, I’ll show you at least two people inside, plotting some sort of mischief.”’
McGee frowned and shook his head. “That philosophy might be suitable for a character in a detective story. But out
Outside, thunder fell out of the sky with the sound of an avalanche.
Night would come early. Already, the storm had torn apart the autumn afternoon and had blown it away. The twilight had been swept in ahead of schedule.
™ Hiname’s deÆnitelyBill Richmond,∫ McGee said when he returned a few minutes later.
Susan sat stifØy in bed, still disbelieving.
The two of them were alone in the room. The nurses had changed shifts, and Mrs. Baker had gone home for the day.
McGee toyed with the stethoscope around his neck.™ And he’s deÆnitelyjust twenty-one years old.∫
™ But you weren’t gone nearly long enough to’ve checked out his background, ∫ Susan said. ™ Ifall you did was read through his medical records, then nothing has really been proved. He could have lied to his doctor, you know.∫
™ Well,it turns out that Leon-Dr. Viteski, that is-has known Bill’s parents, Grace and Harry Richmond, for twenty-Æveyears. Viteski says he delivered all three of the Richmond babies himself, right here in this very hospital. ∫
Doubt nibbled at Susan’s solid conviction.
McGee said, ™ Leortreated all of Bill Richmond’s childhood illnesses and injuries. He knows for an absolute fact that the kid was only eight years old, living in Pine Wells, just doing what eight-year-olds do, when Ernest Harch killed Jerry Stein, thirteen years ago, back there in Pennsylvania.”
“Three thousand miles away.”
“Exactly.”
Susan sagged under a heavy burden of weariness and anxiety. “But he looked just like Harch. When he stepped out of the elevator this afternoon, when I looked up and saw that face, those damned gray eyes, I could have sworn ...”
“Oh, I’m certain you didn’t panic without good reason,” he said placatingly. “I’m sure there’s a resemblance.”
Although she had come to like McGee a lot in just one day, Susan was angry with him for letting even a vaguely patronizing tone enter his voice. Her anger rejuvenated her a bit, and she sat up straighter in bed, her hands fisted at her sides. “Not just a resemblance,” she said sharply. “He looked exactly like Harch.”
“Well, of course, you’ve got to keep in mind that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen Harch.”
“So?”
“You may not remember him quite as well as you think you do,” McGee said.
“Oh, I remember. Perfectly. This Richmond is the same height as Harch, the same weight, the same build.”
“It’s a fairly common body type.”
“He has the same blond hair, the same square features, the same eyes. Such light gray eyes, almost transparent. How many people have eyes like that? Not very many. Feature by feature, this Bill Richmond and Ernest Harch are duplicates. It’s not just a simple resemblance. It’s a lot stranger than that. It’s downright uncanny.”
“Okay, okay,” McGee said, holding up one hand to stop her. “Perhaps they are remarkably alike, virtually identical. If that’s the case, then it’s an incredible coincidence that you’ve encountered both of them, thirteen years apart, at opposite ends of the country; but that’s all it is—a coincidence.”
Her hands were cold. Freezing. She rubbed them together, trying to generate heat.
She said, “When it comes to the subject of coincidences, I agree with Philip Marlowe.”
“Who?”
“Marlowe. He’s a private detective in those novels by Raymond Chandler. The Lady in the Lake, The Big Sleep, The Long Goodbye...”
“Of course. Marlowe. Okay, so what did he have to say about coincidences?”
“He said,‘Show me a coincidence, and when I open it up for you, I’ll show you at least two people inside, plotting some sort of mischief.”’
McGee frowned and shook his head. “That philosophy might be suitable for a character in a detective story. But out
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