Free The Mask by Dean Koontz Page B

the beginning of his sabbatical, a telephone, a three-shelf bookcase filled with reference works, a bottled-water dispenser in one corner, and a small table upon which stood a Mr. Coffee machine.
    This morning, as usual, he prepared a pot of coffee first thing. Just as he pressed the switch labeled BREWER and poured water into the top of the Mr. Coffee, the telephone rang. He sat on the edge of the desk, picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
    “Paul? Grace Mitowski.”
    “Good morning, love. How are you?”
    “Well, these old bones don’t like rainy weather, but otherwise I’m coping.”
    Paul smiled. “Listen, I know you can still run circles around me any time.”
    “Nonsense. You’re a compulsive worker with a guilt complex about leisure. Not even a nuclear reactor has your energy.”
    He laughed. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Grace. I get enough of that from my wife.”
    “Speaking of whom…”
    “Sorry, but you just missed her. You ought to be able to catch her at the office in half an hour.”
    Grace hesitated.
    Hot coffee began to drizzle into the Pyrex pot, and the aroma of it swiftly filled the room.
    Sensing tension in Grace’s hesitation, Paul said, “What’s wrong?”
    “Well…” She cleared her throat nervously. “Paul, how is she? She’s not ill or anything?”
    “Carol? Oh, no. Of course not.”
    “You’re sure? I mean, you know that girl’s like a daughter to me. if anything was wrong, I’d want to know.”
    “She’s fine. Really. In fact she had a physical exam last week. The adoption agency required it. Both of us passed with flying colors.”
    Grace was silent again.
    Frowning, Paul said, “Why are you worried all of a sudden?”
    “Well… you’ll think old Gracie is losing her marbles, but I’ve had two disturbing dreams, one during a nap yesterday, the other last night, and Carol was in both. I seldom dream, so when I have two nightmares and wake up both times feeling I’ve got to warn Carol…”
    “Warn her about what?”
    “I don’t know. All I remember about the dreams is that Carol was in them. I woke up thinking: it’s coming. I’ve got to warn Carol that it’s coming. I know that sounds silly. And don’t ask me what ‘it’ might be. I can’t remember. But I feel Carol’s in danger. Now Lord knows, I don’t believe in dream prophecies and garbage like that. I think I don’t believe in them—yet here I am calling you about this.”
    The coffee was ready. Paul leaned over, turned off the brewer. “The strange thing is—Carol and I were nearly hurt in a freak accident yesterday.” He told her about the damage at O’Brian’s office.
    “Good God,” she said, “I saw that lightning when I woke up from my nap, but it never occurred to me that you and Carol… that the lightning might be the very thing I was… the very thing my dream oh, hell! I’m afraid to say it because I might sound like a superstitious old fool, but here goes anyway: Was there actually something prophetic about that dream? Did I foresee the lightning strike a few minutes before it happened?”
    “If nothing else,” Paul said uneasily, “it’s at least a remarkable coincidence.”
    They were silent for a moment, wondering, and then she said, “Listen, Paul, I don’t recall that we’ve ever discussed this subject much before, but tell me—do you believe in dream prophecies, clairvoyance, things of that nature?”
    “I don’t believe, and I don’t disbelieve. I’ve never really made up my mind.”
    “I’ve always been so smug about it. Always considered it a pack of lies, delusions, or just plain nonsense. But after this—”
    “You’re reconsidering.”
    “Let’s just say a tiny doubt has cropped up. And now I’m more worried about Carol than I was when I called you.”
    “Why? I told you she wasn’t even scratched.”
    “She escaped once,” Grace said, “but I had two dreams, and one of them came to me hours after the lightning. So maybe the ‘it’ is something else. I mean, if the first dream had some truth in it, then maybe the second does, too. God, isn’t this