WIXLIB

Dean Koontz - The Eyes of Darkness[Version 2.0 by BuddyDk – may 08 2003][Easy read, easy print][Completely new scan][Use your word-processor to put in a suitable first line indent]BERKLEYA year had passed since little Danny's death—a year since his mother began thepainful process of acceptance. But tonight, Tina Evans swore she saw her Dannyin a stranger's car. Then she dreamed that Danny was alive. And when sheawoke, she found a message waiting for her in Danny's bedroom—twodisturbing words scrawled on his chalkboard: NOT DEAD. Was it someone'sgrim joke? Her' mind playing tricks on her'? Or something. . .more? For TinaEvans, it was a mystery she couldn't escape. An obsession that would lead herfrom the bright lights of Las Vegas to the cold shadows of the High Sierras. Aterrible secret seen only by. . .The Eyes of DarknessEANThe acclaimed bestsellers byDean Koontz

THE EYES OF DARKNESS"Koontz puts his readers through the emotional wringer."—The Associated PressTHE KEY TO MIDNIGHT"An exceptional novelist. topnotch."—Lincoln Journal-StarMR. MURDER"A truly harrowing tale . . . superb work by a master at the top of his form."—The Washington Post Book WorldTHE FUNHOUSE"Koontz is a terrific what-if storyteller." —PeopleDRAGON TEARS"A razor-sharp, nonstop, suspenseful story. a first-rate literary experience."—The San Diego Union-TribuneSHADOWFIRES

"His prose mesmerizes . . Koontz consistently hits the bull's-eye."—Arkansas Democrat-GazetteHIDEAWAY"Not just a thriller but a meditation on the nature of good and evil."—Lexington Herald-LeaderCOLD FIRE"An extraordinary piece of fiction . . . It will be a classic."—UPITHE HOUSE OF THUNDER"Koontz is brilliant." —Chicago Sun-TimesTHE VOICE OF THE NIGHT"A fearsome tour of an adolescent's psyche. Terrifying, knee-knockingsuspense."—Chicago Sun-TimesTHE BAD PLACE"A new experience in breathless terror." —UPI

THE SERVANTS OF TWILIGHT"A great storyteller." —New York Daily NewsMIDNIGHT"A triumph." —The New York TimesLIGHTNING"Brilliant . a spine-tingling tale . . . both challenging and entertaining."—The Associated PressTHE MASK"Koontz hones his fearful yarns to a gleaming edge."—PeopleWATCHERS"A breakthrough for Koontz . his best ever."—Kirkus ReviewsTWILIGHT EYES"A spine-chilling adventure . . .will keep you turning pages to the very end."

—Rave ReviewsSTRANGERS“A unique spellbinder that captures the reader on the first page. Exciting,enjoyable, and an intensely satisfying read."—Mary Higgins ClarkPHANTOMS"First-rate suspense, scary, and stylish."—Los Angeles TimesWHISPERS"Pulls out all the stops . an incredible, terrifying tale."—Publishers WeeklyNIGHT CHILLS"Will send chills down your back."—The New York TimesDARKFALL"A fast-paced tale . . . one of the scariest chase scenes ever."—The Houston Post

—The Houston PostSHATTERED"A chilling tale . sleek as a bullet."—Publishers WeeklyTHE VISION"Spine-tingling—it gives you an almost lethal shock."—San Francisco ChronicleTHE FACE OF FEAR"Real suspense . tension upon tension."—The New York TimesBerkley Books by Dean KoontzDEMON SEEDTHE EYES OF DARKNESSTHE KEY TO MIDNIGHTMR. MURDERTHE FUNHOUSEDRAGON TEARS

DRAGON TEARSSHADOWFIRESHIDEAWAYCOLDFIRETHE HOUSE OF THUNDERTHE VOICE OF THE NIGHTTHE BAD PLACETHE SERVANTS OF TWILIGHTMIDNIGHTLIGHTNINGTHE MASKWATCHERSTWILIGHT EYESSTRANGERSPHANTOMSWHISPERSNIGHT CHILLSDARKFALLSHATTEREDTHE VISIONTHE FACE OF FEAR

DEANKOONTZThe Eyes of DarknessOriginally published under the pseudonym Leigh NicholsBERKLEY BOOKS. NEW YORKIf you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book isstolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, andneither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "strippedbook."This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events areeither the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously,and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businessestablishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.Originally published under thepseudonym Leigh Nichols.

