Read Online The Key to Midnight by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dean Koontz
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taxi, a blast of frigid air rushed past her and struck Alex in the face.
----
12
Joanna felt threatened.
She was overcome by the unshakable conviction that her every move was being watched and recorded.
She locked the door of her apartment. She went into the bedroom and latched that door as well.
For a minute she stood in the center of the room, listening. Then she poured a double brandy from a crystal decanter, drank it quickly, poured another shot, and put the snifter on the nightstand.
The room was too warm.
Stifling. Tropical.
She was sweating.
Each breath seemed to scorch her lungs.
She opened a window two inches to let in a cold draft, took off her clothes, and stretched out nude atop the silk bedspread.
Nevertheless, she still felt that she was smothering. Her pulse raced. She was dizzy. The room began to move around her as if the bed had become a slowly revolving carousel. She experienced a series of mild hallucinations too, none new to her, images that had been a part of other days and moods like the one that now gripped her. The ceiling appeared to descend between the walls, like the ceiling of an execution chamber in one of those corny old Tarzan movie serials. And the mattress, which she'd chosen for its firmness, suddenly softened to her touch, not in reality but in her mind: It became marshmallowy, gradually closing around her, relentlessly engulfing her, as though it were a living, amoeboid creature.
Imagination. Nothing to fear.
Gritting her teeth, fisting her hands, she strained to suppress all sensations that she knew to be false. But they were beyond her control.
She shut her eyes - but then opened them at once, suffocated and terrified by the brief self-imposed darkness.
She was dismayingly familiar with that peculiar state of mind, those emotions, that unfocused dread. She suffered the same terrors every time that she allowed a friendship to develop into more than a casual relationship, every time that she traveled beyond mere desire and approached the special intimacy of love. The panic attacks had just begun sooner this time, much sooner than usual. She desired Alex Hunter, but she didn't love him. Not yet. She hadn't known him long enough to feel more than strong affection. A bond was forming between them, however, and she sensed that their relationship would be special, that it would evolve far faster than usual - which was sufficient to trigger the anguish that had washed like a dark tide over her. And now events, people, inanimate objects, and the very air itself seemed to acquire evil purpose that was focused upon her. She felt a malevolent pressure, squeezing her from all sides, like a vast weight of water, as though she had sunk to the bottom of a deep sea. Already it was unbearable. The pressure would not relent until she turned forever from Alex Hunter and put behind her any danger of emotional intimacy. Intense fear lay dormant in her at all times; now it had been translated into a physical power that squeezed all hope out of her. She knew how it would have to end. She needed to break off the relationship that sparked her claustrophobia; only then would she obtain relief from the crushing, closed-in, listened-to, watched-over feeling that made her heart pound painfully against her ribs.
She would never see Alex Hunter again.
He would come to the Moonglow, of course. Tonight. Maybe other nights. He would sit through both performances.
Until the man left Kyoto, however, Joanna would not mingle with the audience between shows.
He'd telephone. She'd hang up.
If he came around to visit in the afternoon, she would be unavailable.
If he wrote to her, she would throw his letters in the trash without reading them.
Joanna could be cruel. She'd had plenty of experience with other men when simple attraction
----
12
Joanna felt threatened.
She was overcome by the unshakable conviction that her every move was being watched and recorded.
She locked the door of her apartment. She went into the bedroom and latched that door as well.
For a minute she stood in the center of the room, listening. Then she poured a double brandy from a crystal decanter, drank it quickly, poured another shot, and put the snifter on the nightstand.
The room was too warm.
Stifling. Tropical.
She was sweating.
Each breath seemed to scorch her lungs.
She opened a window two inches to let in a cold draft, took off her clothes, and stretched out nude atop the silk bedspread.
Nevertheless, she still felt that she was smothering. Her pulse raced. She was dizzy. The room began to move around her as if the bed had become a slowly revolving carousel. She experienced a series of mild hallucinations too, none new to her, images that had been a part of other days and moods like the one that now gripped her. The ceiling appeared to descend between the walls, like the ceiling of an execution chamber in one of those corny old Tarzan movie serials. And the mattress, which she'd chosen for its firmness, suddenly softened to her touch, not in reality but in her mind: It became marshmallowy, gradually closing around her, relentlessly engulfing her, as though it were a living, amoeboid creature.
Imagination. Nothing to fear.
Gritting her teeth, fisting her hands, she strained to suppress all sensations that she knew to be false. But they were beyond her control.
She shut her eyes - but then opened them at once, suffocated and terrified by the brief self-imposed darkness.
She was dismayingly familiar with that peculiar state of mind, those emotions, that unfocused dread. She suffered the same terrors every time that she allowed a friendship to develop into more than a casual relationship, every time that she traveled beyond mere desire and approached the special intimacy of love. The panic attacks had just begun sooner this time, much sooner than usual. She desired Alex Hunter, but she didn't love him. Not yet. She hadn't known him long enough to feel more than strong affection. A bond was forming between them, however, and she sensed that their relationship would be special, that it would evolve far faster than usual - which was sufficient to trigger the anguish that had washed like a dark tide over her. And now events, people, inanimate objects, and the very air itself seemed to acquire evil purpose that was focused upon her. She felt a malevolent pressure, squeezing her from all sides, like a vast weight of water, as though she had sunk to the bottom of a deep sea. Already it was unbearable. The pressure would not relent until she turned forever from Alex Hunter and put behind her any danger of emotional intimacy. Intense fear lay dormant in her at all times; now it had been translated into a physical power that squeezed all hope out of her. She knew how it would have to end. She needed to break off the relationship that sparked her claustrophobia; only then would she obtain relief from the crushing, closed-in, listened-to, watched-over feeling that made her heart pound painfully against her ribs.
She would never see Alex Hunter again.
He would come to the Moonglow, of course. Tonight. Maybe other nights. He would sit through both performances.
Until the man left Kyoto, however, Joanna would not mingle with the audience between shows.
He'd telephone. She'd hang up.
If he came around to visit in the afternoon, she would be unavailable.
If he wrote to her, she would throw his letters in the trash without reading them.
Joanna could be cruel. She'd had plenty of experience with other men when simple attraction
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