"Folsom, Allan - The Day After Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Folsom Allan)

unsuccessfully fought another, even more tragic demon: the numbing,
emasculating, terror of abandonment, begun by the killer's definitive
demonstration of how quickly love could be ended.

It had proven true at that moment and held true ever since. At first
by circumstance, with his mother and his aunt, and later, as he got
older, with lovers and close friends. The fault in his adult life was
his. Though he understood the cause of it, the emotion was still
impossible for him to control. The moment real love or real -friendship
was near, the sheer terror that it might again be sobrutally taken from
him rose from nowhere to engulf him like a raging tide. And with it
came a mistrust and jealousy he was powerless to do anything about. Out
of nothing more than sheer self protection, whatever joy and love and
trust there had been, he would erase in no time at all.

But now, after nearly thirty years, the cause of his sickness had been
isolated. It was here, in Paris. And once found there would be no
notifying of police, no attempt at extradition, no seeking of civil
justice. Once found, this man would be confronted and then, like a
disease itself, swiftly eradicated. The only difference was that this
time the victim would know his killer.

THE DAY after his father's funeral, Paul Osborn's mother moved them out
of their house and in with her sister in a small two-story home on Cape
Cod. His mother's name had been Becky. He assumed it was short for
Elizabeth or Rebecca but he'dd never asked and never heard her referred
to as anything but Becky. Shed married Paul's father when she wa only
twenty and still in nursing school.

George David Osborn was handsome, but quiet and introverted. He'dd come
from Chicago to Boston to attend M.I.T. and immediately following
graduation had gone to work for Raytheon and then later for Microtab, a
small engineering design firm on the Route 128 high-tech hub. The most
Paul knew about what his father did was that he designed surgical
instruments. Much more than that, he'dd been too young to remember.

What he did remember in the blur that followed the funeral was packing
up and moving from their big house in the Boston suburbs to the much
smaller house on Cape Cod. And that almost immediately, his mother
began thinking, [,;, He remembered nights when she made dinner for them
both, then left hers to get cold and instead drank cocktail after
cocktail until she could no longer talk, and then fell asleep. He
remembered being afraid as the drinks mounted up and he tried to get her
to eat but she wouldn't. Instead she became angry. At little things at
first, but then the anger always came around to him. He was to blame
for not having done something-anything-that might have helped save his
father. And if his father were alive, they would still be living in
their fine home near Boston, in stead of where they were in that tiny
little house on Cape Cod with her sister.