The Bad Place

Table of Contents

 

 

 

Frank Pollard is afraid to fall asleep. Every morning he awakes, he discovers something strange—like blood on his hands—a bizarre mystery that tortures his soul. Two investigators have been hired to follow the haunted man. But only one person—a young man with Down’s syndrome—can imagine where their journeys might end. That terrible place from which no one ever returns ...

 

 

“Psychologically complex characters... fast-paced... a masterly and satisfying denouement.”

—
The New York Times

 

“The intricate plot races along. Koontz also creates characters of unusual richness and depth ... a level of perception and sensitivity that is not merely convincing; it’s astonishing.”

—
The Seattle Times

 

“At times lyrical without ever being naive or romantic. This is a grotesque world, much like that of Flannery O’Connor or Walker Percy... Scary, worthwhile reading.”

—
The Times-Picayune

 

“A taut suspenseful novel that transcends genres. Total entertainment.”

—
The Macon Telegraph & News

 

“Thoroughly absorbing and wonderfully entertaining, a real leave-the-light-on effort.”

—
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

 

“Koontz puts his readers through the emotional wringer. There are scenes... that stick in the mind long after the thriller has been laid aside.”

—The Associated Press

 

“Fascinating. Even his minor characters seem to live. A roller-coaster ride.”

—
The Boston Globe

 

“Strange. Weird. Eerie. Macabre. Terrifying.”

—
New York Daily News

 

“A compelling plot... excellent characters.”

—
The Baltimore Sun

 

“Koontz soars... shriek-worthy suspense.”

—
Publishers Weekly

 

“A roller-coaster ride.”

 

“The pace accelerates like an avalanche. By the time the reader reaches the denouement, he’s emotionally exhausted, shaken.”—

 

“A celebration of the imagination—and every bit as creepy as you hope it will be!”

 

“Just when you think you’ve got everything figured out, Koontz tosses in yet another surprise. He masterfully weaves [many] elements into a plot that is totally involving.”

—
Hartford Courant

 

“Completely satisfying. His prose is rich and evocative. His characters are among the warmest—also the most despicable—in fiction.”

 

“Highly entertaining.”

—
The Indianapolis Star

 

“By the time you reach the end, you’ll feel as if you’ve just stepped off a roller coaster.”

 

“A stylishly terrifying adventure... characters the reader can care for, and a mystery that is truly mysterious.”

—
South Bend Tribune

 

“You can’t stop reading. It takes you on a chilly roller-coaster ride of stomach-gripping suspense that throws you breathlessly against a brick wall at the end.”

—UPI

 

“Hard to put down, absorbing... Each character comes alive.”

—
The Memphis Commercial Appeal

 

“Koontz is a master.”

—
Calgary Herald

 

“Dean Koontz is on a roll. Each new novel... has brought more respect and more popularity. He creates sympathetic characters who are very human, and [the story races] from page to page.”

—
Rockdale Citizen

 

“This may be Koontz’s best book yet. He deftly juggles several subplots while keeping the suspense turned on high. A rousing conclusion.”

 

“Driving, character-rich, panoramic... a marvelously boisterous, scare-and-suspense-packed entertainment.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

 

“Fast and furious... surprise piled upon surprise...highly entertaining.”

 

“Memorable characters. Koontz has written another page-turner.”

—Gannett News Service

 

“Complex and fascinating characters. The character of Thomas is a tour
de force
of stylistics that more than anything suggests Koontz’s remarkable skill.”

 

“Give me more of this man’s fiction anytime. The Bad Place [is] unrelenting in its purpose to thrill, challenge, and charm. It is one of the new breed of mystery thrillers... with such explosive panache that you don’t need explosive sex or violence to keep a reader’s interest.”

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with
the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

 

Berkley mass-market edition / December 1990

Copyright
©
1990 by Nkui, Inc.

“Afterword” copyright
©
2004 by Dean Koontz.

 

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced
in any form without permission.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet
or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal
and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic
editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of
copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-00719-8

 

Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

Teachers often affect our lives more than they realize. From high school days to the present, I have had teachers to whom I will remain forever indebted, not merely because of what they taught me, but because they provided the invaluable examples of dedication, kindness, and generosity of spirit that have given me an unshakable faith in the basic goodness of the human species. This book is dedicated to:

Every eye sees its own special vision;
every ear hears a most different song.
In each man’s troubled heart, an incision
would reveal a unique, shameful wrong.

 

Stranger fiends hide here in human guise
than reside in the valleys of Hell.
But goodness, kindness and love arise
in the heart of the poor beast, as well.

 

—The Book of Counted Sorrows

THE NIGHT was becalmed and curiously silent, as if the alley were an abandoned and windless beach in the eye of a hurricane, between the tempest past and the tempest coming. A faint scent of smoke hung on the motionless air, although no smoke was visible.

Sprawled facedown on the cold pavement, Frank Pollard did not move when he regained consciousness; he waited in the hope that his confusion would dissipate. He blinked, trying to focus. Veils seemed to flutter within his eyes. He sucked deep breaths of the cool air, tasting the invisible smoke, grimacing at the acrid tang of it.

Shadows loomed like a convocation of robed figures, crowding around him. Gradually his vision cleared, but in the weak yellowish light that came from far behind him, little was revealed. A large trash dumpster, six or eight feet from him, was so dimly outlined that for a moment it seemed ineffably strange, as though it were an artifact of an alien civilization. Frank stared at it for a while before he realized what it was.

He did not know where he was or how he had gotten there. He could not have been unconscious longer than a few seconds, for his heart was pounding as if he had been running for his life only moments ago.

That phrase took flight through his mind, but he had no idea what it meant. When he tried to concentrate on it and make sense of it, a dull headache developed above his right eye.

Fireflies in a windstorm
...

He groaned softly.

Between him and the dumpster, a shadow among shadows moved, quick and sinuous. Small but radiant green eyes regarded him with icy interest.

Frightened, Frank pushed up onto his knees. A thin, involuntary cry issued from him, almost less like a human sound than like the muted wail of a reed instrument.

The green-eyed observer scampered away. A cat. Just an ordinary black cat.

Frank got to his feet, swayed dizzily, and nearly fell over an object that had been on the blacktop beside him. Gingerly he bent down and picked it up: a flight bag made of supple leather, packed full, surprisingly heavy. He supposed it was his. He could not remember. Carrying the bag, he tottered to the dumpster and leaned against its rusted flank.