The Bad Place by Dean R. Koontz

side and watched the faint light of dawn appear along the edges of the

drawn blinds.

He considered the possibility that the presence in the canyon had been

his brother Frank. But that was also unlikely. If Frank had possessed

telepathic abilities, he would have found a way to employ them to

destroy Candy a long, long time ago. Frank was less talented than his

sisters and much less talented than his brother Candy.

Then who had approached him twice in the canyon, insistently pressing

into his mind? Who sent the disconnected words that echoed in his head:

What… where… what…

why… what… where… what… why… ?

Last night, he’d tried to get a mental grip on the presence. When it

hastily withdrew from him, he had tried to let part of his consciousness

soar up into the night with it, but he had been unable to sustain a

pursuit on that psychic plane. He sensed, however, that he might be

able to develop that ability.

If the unwelcome presence ever returned, he would try to knot a filament

of his mind to it and trace it to its source. In his twenty-nine years,

his own siblings were the only people he had encountered with what might

be called psychic abilities. If someone out there in the world was also

gifted, he must learn who it was. Such a person, not born of his

sainted mother, was a rival, a threat, an enemy.

Though the sun beyond the blinded windows had not fully risen, he knew

that he would not be able to doze again. He threw back the covers,

crossed the dark and furniture-crowded room with the assurance of a

blind man in a familiar place, and went into the adjoining bath. After

locking the door, he undressed without glancing in the mirror. He peed

force without looking down at his hateful organ. When he showered he

soaped and rinsed the sex thing only with the washcloth mitten that he’d

made and that protected his innocent from being corrupted by the

monstrous, wicked flesh.

FROM THE hospital in Orange, they went directly to their offices in

Newport Beach. They had a lot of work to do on Frank’s behalf, and his

worsening plight evoked in them a greater sense of urgency than ever.

Frank strode with Hal, and Julie followed in order to be able to offer

assistance if unforeseen developments occurred during the trip. The

entire case seemed to be a series of unforeseen developments.

By the time they reached their deserted offices-the Dakota & Dakota

staff would not arrive for a couple of hours yet-the sun was fully risen

behind the clouds in the east. A thing strip of blue sky, like a crack

under the door of the storm, was visible over the ocean to the west. As

the four of them passed through the reception lounge into their inner

sanctum, the rain halted abruptly, as if a godly hand had turned a

celestial lever; the water on the big windows stopped flowing in

shimmering sheets, and coalesced into hundreds of small beads that

glimmered with a mercury-gray sheen in the cloud-dulled morning light.

Bobby indicated the bulging pillowcase that Hal was carrying.

“Take Frank into the bathroom, help him change into the clothes he was

wearing when we checked him into the hospital. Then we’ll have a real

close look at the clothes he’s wearing now.” Frank had recovered his

balance and most of his strength. He did not need Hal’s assistance. But

Julie knew Bobby wouldn’t let Frank go anywhere unchaperoned from now

on. They needed to keep an eye on him constantly, in order not to miss

any clues that might lead to an explanation of his sudden vanishments

and reappearances.

Before attending to Frank, Hal removed the rumpled clothes from the

pillowcase. He left the rest of its contents on Julie’s desk.

“Coffee?” Bobby asked.

“Desperately,” Julie said.

He went out to the pantry that opened off the lounge, to stir up one of

their two Mr. Coffee machines.

Sitting at her desk, Julie emptied the pillowcase. It contained thirty

bundles of hundred-dollar bills in packs bound by rubber bands. She

fanned the edges of the bills in ten bundles to ascertain if lower

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