Dean Koontz - The Voice of the Night

To old friends-Harry and Diane Recard Andy and Ann Wickstrom who, like wine, get better year by year

You ever killed anything? Roy asked.

Colin frowned. Like what?

The two boys were on a high hill at the north end of town. The ocean lay beyond.

Anything, Roy said. You ever killed anything at all?

I dont know what you mean, Colin said.

Far out on the sun-dappled water, a large ship moved northward, toward distant San Francisco. Nearer shore stood an oil-drilling platform. On the deserted beach a flock of birds relentlessly worked the damp sand for their lunch.

You mustve killed something, Roy said impatiently. What about bugs?

Colin shrugged. Sure. Mosquitoes. Ants. Flies. So what?

Howd you like it?

Like what?

Killing em.

Colin stared at him, finally shook his head. Roy, sometimes youre pretty weird.

Roy grinned.

You like killing bugs? Colin asked uneasily.

Sometimes.

Why?

Its a real popper.

Anything that Roy thought was fun, anything that thrilled him, he called a popper.

Whats to like? Colin asked.

The way they squish.

Yech.

Ever pull the legs off a praying mantis and watch it try to walk? Roy asked.

Weird. Really weird.

Roy turned to the insistently crashing sea and stood defiantly with his hands on his hips, as if he were challenging the incoming tide. It was a natural pose for him; he was a born fighter.

Colin was fourteen years old, the same age as Roy, and he never challenged anything or anyone. He rolled with life, floated where it took him, offering no resistance. Long ago he had learned that resistance caused pain.

Colin sat on the crown of the hill, in the spare dry grass. He looked up admiringly at Roy.

Without turning from the sea, Roy said, Ever kill anything bigger than bugs?

No.

I did.

Yeah?

Lots of times.

Whatd you kill? Colin asked.

Mice.

Hey, Colin said, suddenly remembering, my dad killed a bat once.

Roy looked down at him. When was that?

Couple of years ago, down in Los Angeles. My mom and dad were still together then. We had a house in Westwood.

That where he killed the bat?

Yeah. Mustve been some of them living in the attic. One of them got into my folks bedroom. It happened at night. I woke up and heard my mom screaming.

She was really scared, huh?

Terrified.

I sure wish Id seen that.

I ran down the hall to see what was wrong, and this bat was swooping around their room.

Was she naked?

Colin blinked. Who?

Your mother.

Of course not.

I thought maybe she slept naked and you saw her.

No, Colin said. He could feel his face turning red.

She wearing a negligee? Roy asked.

I dont know.

You dont knowl

I dont remember, Colin said uneasily.

If I was the one who saw her, Roy said, Id sure as hell remember.

Well, I guess she was wearing a negligee, Colin said. Yeah. I remember now.

Actually, he couldnt recall whether she had been wearing pajamas or a fur coat, and he didnt understand why it mattered to Roy.

Could you see through it? Roy asked.

See through what?

For Christs sake, Colin! Could you see through her negligee?

Why would I want to?

Are you a moron?

Why would I want to stand around gaping at my own mom?

Shes built, thats why.

You gotta be kidding!

Nice tits.

Roy, dont be ridiculous.

Terrific legs.

How would you know?

Saw her in a swimsuit, Roy said. Shes foxy.

Shes what?

Sexy.

Shes my mother!

So what?

Sometimes I wonder about you, Roy.

Youre hopeless.

Me? Jeez.

Hopeless.

I thought we were talking about the bat.

So what happened to the bat?

My dad got a broom and knocked it out of the air. He kept hitting it until it stopped squealing. Boy, you should have heard it squeal. Colin shuddered. It was awful.

Blood?

Huh?

Was there a lot of blood?

No.

Roy looked at the sea again. He didnt seem impressed by the story about the bat.

The warm breeze stirred Roys hair. He had the kind of thick golden hair and the wholesome freckled face that you saw in television commercials. He was a sturdy boy, strong for his age, a good athlete.

Colin wished he looked like Roy.

Someday, when Im rich, Colin thought, Ill walk into a plastic surgeons office with maybe a million bucks in cash and a picture of Roy. Ill get myself totally remade. Totally transformed. The surgeon will change my brown hair to com yellow. Hell say, Dont want this thin, pale face any more, do you? Cant blame you. Who would want it? Lets make it handsome. Hell take care of my ears, too. They wont be so big when hes done. And hell fix these damned eyes. I wont have to wear thick glasses any more. And hell say, Want me to add a bunch of muscles to your chest and arms and legs? No problem. Easy as cake. And then I wont just look like Roy; Ill be as strong as Roy, too, and Ill be able to run as fast as Roy, and I wont be afraid of anything, not anything in the world. Yeah. But I better go into that office with two million.

Still studying the progress of the ship on the sea, Roy said, Killed bigger things, too.

Bigger than mice?

Sure.

Like what?

A cat.

You killed a cat?

Thats what I said, didnt I?

Whyd you do that?

I was bored.

Thats no reason.

It was something to do.

Jeez.

Roy turned away from the sea.

What a crock, Colin said.

Roy hunkered in front of Colin, locked eyes with him. It was a popper, a really terrific popper.

A popper? Fun? Why would killing a cat be fun?

Why wouldnt it be fun? Roy asked.

Colin was skeptical. Howd you kill it?

First I put it in a cage.

What kind of cage?

A big old birdcage, about three feet square.

Whered you get a thing like that?

It was in our basement. A long time ago my mother owned a parrot. When it died she didnt get a new bird, but she didnt throw away the cage either.

Was it your cat?

Nah. Belonged to some people down the street.

What was its name?

Roy shrugged.

If thered really been a cat, youd remember its name, Colin said.

Fluffy. Its name was Fluffy.

Sounds likely.

Its true. I put it in the cage and worked on it with my mothers knitting needles.

Worked on it?

I poked at it through the bars. Christ, you should have heard it!

No thanks.

That was one damned mad cat. It spat and screamed and tried to claw me.

So you killed it with the knitting needles.

Nah. The needles just made it angry.

Cant imagine why.

Later I got a long, two-pronged meat fork from the kitchen and killed it with that.

Where were your folks during all this?

Both of them at work. I buried the cat and cleaned up all the blood before they got home.

Colin shook his head and sighed. What a great big load of bull.

You dont believe me?

You never killed any cat.

Why would I make up a story like that?

Youre trying to see if you can gross me out. Youre trying to make me sick.

Roy grinned. Are you sick?

Of course not.

You look kinda pale.

You cant make me sick because I know it didnt happen. There wasnt any cat.

Roys eyes were sharp and demanding. Colin imagined he could feel them probing like the points of that meat fork.

How long have you known me? Roy asked.

Since the day after Mom and I moved here.

How longs that?