Vision by Dean Koontz

Pollini said.
    Stambaugh swallowed hard. He was dizzy.
    “See that?” Pollini asked.
    “What?”
    “On the pubic hair. It’s semen.”
    “Oh.”
    “I wonder if he had her before or after.”
    “Before or after what?”
    “Before or after he killed her.”
    Stambaugh hurried into the master bath, dropped to his knees before the toilet, and threw up.
    When his stomach spasms passed, he knew that in the past ten minutes he had learned something important about himself. In spite of what he’d thought this morning, he never wanted to be like Ted Pollini.

7
    MAX CAME BACK to the room at eleven-thirty, just as she finished dressing. He kissed her lightly on the mouth. He smelled of soap, shaving lotion, and the cherry-scented pipe tobacco that he favored.
    “Out for a walk?” Mary asked.
    “When did you wake up?”
    “Only an hour ago.”
    “I was up at eight-thirty.”
    “I slept ten hours. When I finally managed to throw myself out of bed, I felt dopey. I shouldn’t have taken the sedative on top of liquor.”
    “You needed it.”
    “I didn’t need to feel the way I felt this morning.”
    “You look wonderful now.”
    “Where have you been?”
    “At the coffee shop downstairs. Had some toast and orange juice. Read the papers.”
    “Anything that’s connected with what I saw last night?”
    “The local paper has a nice story. You and Barnes catching The Slasher. They say Goldman is already off the critical list.”
    “That’s not what I meant. The dead women in the vision. What about them?”
    “Nothing in the papers.”
    “There will be this afternoon.”
    A worried look crossed his face. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got to relax once in a while. You’ve got to let your head clear out now and then. Don’t run after this one, Mary. Forget about it. Please. For me?”
    “I can’t forget,” she said unhappily. She wished desperately that she could.
     
 
Before leaving town, they stopped at an appliance store, chose and paid for an electric range and microwave oven for Dan Goldman.
    Later they got off the freeway at Ventura to have lunch at a restaurant they knew. They ordered salads, manicotti, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon by Robert Mondavi.
    From their table they had a view of the ocean. The slate-gray water looked like a mirror reflecting the turbulent sky. The surf was high and fast. A few gulls swooped along the shoreline.
    “It’ll be good to get home,” Max said. “We should be in Bel Air before two o’clock.”
    “The way you drive, we’ll be there long before.”
    “We can go over to Beverly Hills for a few hours of Christmas shopping.”
    “Since we’re going to get home in time, I’d rather see my analyst. I’ve got a four-thirty appointment. I’ve been missing too many of them lately. I’ll do my shopping tomorrow. Besides, I haven’t given any thought to Christmas gifts. I don’t have any idea what to get you.”
    “I can see your problem,” he said. “I am the man who has everything.”
    “Oh, are you?”
    “Naturally. I have you.”
    “That’s corny.”
    “But I mean it.”
    “You make me blush.”
    “That’s never been difficult.”
    She put her right hand to her cheek. “I can feel it. I wish I could control it.”
    “I’m glad you can’t,” he said. “It’s charming. It’s a sign of your innocence.”
    “Me? Innocent?”
    “As a baby,” he said.
    “Remember me in bed last night?”
    “How could I forget?”
    “Was that innocence?”
    “That was heaven.”
    “So there.”
    “But you’re still blushing.”
    “Oh, drink your wine and shut up.”
    “Still blushing,” he said.
    “I’m flushed from the wine.”
    “Still blushing.”
    “Damn you,” she said affectionately.
    “Still blushing.”
    She laughed.
    Beyond the window thick curdled clouds continued to roll in from the ocean.
    Over the spumoni and coffee Mary asked, “What do you think of adoption?”
    He shook his head in mock despair. “We’re too old