The Unloved: A Novel by John Saul (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Unloved by John Saul The Devereaux mansion basks in splendid isolation on its island off the South Carolina coast, ruled by the "invalid", hateful matriarch of the Devereaux family. Then, suddenly, horribly, Mother dies inside the locked nursery, and all the secrets of the once-proud family emerge to wrap their evil around the unsuspecting children, teaching them the true horror of The Unloved. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Lush, a deceptively tranquil, the secluded islandbasks in splendid isolation off the South Carolinacoast--as does the Devereaux mansion, a once-greatplantation house now crumbling amidst the ancientoaks. Now, for the first time in two decades,Kevin Devereaux has returned here with his wife andchildren to visit Kevins hated, and frighteningmother. She said she was ill--but is that really whythe old woman has summoned the son she has notseen in so many years? Suddenly, horribly, one ofthe Devereauxs is going to die. And now, all thedark secrets of this once-proud family will emergeto wrap their evil around the unsuspectingchildren. Until, in the shadowed corridors anddust-covered rooms of the decaying old house, they learn thetrue terror of The Unloved. Author Biography John Sauls first novel,Suffer the Children, was an immediate million-copy bestseller. His other bestselling suspense novels includePerfect Nightmare, Black Creek Crossing, andThe Presence. He is also the author of theNew York Timesbestselling serial thrillerThe Blackstone Chronicles, initially published in six installments but now available in one complete volume. Saul divides his time between Seattle and Hawaii. Review "Saul has the instincts of a natural storyteller."--People Review Quote "Saul has the instincts of a natural Excerpt from Book CHAPTER 1 She was in the darkness somewhere, moving slowly toward him. Though he couldnt see her--he never saw her, never until the last minute--he could feel her coming. It was almost as if he could smell her, but that wasnt it either, for the smell--the strange musky odor that filled his nostrils--was his own fear, not the scent of her. He wanted to hide from her, but knew that he couldnt. Hed tried that before and it had never worked. And yet now, as he felt her presence creeping ever closer, he tried to remember why hed never been able to hide. Nothing came into his mind. No memories; no images. Just the certain knowledge that hed tried to hide before, and failed. But maybe this time ... He tried to think, tried to remember where he was. But again there was no memory, no feeling of place. Only the blackness curling around him, making him want to shrink into himself and disappear. Suddenly a streak of light cut through the darkness, and he shaded his eyes with a hand, trying to shield himself from the stabbing glare. Then, through the blinding light, he saw the angry visage, the womans hate-twisted face as she stared down at him. The door was pulled wider, and the light surrounded him, washing away the shadows that had failed to hide him. The woman stood before him, and though she didnt speak, his hands dropped away from his face and he looked directly up at her. "Why are you here?" he heard her demand. "You know I dont want you here!" He tried to think, tried to remember where he was. He looked around furtively, hoping the woman wouldnt see his eyes flickering about as if he might be searching for a means to escape. The room around him looked strange--unfinished--the rough wood of its framing exposed under the tattered remains of crumbling tarpaper. Hed been in this place before--he knew that now. Still, he didnt know where the room was, or what it might be. But he knew the woman was angry with him again, and in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew what was going to happen next. The woman was going to kill him. He wanted to cry out for help, but when he opened his mouth, no scream emerged. His throat constricted, cutting off his breath, and he knew if he couldnt fight the panic growing within him, he would strangle on his own fear. The woman took a step toward him, and he cowered, huddling back against the wall. A slick sheen of icy sweat chilled his back, then he felt cold droplets creeping down his arms. A shiver passed over him, and a small whimper escaped his lips. His sister. Maybe his sister would come and rescue him. But she was gone--something had happened to her, and he was alone now. Alone with his mother. He looked fearfully up. She seemed to tower above him, her skirt held back as if she were afraid it might brush against him and be soiled. Her hands were hidden in the folds of the skirt, but he knew what they held. The axe. The axe she would kill him with. He could see it then--its curved blades glinting in the light from the doorway, its long wooden handle clutched in his mothers hands. She wasnt speaking to him now, only staring at him. But she didnt need to speak, for he knew what she wanted, knew what shed always wanted. "Love me," he whispered, his voice so tremulous that he could hear the words wither away as quickly as they left his lips. "Please love me...." His mother didnt hear. She never heard, no matter how many times he begged her, no matter how often he tried to tell her he was sorry for what hed done. He would apologize for anything--he knew that. If only she would hear him, hed tell her whatever she wanted to hear. But even as he tried once more, he knew she wasnt hearing, didnt