Read Online The Vision by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online Page A

can’t see clearly. Dammit, dammit, dammit!” She jumped up, strode to the television. She turned the set on, off, on, off, on, off, with nearly enough force to break the switch.
    “You can’t feel responsible for what you see in your visions,” he said.
    “But I do.”
    “You’ve got to change.”
    “I won’t. I can’t.”
    He stood up, went to her, took her hand from the television controls. “Why don’t you freshen up? We’ll do some shopping.”
    “Not me,” she said. “I have an appointment with Dr. Cauvel.”
    “That’s two and a half hours from now.”
    “I’m not up to shopping,” she said. “You go. I’ll make the rounds tomorrow.”
    “I can’t leave you here alone.”
    “I won’t be alone. Anna and Emmet are here.”
    “You shouldn’t drive.”
    “Why not?”
    “What if you have another attack while you’re behind the wheel?”
    “Oh. Then Emmet can drive me.”
    “What’ll you do until you see the analyst?”
    “Write a column,” she said.
    “We sent a packet to the syndicate last week. We’re already twenty columns ahead of schedule.”
    Although she didn’t feel well, she managed a light tone. “We’re twenty ahead because you wrote fifteen of them. It’s time I did my share. Being twenty-one ahead won’t hurt.”
    “There’s some material on my desk about that woman in North Carolina who can predict the sex of unborn babies just by touching the mother. They’re studying her at Duke University.”
    “Then that’s what I’ll write about.”
    “Well, if you’re positive...”
    “I am. Now scoot over to Gucci, Giorgio’s, The French Corner, Juel Park, Courrèges, Van Cleef and Arpels—and buy me beautiful things for Christmas.”
    Trying to keep from smiling, he said, “But I already have something picked out at Wool-worth’s.”
    “Oh,” she said, playing along with him, “then you won’t mind that I’m only getting you a gift certificate for some McDonald’s hamburgers.”
    He pretended to be disappointed. “Well, I might stop at Gucci and Edwards Lowell for a few things that’ll go with the Woolworth’s piece.”
    She grinned. “You do that. Then maybe I’ll let you sleep in here tonight instead of on the couch.”
    He laughed and kissed her.
    “Mmmm,” she said. “Again.”
    She knew that she was loved, and that knowledge compensated somewhat for the horror of the past few days.

8
    THE FOCAL POINT of Dr. Cauvel’s office was a collection of hundreds of glass dogs that were displayed on glass and chrome shelves to one side of his desk. No member of the menagerie was larger than Mary’s hand, and most were a great deal smaller than that. There were blue dogs, brown dogs, red dogs, clear dogs, milky white dogs, black dogs, orange and yellow and purple and green dogs, transparent and opaque, striped and polka-dotted, hand-blown and solid glass dogs. Some of them were lying down, some sitting, standing, pointing, running. There were basset hounds, greyhounds, airedales, German shepherds, Pekingese, terriers, Saint Bernards, and a dozen other breeds. A bitch with a litter of fragile glass puppies stood near a comic scene of dogs playing tiny glass instruments, flutes and drums and bugles for beagles. Several curious figures shone darkly in the silent zoo: snarling hellhounds, demons with dog faces and forked tongues.
    Glass was also the focal point of the doctor himself. He wore thick spectacles that made his eyes appear abnormally large. He was short, athletic looking, and compulsively neat about himself. The spectacles were never smudged ; he polished them continually.
    Mary and the doctor sat across from each other at a folding table in the middle of the room.
    The psychiatrist shuffled a deck of playing cards. He dealt ten of them face-down in a single row.
    She picked up a six-inch loop of wire that he had provided and held it over the cards. She moved it back and forth. Twice it dipped toward the table as if invisible fingers were tugging