The Homing

Product Description After years of living in Los Angeles, pretty young widow Karen Spellman and her two daughters are returning to the lush, verdant countryside of Karen's childhood, where she plans to marry her high-school sweetheart. But something sinister awaits the Spellmans. Something so hideous it seems not earthly, but spawned in Hell. Now Karen must protect her daughters from a malign, preternatural force that must satisfy its gruesome thirst for unsuspecting prey . . . . From the Paperback edition. Review “INTENSE ACTION . . . THE SORT OF OLD-FASHIONED TERRORS THAT HAVE MADE HIM THE MOST CONSISTENTLY BESTSELLING HORROR WRITER NEXT TO KING AND KOONTZ.”–Publishers Weekly (starred review)From the Paperback edition. From the Inside Flap of living in Los Angeles, pretty young widow Karen Spellman and her two daughters are returning to the lush, verdant countryside of Karen's childhood, where she plans to marry her high-school sweetheart. But something sinister awaits the Spellmans. Something so hideous it seems not earthly, but spawned in Hell. Now Karen must protect her daughters from a malign, preternatural force that must satisfy its gruesome thirst for unsuspecting prey . . . . From the Paperback edition. About the Author JOHNSAUL’s first novel, Suffer the Children, published in 1977, was an immediate million-copy bestseller. He has since written twenty-three successive bestselling novels of suspense, including The Manhattan Hunt Club, Nightshade, The Right Hand of Evil, The Presence, Black Lightning, and Guardian. He is also the author of the New York Times bestselling serial thriller The Blackstone Chronicles, initially published in six installments but now available in one complete volume. His most recent novel is Midnight Voices. Mr. Saul divides his time between Seattle, Washington, and Maui, Hawaii.From the Paperback edition. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Caroline Evans’s dream was not a nightmare, and as it beganevaporating into the morning light, she tried to cling to it,wanting nothing more than to retreat into the warm, sweet blissof sleep where the joy and rapture of the dream and the realityof her life were one and the same.Even now she could feel Brad’s arms around her, feel hiswarm breath on her cheek, feel his gentle fingers caressing herskin. But none of the sensations were as sharp and perfect asthey had been a few moments ago, and her moan—a moan thathad begun in anticipation of ecstasy but which had alreadydevolved into nothing more than an expression of pain andfrustration—drove the last vestiges of the dream from her consciousness.The arms that a moment ago had held her in comfort weresuddenly a constricting tangle of sheets, and the heat of hisbreath on her cheek faded into nothing more than the weakwarmth of a few rays of sunlight that had managed to penetratethe blinds covering the bedroom window.Only the fingers touching her back were real, but they werenot those of her husband leading her into a morning of slowlovemaking, but of her eleven-year-old son prodding her to getout of bed.“It’s almost nine,” Ryan complained. “I’m gonna be late forpractice!”Caroline rolled over, the image of her husband rising in hermemory as she gazed at her son.So alike.The same soft brown eyes, the same unruly shock of brownhair, the same perfectly chiseled features, though Ryan’s hadnot quite emerged from the softness of boyhood into the perfectlydefined angles and planes that had always made every-one—men and women alike—look twice whenever Bradentered a room.Had the person who killed him looked twice? Had he lookedeven once? Had he even cared? Probably not—all he’d want-edwas Brad’s wallet and watch, and he’d gone about it in themost efficient method possible, coming up behind Brad, slippingan arm around his neck, and then using his other hand toshove Brad’s head hard to the left, ripping vertebrae apart andcrushing his spinal cord.Maybe she