Hideaway by Dean R. Koontz

Hideaway by Dean R. Koontz

Hideaway by Dean R. Koontz

Synopsis:

Hatchford harrison is pronounced dead after drowning in an automobile

accident. When he is resuscitated after eighty minutes of freezing

death, he finds himself psychically linked to a sociopathic killer.

Through the killer’s eyes, Hatch sees a grewsome world, including a

collection of cadavers hidden in an abandoned amusement park.

Gradually, Hatch comes to know something else. The killer is also aware

of him and he’s coming for Hatch’s wife and adopted daughter.

Publisher unknown

Copyright unknown

Isbn unknown

Life is a gift that must be given back, and joy should arise from its

possession.

It is too damned short, and that is a fact.

Hard to accept, this earthly procession to final darkness is a journey

done, circle completed, work of art sublime, a sweet melodic rhyme, a

battle won.

An entire world hummed and bustled beyond the dark ramparts of the

mountains, yet to Lindsey Harrison the night seemed empty, as hollow as

the vacant chambers of a cold, dead heart. Shivering, she slumped

deeper in the passenger seat of the Honda.

Serried ranks of ancient evergreens receded up the slopes that flanked

the highway, parting occasionally to accommodate sparse stands of

winter-stripped maples and birches that poked at the sky with jagged

black branches. However, that vast forest and the formidable rock

formations to which it clung did not reduce the emptiness of the bitter

March night.

As the Honda descended the winding blacktop, the trees and stony

outcroppings seemed to float past as if they were only dream images

without real substance.

Harried by fierce wind, fine dry snow slanted through the headlight

beams. But the storm could not fill the void, either.

The emptiness that Lindsey perceived was internal, not external. The

night was brimming, as ever, with the chaos of creation. Her own soul

was the only hollow thing.

She glanced at Hatch. He was leaning forward, hunched slightly over the

steering wheel, peering ahead with an expression which might be flat and

inscrutable to anyone else but which, after twelve years of marriage,

Lindsey could easily read. An excellent driver, Hatch was not daunted

by poor road conditions. His thoughts, like hers, were no doubt on the

long weekend they had just spent at Big Bear Lake.

Yet again they had tried to recapture the easiness with each other that

they had once known. And again they had failed.

The chains of the past still bound them.

The death of a five-year-old son had incalculable emotional weight. It

pressed on the mind, quickly deflating every moment of buoyancy,

crushing each new blossom of joy. Jimmy had been dead for more than

four and a half years, nearly as long as he had lived, yet his death

weighed as heavily on them now as on the day they had lost him, like

some colossal moon looming in a low orbit overhead.

Squinting through the smeared windshield, past snow-caked wiper blades

that stuttered across the glass, Hatch sighed softly. He glanced at

Lindsey and smiled. It was a pale smile, just a ghost of the real

thing, barren of amusement, tired and melancholy. He seemed about to

say something, changed his mind, and returned his attention to the

highway.

The three lanes of black tone descending, two ascending-were

disappearing under a shifting shroud of snow. The road slipped to the

bottom of the slope and entered a short straightaway leading into a

wide, blind curve. In spite of that flat stretch of pavement, they were

not out of the San Bernardino Mountains yet. The state route eventually

would turn steeply downward once more.

As they followed the curve, the land changed around them: the slope to

their right angled upward more sharply than before, while on the far

side of the road, a black ravine yawned. White metal guardrails marked

that precipice, but they were barely visible in the sheeting snow.

A second or two before they came out of the curve, Lindsey had a

premonition of danger. She said, “Hatch..

Perhaps Hatch sensed trouble, too, for even as Lindsey spoke, he gently

applied the brakes, cutting their speed slightly.

A downgrade straightaway lay beyond the bend, and a beer distributor’s

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