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Strangers

Strangers

Titel: Strangers Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Dean Koontz
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trembling hands. "I saw Dr. Sonneford a week ago. The sutures hadn't been removed long before, and my chest was still a mess. It's only been the past four days that the scars melted away. I swear, Father, if I stand at a mirror long enough, I can see them fading."
        Finishing with his shirt buttons, Winton said, "Lately, I've been thinking about your visit to the hospital Christmas Day. The more I've gone over it in my mind, the more it seems your behavior was peculiar. I remember some of what you said, some of the questions you asked about Brendan, and I start wondering… One thing I wonder about - one thing I've got to know - is whether Brendan Cronin ever healed anyone else."
        "Yes. Nothing as dramatic as your case. But there's an other. I'm… not at liberty to reveal who," Stefan said. "But this isn't why you called the rectory, Winton. Not to show Brendan how well you've healed. Your voice was so full of urgency, even panic. And what about all these policemen with the Mendozas…? What's happened here, Winton?"
        A mercurial smile appeared on-and quickly faded fromthe man's broad face, followed by a transient glimmer of fear. Emotional turmoil was also evident in his voice. "We're cruising. Me and Paul. We get a call. This address. We get here, find a sixteen-year-old kid high on PCP. You know what they're like on PCP sometimes? Crazy. Animals. Damn stuff eats brain cells. Later, after it's over, we find out his name's Ernesto, son of Mrs. Mendoza's sister. He came to live here a week ago because his mother can't control him any more. The Mendozas… they're good people. You see how they keep this place?"
        Father Wycazik nodded.
        Winton said, "The kind of people take in a nephew when he's gone wrong, try to set him straight. But you can't set a kid like that straight. You break your heart trying, Father. This Ernesto, he's been in trouble since he was in fifth grade. Juvenile arrest record. Six offenses. Two of them pretty serious. We get here, he's naked as a jaybird, screaming his head off, eyes bugged out like the pressure in his head's going to blow his skull apart."
        Winton's gaze unfocused, as if he were seeing back into time and had as clear a view of that scene as when he had first encountered it.
        "Ernesto's got Hector, the little boy you probably saw when you came in, he's got him down on the sofa, holding him, and he's got a goddamn six-inch switchblade at Hector's throat. Mr. Mendoza… well, he's going crazy, wanting to rush Ernesto and take the knife, but scared Ernesto will slash Hector. Ernesto's screaming, he was blissed on angel dust. He's PCP-crazy, and you can't talk sense to him. We drew our guns because you don't just walk up to some doped-out freak with a knife and shake hands. But we didn't want to try to shoot him because he had the knife at Hector's throat, Hector was crying, and Ernesto could've killed the kid if we made the wrong move. So we tried to talk him down, talk him away from Hector, and we seemed to make headway, cause he started to take the knife off the boy. But then all of a sudden, Jesus, he slashed quick, cut Hector's throat almost from ear to ear, deep" - Winton shuddered - "deep. Then he raised the knife over his head, so we shot him, I'm not sure how many times, blew him away, and he fell dead on top of Hector. We pulled him off, and there was little Hector, one hand trying to close up the hole in his throat, blood spurting between his fingers, eyes already glazing over… "
        The cop took a deep breath and shuddered again. His eyes came back into focus, as if he needed to retreat from the horror of the past. He looked toward the window, beyond which the gray winter daylight sifted like soot over the gray Uptown street.
        Stefan's heart had begun to pound, not because of the bloody horror that Winton had described but because he could see where the cop's story had to be leading, and he was eager to hear the miracle described.
        Looking at the window, Winton continued. His voice grew shakier as he spoke: "There's no first aid for that kind of wound, Father. Severed arteries, veins. Big arteries in the neck. Blood pumps out like water from a hose, and you can't use a tourniquet, not on a neck, and direct pressure won't seal up a carotid artery. Shit, no. I knelt on the floor beside the sofa, and I saw Hector was dying fast. He looked so little, Father, so little. That kind of wound, they're gone in

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