The City
No.1 New York Times bestselling author Dean Koontz is at the peak of his storytelling powers with this major new novel – a rich, multi-layered story that moves back and forth across decades and generations as a gifted musician relates the ‘terrible and wonderful’ events that began in his city in 1967, when he was ten.THIS IS THE STORY OF A BOY AND A CITY…Jonah Kirk’s childhood has been punctuated by extraordinary moments – like the time a generous stranger helped him realize his dream of learning the piano. Nothing is more important to him than his family and friends, and the electrifying power of music.But now Jonah has a terrifying secret. And it sets him on a collision course with a group of dangerous people who will change his life forever.For one bright morning, a single earth-shattering event will show Jonah that in his city, good is entwined with malice, and sometimes the dark side of humanity triumphs. But it will also teach him that courage and honour are found in the most unexpected places, and the way forward lies buried deep inside the heart.If he can just survive to find it…
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THE CITY
DEAN KOONTZ
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
First published in the USA in 2014 by Bantam Books,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
A division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Copyright © Dean Koontz 2014
Cover design layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Cover photographs © Mark Mahaney / Plainpicture (tower); Andy Roberts / Getty Images (feather); Shutterstock.com (moon)
Dean Koontz asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Text design by Virginia Norey
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007520282
Ebook Edition © July 2014 ISBN: 9780007520275
Version: 2015-12-31
This novel is dedicated,
with affection and gratitude,
to Jane Johnson,
who is one continent
and one sea away.
And to Florence Koontz
and Mildred Stefko,
who are one world away.
Hold every moment sacred. Give each clarity and meaning, each the weight of thine awareness, each its true and due fulfillment.
—Thomas Mann, The Beloved Returns
Contents
Malcolm gives me a tape recorder.
He says, “You’ve got to talk your life.”
“I’d rather live the now than talk about the was.”
Malcolm says, “Not all of it. Just the … you know.”
“I’m to talk about the you know?”
Malcolm says, “People need to hear it.”
“What people?”
Malcolm says, “Everybody. These are sad times.”
“I can’t change the times.”
Malcolm says, “It’s a sad world. Lift it a little.”
“You want me to leave out all the dark stuff?”
Malcolm says, “No, man. You need the dark stuff.”
“Oh, I don’t need it. Not me.”
Malcolm says, “The dark makes the light stuff brighter.”
“So when I’m done talking about the you know—then what?”
Malcolm says, “You make it a book.”
“You going to read this book?”
Malcolm says, “Mostly. Parts of it I wouldn’t be able to see clear enough to read.”
“What if I read those parts to you?”
Malcolm says, “If you’re able to see the words, I’d listen.”
“By then I’ll be able. Talking it the first time is what will kill me.”
My name is Jonah Ellington Basie Hines Eldridge Wilson Hampton Armstrong Kirk. From as young as I can remember, I loved the city. Mine is a story of love reciprocated. It is the story of loss and hope, and of the strangeness that lies just beneath the surface tension of daily life, a strangeness infinite fathoms in depth.
The streets of the city weren’t paved with gold, as some immigrants were told before they traveled half the world to come there. Not all the young singers or actors, or authors, became stars soon after leaving their small towns for the bright lights, as perhaps they thought they would. Death dwelt in the metropolis, as it dwelt everywhere, and there were more murders there than in a quiet hamlet, much tragedy, and moments of terror. But the city was as well a place of wonder, of magic dark and light, magic of which in my eventful life I had much experience, including one night when I died and woke and lived again.
When I was eight, I would meet the woman who claimed
