Excerpt from One Door Away From Heaven by Dean Koontz, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"And I was a wise-ass."

"Yeah, I remember now."

"So . . . do you?" Micky asked.

"Do I what?"

"Believe in life after death?"

Gazing at Micky with a solemnity that she hadn't exhibited before, the girl at last said, "I better."

As she negotiated the fallen pickets and crossed the neglected sun-browned lawn next door, the faint click-and-squeak of her leg brace faded until it could have been mistaken for the language of industrious insects hard at work in the hot, dry air.

For a while after the girl had gone into the neighboring house trailer, Micky sat forward in the lounge chair, staring at the door through which she had disappeared.

Leilani was a pretty package of charm, intelligence, and cocky attitude that masked an aching vulnerability. But while remembered moments of their encounter now brought a smile to Micky, she was also left with a vague uneasiness. Like a quick dark fish, some disturbing half-glimpsed truth had seemed to dart beneath the surface of their conversation, though it eluded her net.

The liquid-thick heat of the late-August sun pooled around Micky. She felt as though she were floating in a hot bath.

The scent of recently mown grass saturated the still air: the intoxicating essence of summer.

In the distance rose the lulling rumble-hum of freeway traffic, a not unpleasant drone that might be mistaken for the rhythmic susurration of the sea.

She should have grown drowsy, at least lethargic, but her mind hummed more busily than the traffic, and her body grew stiff with a tension that the sun couldn't cook from her.

Although it seemed unrelated to Leilani Klonk, Micky recalled something that her aunt Geneva had said only the previous evening, over dinner. . . .

"CHANGE ISN'T EASY, Micky. Changing the way you live means changing how you think. Changing how you think means changing what you believe about life. That's hard, sweetie. When we make our own misery, we sometimes cling to it even when we want so bad to change, because the misery is something we know. The misery is comfortable."

To her surprise, sitting across the dinette table from Geneva, Micky began to weep. No racking sobs. Discreet, this weeping. The plate of homemade lasagna blurred in front of her, and hot tears slid down her cheeks. She kept her fork in motion throughout this silent salty storm, loath to acknowledge what was happening to her.

She hadn't cried since childhood. She'd thought that she was beyond tears, too tough for self-pity and too hardened to be moved by the plight of anyone else. With grim determination, angry with herself for this weakness, she continued eating even though her throat grew so thick with emotion that she had difficulty swallowing.

Geneva, who knew her niece's stoic nature, nevertheless didn't seem surprised by the tears. She didn't comment on them, because she surely knew that consolation wouldn't be welcome.

By the time Micky's vision cleared and her plate was clean, she was able to say, "I can do what I need to do. I can get where I want to go, no matter how hard it is."

Geneva added one thought before changing the subject: "It's also true that sometimes — not often, but once in a great while — your life can change for the better in one moment of grace, almost a sort of miracle. Something so powerful can happen, someone so special come along, some precious understanding descend on you so unexpectedly that it just pivots you in a new direction, changes you forever. Girl, I'd give everything I have if that could happen for you."

To stave off more tears, Micky said, "That's sweet, Aunt Gen, but everything you have doesn't amount to squat."

Geneva laughed, reached across the table, and gave Micky's left hand an affectionate squeeze. "That's true enough, honey. But I've still got about half a squat more than you do."

Excerpted from One Door Away from Heaven by Dean Koontz Copyright 2001 by Dean Koontz. Excerpted by permission of Bantam, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.