Dead and Alive by Dean Koontz

plasma-screen television, the chain-saw guy in the orange wig and the clown makeup did something to the girl chained to the statue of George S. Patton, something the moviemakers had thought was so unspeakable that audiences would shriek with horror and delight in order to repress the urge to vomit. But by comparison with Janet, the moviemakers were no more imaginative than any child sociopath tearing the wings off flies.
    “I was so right,” Janet said. “Killing in the nude is the best thing ever.”
    “You think it’s definitely one of your personal core values?”
    “Oh, yes. It’s totally PCV.”
    Although they did not know the Arceneauxs as well as they had known the Bennets, Janet and Bucky knew that in addition to Charles, four other people lived in this house: sixteen-year-old Preston, who was the neighborhood bully, Antoine and Evangeline, and Evangeline’s mother, Marcella. The grandmother had a downstairs bedroom, and the others were on the second floor.
    “I’m ready to do one just as complete as you did Charlie,” Bucky said.
    “Do Marcella.”
    “Yes. Then we’ll go upstairs.”
    “Take off your clothes. Feel the power.”
    “I want to do one with my clothes on first,” saidBucky. “So when I do one in the nude, then I’ll have something to compare it to.”
    “That’s a good idea.”
    Janet strode out of the family room with the power, the grace, and the stealth of a panther, and Bucky followed in high spirits, leaving the door to the veranda open to the night.

CHAPTER 17
    BECAUSE A WOMAN capable of humility, shame, and tenderness presented a more satisfactory punching bag than a woman who could only hate and fear and stew in anger, Victor designed his Erikas to have a wider range of emotions than others of the New Race.
    As they drank together on the porch, Erika Five found that her sympathy for the troll quickly ripened into compassion.
    Something about him made her want to take him under her wing. Because he was the size of a child, perhaps he strummed a maternal chord in her—though she was barren, as were all New Race women. They did not
re
produce; they were produced in a factory, as were sofas and sump pumps, so she most likely had no maternal instinct.
    Perhaps his poverty affected her. Once he had burst out of his original Alpha body, the troll possessedno clothes to fit him, no shoes. He had no money for food or shelter, and he was too small and disturbing in appearance to return to work as a homicide detective.
    If you were given to literary allusions, you might say he was a Quasimodo for his time—or more poignantly, an Elephant Man, a victim of prejudice against ugliness in a society that worshipped beauty.
    Whatever the reason for her compassion, Erika said, “I can make a life for you here. But you must be discreet. It will be a secret life. Only I must know. Would you like to live here free from need?”
    His smile would have stampeded horses. “Jocko would like that.” Seeing her bafflement, he said, “Jocko seems to suit me.”
    “Swear you’ll conspire with me to keep your presence secret. Swear, Jocko, that you come here with only innocent intentions.”
    “Sworn! He who became me was violent. I who was him want peace.”
    “Your kind have a reputation for saying one thing and meaning another,” Erika observed, “but if you cause the slightest trouble, please know that I will deal with you severely.”
    Puzzled, he said, “Others like me exist?”
    “In fairy tales, there are many similar to you. Trolls, ogres, imps, manikins, gremlins … And all the literary allusions referring to such folk suggest they’re full of mischief.”
    “Not Jocko.” The whites of his eyes were red in the red light, and the lemon-yellow irises were orange.“Jocko hopes only to perform some service to repay your kindness.”
    “As it happens, there is something you could do.”
    “Jocko thought there might be.”
    His sly look seemed to belie his claim to innocence, but