THE EYES OF DARKNESSA Berkley Book / published by arrangement withNkui, Inc.PRINTING HISTORYPocket Books edition / February 1981Berkley edition /July 1996All rights reserved.Copyright 1981 by Leigh Nichols.Copyright 1996 by Nkui, Inc.Author photo copyright 1993 by Jerry Bauer.This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

http://www.penguinputnam.comISBN: 0-425-15397-5BERKLEY Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.BERKLEY and the "B" designare trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

15 14 13This better version is for Gerda,with love.After five years of work,now that I'm nearly finished improvingthese early novels first published under pen names,I intend to start improving myself.Considering all that needs to he done,this new project will henceforth he knownas the hundred-year plan.Tuesday,DECEMBER 30

1AT SIX MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT, TUESDAY MORNing, on the wayhome from a late rehearsal of her new stage show, Tina Evans saw her son,Danny, in a stranger's car. But Danny had been dead more than a year.Two blocks from her house, intending to buy a quart of milk and a loaf ofwholewheat bread, Tina stopped at a twenty-four-hour market and parked in thedry yellow drizzle of a sodium-vapor light, beside a gleaming, cream-coloredChevrolet station wagon. The boy was in the front passenger seat of the wagon,waiting for someone in the store. Tina could see only the side of his face, but shegasped in painful recognition.Danny.The boy was about twelve, Danny's age. He had thick dark hair like Danny's, anose that resembled Danny's, and a rather delicate jawline like Danny's too.She whispered her son's name, as if she would frighten off this belovedapparition if she spoke any louder.Unaware that she was staring at him, the boy put one hand to his mouth and bitgently on his bent thumb knuckle, which Danny had begun to do a year or sobefore he died. Without success, Tina had tried to break him of that bad habit.Now, as she watched this boy, his resemblance to Danny seemed to be more thanmere coincidence. Suddenly Tina's mouth went dry and sour, and her heartthudded. She still had not adjusted to the loss of her only child, because she'dnever wanted—or tried—to adjust to it. Seizing on this boy's resemblance to herDanny, she was too easily able to fantasize that there had been no loss in the firstplace.Maybe . . . maybe this boy actually was Danny. Why not? The more that sheconsidered it, the less crazy it seemed. After all, she'd never seen Danny'scorpse. The police and the morticians had advised her that Danny was so badlytorn up, so horribly mangled, that she was better off not looking at him.Sickened, grief-stricken, she had taken their advice, and Danny's funeral had

Sickened, grief-stricken, she had taken their advice, and Danny's funeral hadbeen a closed-coffin service. But perhaps they'd been mistaken when theyidentified the body. Maybe Danny hadn't been killed in the accident, after all.Maybe he'd only suffered a mild head injury, just severe enough to give him . . .amnesia. Yes. Amnesia. Perhaps he had wandered away from the wrecked busand had been found miles from the scene of the accident, without identification,unable to tell anyone who he was or where he came from. That was possible,wasn't it? She had seen similar stories in the movies. Sure. Amnesia. And if thatwere the case, then he might have ended up in a foster home, in a new life. Andnow here he was sitting in the cream-colored Chevrolet wagon, brought to her byfate and by—The boy became conscious of her gaze and turned toward her. She held herbreath as his face came slowly around. As they stared at each other through twowindows and through the strange sulphurous light, she had the feeling that theywere making contact across an immense gulf of space and time and destiny. Butthen, inevitably, her fantasy burst, for he wasn't Danny.Pulling her gaze away from his, she studied her hands, which were gripping thesteering wheel so fiercely that they ached."Damn."She was angry with herself. She thought of herself as a tough, competent,levelheaded woman who was able to deal with anything life threw at her, andshe was disturbed by her continuing inability to accept Danny's death.After the initial shock, after the funeral, she had begun to cope with the trauma.Gradually, day by day, week by week, she had put Danny behind her, withsorrow, with guilt, with tears and much bitterness, but also with firmness anddetermination. She had taken several steps up in her career during the past year,and she had relied on hard work as a sort of morphine, using it to dull her painuntil the wound fully healed.But then, a few weeks ago, she had begun to slip back into the dreadfulcondition in which she'd wallowed immediately after she'd received news of theaccident. Her denial was as resolute as it was irrational. Again, she waspossessed by the haunting feeling that her child was alive. Time should have puteven more distance between her and the anguish, but instead the passing dayswere bringing her around full circle in her grief. This boy in the station wagonwas not the first that she had imagined was Danny; in recent weeks, she had seen

was not the first that she had imagined was Danny; in recent weeks, she had seenher lost son in other cars, in school-yards past which she had been driving, onpublic streets, in a movie theater.Also, she'd recently been plagued by a repeating dream in which Danny wasalive. Each time, for a few hours after she woke, she could not face reality. Shehalf convinced herself that the dream was a premonition of Danny's eventualreturn to her, that somehow he had survived and would be coming back into herarms one day soon.This was a warm and wonderful fantasy, but she could not sustain it for long.Though she always resisted the grim truth, it gradually exerted itself every time,and she was repeatedly brought down hard, forced to accept that the dream wasnot a premonition. Nevertheless, she knew that when she had the dream again,she would find new hope in it as she had so many times before.And that was not good.Sick, she berated herself.She glanced at the station wagon and saw that the boy was still staring at her.She glared at her tightly clenched hands again and found the strength to breakher grip on the steering wheel.Grief could drive a person crazy. She'd heard that said, and she believed it. Butshe wasn't going to allow such a thing to happen to her. She would besufficiently tough on herself to stay in touch with reality—as unpleasant asreality might be. She couldn't allow herself to hope.She had loved Danny with all her heart, but he was gone. Torn and crushed in abus accident with fourteen other little boys, just one victim of a larger tragedy.Battered beyond recognition. Dead.Cold.Decaying.In a coffin.Under the ground.Forever.