Child of Darkness

by V. C. Andrews

  "Is Wade still working in the office?"

  "I don't know what he's doing, but I imagine he is," she replied without much interest. She yawned. "This has been a big day for me, too. I'm sleeping until noon, so you're on your own in the morning. Sunday is a dead day around here anyway. Basil will have a hangover and droop about the place before he leaves, if he's here at all tomorrow, and Wade will camp out in the den and watch news and financial programs all morning after he has his breakfast. He belongs to some investment club, too, and will go there for lunch.

  "After I get up, we'll go shopping," she said.

  "The stores I want to go to aren't open early anyway."

  "What about Wade? Does he ever go to church? At the orphanage, we all had to attend church every Sunday."

  "Church? Not Wade, and I'm there only for weddings and funerals. Actually, not too many funerals. I don't like sad events. Why, do you want to go to church? I thought you said you had your own beliefs, but if you want to go, I'll have someone take you," she said, dropping the corners of her mouth.

  "It's all right. I just wondered about Wade."

  "We'll all wonder about Wade," she muttered, and kept walking. We paused in the hallway in front of her door and mine. I saw her look to the door of one of the two other bedrooms.

  "Basil's probably passed out," she muttered, "Well, have a good first night's sleep here in your new home, Celeste."

  "Thank you."

  "Welcome," she said, hugging me. "We're going to have so much fun together." She kissed me on the cheek and then went to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

  I went to mine and undressed slowly, my arms and shoulders feeling so heavy. It really had been a long day, full of so many different emotions. I wiped off the makeup and crawled into the luxurious bed, sinking happily into the soft mattress and fluffy pillows. I thought I heard a door open and close and then footsteps in the hallway. I listened for a moment, expecting Ami to come to my room to tell me something she had forgotten. There were more footsteps and then another door, sounding more like it had been slammed closed.

  I listened. Despite my fatigue, my curiosity was too great to shove aside. I rose and went to my door, opening it slowly and peering into the now dimly lit hallway. I saw no one and was about to close my door when I spotted something on the hallway floor to my right. It looked like an article of clothing. I stepped out and approached it slowly. What was it?

  I squatted beside it and lifted it to look at it. It was the bottoms to a man's pair of pajamas. Why was it out here like this? I wondered. Confused as to what to do with it, I dropped it where I had found it and started to turn back to my room. I heard muffled voices behind Ami's door, and then what I was sure was the sound of her whimpering. It froze me in my steps. I listened harder. It was whimpering.

  The sound of someone coming up the stairway sent me flurrying back to my room. I closed the door softly, my heart thumping, and listened. If anyone had come up that stairway, he or she was floating over the hall-way floor. I heard nothing. After another long moment, I returned to bed.

  Still, there was only silence now, and my eyelids were so heavy, I couldn't keep them open anyway, even when I imagined I saw Noble at the foot of the bed.

  I called to him, but I didn't hear him speak the way I used to. I thought I heard the sound of a piano, but even that seemed distant and vague. I'm so tired I'm dreaming already, I thought, and whispered his name once more. His name remained on my lips until the morning light slowly lifted my eyelids and introduced me to a new day. My first thoughts were about him. Was I seeing him again? Would I see him now? I gazed around, but he wasn't there.

  Then I thought about the pajama bottom. What did that mean? Whose was it? Why would it be in a hallway?

  With some effort, I sat up and scrubbed my cheeks with my dry palms. My throat felt just as dry. I was just not used to drinking so much alcohol, I thought. How could Ami do it and look so vibrant and fresh all the time? Or was that all just the magic of makeup? The small heart-shaped clock on the night table read 9:00. Could that be? I couldn't remember ever sleeping that late. At the orphanage, sleeping until seven was a luxury.

  I rose and went to my door. Opening it slowly, I peered out and saw that the pajama bottom was gone. How curious, I thought, and wondered if I should even mention it. Perhaps it was just something Mrs. Cukor had dropped when she had brought recently washed laundry upstairs. But I hadn't seen it when Ami and I had returned from the nightclub. Why would Mrs. Cukor be doing wash that late? I shrugged. She was strange enough to do anything, I thought. Maybe it was all a dream. It certainly felt that way at the moment. So much of the evening seemed vague to me now.

  I went to the bathroom to shower. Afterward, I dressed, putting on my best one-piece dress. The only shoes I had to wear were what I called my clodhoppers, the ones with the big wide heels. They were ugly and not very comfortable. Maybe they had been designed by Puritans to torture sinners.

  Ami's bedroom door was shut tight. I thought about the whimpering I had heard and wondered if that hadn't been part of a strange dream as well. After all, I had drunk more alcohol than ever before in my life.

