As he tells it, the halls of our modest county hospital had become a white labyrinth, and at least twice he made wrong turns. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, he raced down the stairs from the third floor to the ground level before realizing that he’d passed the second floor, on which the maternity ward was located.
Dad arrived in the expectant-fathers’ waiting lounge to the crack of a pistol as Konrad Beezo shot his wife’s doctor.
For an instant, Dad thought Beezo had used a clown gun, some trick firearm that squirted red ink. The doctor dropped to the floor, however, not with comic flair but with hideous finality, and the smell of blood plumed thick, too real.
Beezo turned to Dad and raised the pistol.
In spite of the rumpled porkpie hat and the short-sleeved coat and the bright patch on the seat of his pants, in spite of the white greasepaint and the rouged cheeks, nothing about Konrad Beezo was clownish at that moment. His eyes were those of a jungle cat, and it was easy to imagine that the teeth bared in his snarl were tiger fangs. He loomed, the embodiment of murderous dementia, demonic.
Dad thought that he, too, would be shot, but Beezo said, “Stay out of my way, Rudy Tock. I have no quarrel with you. You’re not an aerialist.”
Beezo shouldered through the door between the lounge and the maternity ward, slammed it shut behind him.
Dad knelt beside the doctor—and discovered that a breath of life remained in him. The wounded man tried to speak, could not. Blood had pooled in his throat, and he gagged.
Gently elevating the physician’s head, shoving old magazines under it to brace the man at an angle that allowed him to breathe, Dad shouted for help as the swelling storm rocked the night with doomsday peals of thunder.
Dr. Ferris MacDonald had been Maddy’s physician. He had also been called upon to treat Natalie Beezo when, unexpectedly, she had been brought to the hospital in labor.
Mortally wounded, he seemed more bewildered than frightened. Able to clear his throat and breathe now, he told my father, “She died during delivery, but it wasn’t my fault.”
For a terrifying moment, my dad thought Maddy had died.
Dr. MacDonald realized this, for his last words were “Not Maddy. The clown’s wife. Maddy…is alive. I’m so sorry, Rudy.”
Ferris MacDonald died with my father’s hand upon his heart.
As the thunder rolled toward a far horizon, Dad heard another gunshot from beyond the door through which Konrad Beezo had vanished.
Maddy lay somewhere behind that door—a woman left helpless by a difficult labor. I was back there, too—an infant who was not yet enough of a lummox to defend himself.
My father, then a baker, had never been a man of action; nor did he become one when, a few years later, he graduated to the status of pastry chef. He is of average height and weight, not physically weak but not born for the boxing ring, either. He had to that point led a charmed life, without serious want, without any strife.
Nevertheless, fear for his wife and his child cast him into a strange, cold panic marked more by calculation than by hysteria. Without a weapon or a plan, but suddenly with the heart of a lion, he opened that door and went after Beezo.
Although his imagination spun a thousand bloody scenarios in mere seconds, he says that he did not anticipate what was about to happen, and of course he could not foresee how the events of that night would reverberate through the next thirty years with such terrible and astonishing consequences in his life and mine.
AVAILABLE NOW
FOREVER ODD
by
DEAN KOONTZ
#1 New York Times Bestselling Author
The long-awaited sequel to
ODD THOMAS,
The magical bestseller beloved by readers and acclaimed by reviewers:
“Once in a very great while, an author does everything right-as Koontz has in this marvelous novel [which] features electrifying tension and suspense, plus a few walloping surprises. This thriller also stands out for its brilliant tightrope walk between the amusing and the macabre. Koontz has created a hero whose honest, humble voice will resonate with many. This is Koontz working at his pinnacle, providing terrific entertainment that deals seriously with some of the deepest themes of human existence: the nature of evil, the grip of fate and the power of love.”
—Publishers Weekly (Starred Review)
“Odd Thomas [is] exactly the kind of hero that’s needed.”
—South Florida Sun-Sentinel
“Odd Thomas is another name for courage, truth, and devotion to your fellow man.”
—The Baton Rouge Advocate
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEAN KOONTZ, the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives with his wife, Gerda, and the enduring spirit of their golden retriever, Trixie, in southern California.
Correspondence for the author should be addressed to:
Dean Koontz
P.O. Box 9529
Newport Beach, CA 92658
ALSO BY DEAN KOONTZ
Velocity
Life Expectancy
The Taking
Odd Thomas
The Face
By the Light of the Moon
One Door Away from Heaven
From the Corner of His Eye
False Memory
Seize the Night
Fear Nothing
Mr. Murder
Dragon Tears
Cold Fire
The Bad Place
Midnight
Lightning
Watchers
Strangers
Twilight Eyes
Darkfall
Phantoms
Whispers
The Mask
The Vision
The Face of Fear
Night Chills
Shattered
The Voice of the Night
The Servants of Twilight
The House of Thunder
The Key to Midnight
The Eyes of Darkness
Shadowfires
Winter Moon
The Door to December
Dark Rivers of the Heart
Icebound
Strange Highways
Intensity
Sole Survivor
Ticktock
The Funhouse
Demon Seed
DEAN KOONTZ’S FRANKENSTEIN
Book One: Prodigal Son • with Kevin J. Anderson
DEAN KOONTZ’S FRANKENSTEIN
BOOK TWO: CITY OF NIGHT
A Bantam Book / August 2005
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2005 by Dean Koontz
Cover art and design by Jorge Martínez
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-307-41422-9
v3.0