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WE THREE By Dean R. Koontz 1 JONATHAN, JESSICA, AND I ROLLED OUR FATHER
THROUGH THE DINING room and across the fancy Olde English kitchen. We had some
trouble getting Father through the back door, because he was rather rigid.
This is no comment on his bearing or temperament, though he could be a chilly
bastard when he wanted. Now he was stiff quite simply because rigor mortis had
tightened his muscles and hardened his flesh. We were not, however, to be
deterred. We kicked at him until he bent in the middle and popped through the
door frame. We dragged him across the porch and down the six steps to the
lawn. “He weighs a ton!” Jonathan said, mopping his sweat-streaked brow, huffing and puffing. “Not a ton,” Jessica said. “Less than two hundred pounds.” Although we are triplets and are surprisingly similar in many
ways, we differ from one another in a host of minor details. For example,
Jessica is by far the most pragmatic of us, while Jonathan likes to
exaggerate, fantasize, and daydream. I am somewhere between their two
extremes. A pragmatic daydreamer? “What now?” Jonathan asked, wrinkling his face in disgust and nodding toward the corpse on the grass. “Burn him,”