want to hear. She only wanted to be rid of him. The axe began to move now, rising above him, quivering slightly, as if the blade itself could anticipate the splitting of his skull, the crushing of his bones as they gave way beneath the weapons weight. He could see the steel begin its slow descent, and time seemed to stand still. He had to do something--had to move away, had to ward off the blow. He tried to raise his arms, but even the air around him seemed thick and unyielding now, and the blade was moving much faster than he was. Then the axe crashed into his skull, and suddenly nothing made sense anymore. Everything had turned upside down. It was his mother who cowered on the floor, gazing fearfully up at him as he brought the blade slashing down upon her. It was he who felt the small jar of resistance as the axe struck her skull, then moved on, splitting her head like a melon. A haze of red rose up before him, and he felt fragments of her brains splatter against his face. He opened his mouth and, finally, screamed-- He was sitting straight up in bed, the sheets tangled around him, his body clammy with the same icy sweat hed felt in the dream. Before him the image of his mothers shattered skull still hung in the darkness, then was washed away as the room filled with light. "Kevin?" he heard his wife ask, then felt her hand on his arm. "Kevin, what is it? Are you all right?" Kevin Devereaux shook off the last vestiges of the dream and got out of bed. Though the mid-July night was hot, he was shivering. He wrapped himself in a robe before he answered Anne, his voice hoarse. "It was a dream. I thought my mother was trying to kill me, but in the end, I killed her." He turned to face her. "I killed her," he repeated, his voice echoing oddly. "I killed my mother." "But it was only a dream," Anne replied. She reached over and fluffed up his crumpled pillow, then tugged the sheets straight. "Come back to bed and forget it. We all have strange dreams, but they dont mean anything. Besides," she added, "the way you feel about your mother, Im amazed you dont have that dream every night." Kevin tried to force a smile he didnt feel. "I did, for a while," he said. "When I was a kid I used to wake up with it all the time. They finally had to give me a private room at school, because my roommate said I screamed so loud he couldnt sleep. But I havent had it since I was sixteen or seventeen. I thought it was over with." Anne patted the spot next to her on the bed. "Now, come on. Whatever brought it on, its all over with now, and youve got to get some sleep." But Kevin only shook his head and knotted the belt of the robe around his waist. "It was different this time," he said. "When I was little I always dreamed Mother was trying to kill me, and I always woke up just before it happened. But this time it all changed. This time, right at the end, I was killing her, and I didnt wake up until she was dead." Annes eyes met his, and the smile that had been playing tentatively at the corners of her mouth disappeared. "Youre serious, arent you?" she asked. "You really think it means something." Kevin spread his hands helplessly. "I wish I knew," he said. "I just have this feeling that maybe somethings happened to her." He glanced at the clock, wondering if he ought to call his sister, then dismissed the idea. At three-thirty in the morning all he would do was give her a good scare. But he knew he couldnt go back to sleep. Not yet. Not until he had thought about the dream, thought about what it might mean, figured out why, after all these years, it had come back to him. He leaned down and brushed Annes lips with his. "Go back to sleep, honey. Im going to go down and raid the refrigerator." Anne gazed at him for a moment, her eyes reflecting her concern. "If youre going to sit down there and brood, youd tell me, wouldnt you?" Kevin chuckled in spite of himself, and kissed her again. "All right, so maybe Im going to brood a little bit. Im forty years old, and I have a right to brood, dont I? Now go back to sleep, and dont worry about me. Ill be fine." He switched off the lamp on Annes bed table, slipped out the door and moved silently down the hall past his childrens rooms, then down the stairs. But instead of going to the kitchen, he went into the living room and settled himself into his favorite chair--a big leather wing chair just like the one in the library, when he was growing up. Just like the one his mother had never let him sit in. But he was forty years old now, and his mother was nearly eighty, and he should have forgotten about that chair--and everything else--a long time ago. And he thought he had, until tonight. Now he realized that he hadnt forgotten anything, and that the dream had, indeed, meant something. It meant that he still hated his mother as much as he ever had. He still wished she were dead. Details ISBN0553272616 Author John Saul Short Title UNLOVED Pages 400 Language English ISBN-10 0553272616 ISBN-13 9780553272611 Media Book DEWEY 813.54 Year 1988 Imprint Bantam USA Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States Alternative 9781596003965 Residence Seattle, WA, US Birth 1948 Subtitle A Novel DOI 10.1604/9780553272611 AU Release Date 1988-06-01 NZ Release Date 1988-06-01 US Release Date 1988-06-01 UK Release Date 1988-06-01 Publisher Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group Inc Format Paperback Publication Date 1988-06-01 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:8025530;

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