WATCHERS by Dean R. Koontz

medical care but for drinks, dinner, conversation.

Travis knew the vet was trying to say he wanted to remain a part of Einstein’s

life, wanted to participate in the magic of it. “Jim, believe me, we’ll be back.

And before Christmas, you’ll have to come out to our place, spend the day with

us.”

“I’d like that.”

“So would we,” Travis said sincerely.

On the drive home, Nora held Einstein in her lap, wrapped in a blanket once

more. He still did not have his old appetite, and he was weak. His immune system

had taken severe punishment, so he would be more than usually susceptible to

illness for a while. He was to be kept in the house as much as possible and

pampered until he had regained his previous vigor— probably after the first of

the year, according to Jim Keene.

The bruised and swollen sky bulged with saturated dark clouds. The Pacific Ocean

was so hard and gray that it did not appear to be water but looked more like

billions of shards and slabs of slate being continuously agitated by some

geological upheaval in the earth below.

The bleak weather could not dampen their high spirits. Nora was beaming, and

Travis found himself whistling. Einstein studied the scenery with great

interest, clearly treasuring even the somber beauty of this nearly colorless

winter day. Perhaps he had never expected to see the world outside Jim Keene’s

office again, in which case even a sea of jumbled stone and a contusive sky were

precious sights.

When they reached home, Travis left Nora in the pickup with the retriever and

entered the house alone, by the back door, carrying the .38 pistol they kept in

the truck. In the kitchen, where the lights had been on ever since their hasty

departure last week, he immediately took an Uzi automatic pistol from its hiding

place in a cabinet, and put the lighter gun aside. He proceeded cautiously from

room to room, looking behind every large item of furniture and in every closet.

He saw no signs of burglary, and he expected none. This rural area was

relatively crime-free. You could leave your door unlocked for days at a time

without risking thieves who would take everything down to the wallpaper.

The Outsider, not a burglar, worried him.

The house was deserted.

Travis checked the barn, too, before driving the pickup inside, but it was also

safe.

In the house, Nora put Einstein down and pulled the blanket off him. He tottered

around the kitchen, sniffing at things. In the living room he looked at the cold

fireplace and inspected his page-turning machine.

He returned to the kitchen pantry, clicked on the light with his foot pedal, and

pawed letters out of the Lucite tubes.

HOME.

Stooping beside the dog, Travis said, “It’s sure good to be here, isn’t it?”

Einstein nuzzled Travis’s throat and licked his neck. The golden coat was fluffy

and smelled clean because Jim Keene had given the dog a bath, in his surgery,

under carefully controlled conditions. But as fluffy and fresh as he was,

Einstein still did not look himself; he seemed tired, and he was thinner, too,

having lost a few pounds in less than a week.

Pawing out more letters, Einstein spelled the same word again, as if to

emphasize his pleasure: HOME.

Standing at the pantry door, Nora said, “Home is where the heart is, and there’s

plenty of heart in this one. Hey, let’s have an early dinner and eat it in the

living room while we run the videotape of Mickey’s Christmas Carol. Would you

like that?”

Einstein wagged his tail vigorously.

Travis said, “Do you think you could handle your favorite food—a few weenies for

dinner?”

Einstein licked his chops. He dispensed more letters, with which he expressed

his enthusiastic approval of Travis’s suggestion.

HOME IS WHERE THE WEENIES ARE.

When Travis woke in the middle of the night, Einstein was at the bedroom window,

on his hind feet with his forepaws braced on the sill. He was barely visible in

the second-hand glow of the night-light in the adjoining bathroom. The interior

shutter was bolted over the window, so the dog had no view of the front yard.

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