  The house was very quiet. I quietly descended the stairs and went into the dining room. Wade was there, dressed in a jacket and tie, reading the Wall Street Journal. He didn't hear me enter, lowering his paper only when Mrs. McAlister stepped into the dining room, saw me, and exclaimed, "I wondered when you would wake up and come to breakfast! I hope you don't think of this as you would some hotel and expect room service."

  "I'm sorry I got up so late," I said.

  Wade stared at me, a slightly amused look on his face. Did he have to dress so formally even on Sunday? I wondered.

  "I usually don't sleep this late. In fact, I can't remember ever sleeping this late. At the orphanage--"

  "I'll bet," Mrs. McAlister said sharply. "Well, what do you want? Eggs, oatmeal, what?"

  "I'm not that hungry," I said. "I could get it myself."

  "Not in my kitchen," she remarked, putting her hands on her hips and standing in front of the kitchen doorway as though she would fight to the death to prevent me from entering.

  "Good morning," Wade finally said. "Mrs. McAlister has her set way of doing things," he added. "Just tell her what you would like for breakfast."

  "Orange juice. Do you have any cereals?"

  "Only oatmeal," she muttered.

  "Okay," I said. "And coffee, please."

  "Coffee is on the table," she snapped, nodded at it, and went into the kitchen.

  I sat at one of the settings and reached for the coffeepot.

  "Don't mind her," Wade said. "She hasn't been happy for years."

  "Why not?"

  "When her husband died, he left her pretty much destitute. He hadn't paid the premiums on his life insurance, and he had fallen so far behind on the house mortgage that the bank foreclosed on her. He worked for my father, and when he found out, he gave her a job here. She's been here ever since."

  "She doesn't have any children?"

  "No. So, how was your first night here?"

  For a moment I was going to mention what I had seen and heard, but thought it was better I didn't.

  "Very nice, thank you," I said, pouring my coffee and adding a little cream. I wondered if he would ask where Ami and I had gone. He had to have known we had left the house. I didn't want to be grilled about it, but before he could ask anything, Mrs. McAlister burst in with my orange juice.

  "Oatmeal's coming," she said.

  "Thank you," I told her, and sipped my juice. Suddenly I heard the vacuum get turned on down the hallway.

  "Doesn't anyone take Sunday off?" I asked. Wade smiled.

  "Only Ami," he said. "Actually, they could take any day off they wish. Sometimes, Mrs. Cukor leaves on Sunday to visit an old friend in Peekskill, but I think she's been ill lately. She might even be in a hospital. So, what does Ami have planned for you today? Once our princess rises, that is."<
br />
  "She wanted to do some shopping," I said, afraid I shouldn't be the one to tell him.

  He snapped his paper.

  "What a surprise. Another day of shopping. Too bad they don't give out awards for professional shoppers. Ami would win, hands down." He thought a moment and then smiled, as if he didn't want to leave a bad impression. "She's good at it, though. She always buys something special. If it wasn't for her nagging, I would probably look like a refugee from some Third World country. I suppose I'm just too absentminded to care or remember.

  "My mother used to tell me I would wear the same clothes day in and day out for weeks if she didn't come and scoop them up to be washed. What about you? Are you a clothes freak, too?"

  I shrugged.

  "I never had the opportunity to find out," I said, and he smiled and nodded. He glanced at the paper, and then he put it down and looked at me with more interest. "How much do you remember about your early life at that farm?"

  "Some," I said, wondering what he wanted to blow. Was he going to begin asking me questions about what had happened and what people believed about us? Would it turn him against me? "I was only six when I left."

  "Um." He thought a moment and then nodded. "I'll have my financial people look into the property for you, if you like. Just to be sure it's all being handled properly. You don't want to inherit something that has a tax debt on it."

  "Thank you. All I know is, it's being rented out to pay the upkeep and taxes. I saw the first papers on it just this year."

  "Right," he said. "Well, I'll have my attorney check on it. You'll be fine, I'm sure. Ami said she's going to enroll you at the school tomorrow, but if she's not up in time, I'll take the time out to do so myself. Don't worry about it."

  "Thank you."

  Mrs. McAlister appeared with my oatmeal and a platter of toast.

  "There's honey or maple syrup on the table," she remarked, nodding at the bottles.

  "Thank you," I said. I tasted the oatmeal. She stood just to the side, watching. "It doesn't need anything," I remarked.

  She showed pleasure and approval in her eyes only. The rest of her remained stiff, especially her thin lips. She jerked her head toward Wade, nodded as if to say, "There," and then returned to the kitchen.

  "That's about as happy as she gets," he said, and we both laughed. His eyes moved off me and toward the doorway to the hallway. The smile left his face, and I turned to see Mrs. Cukor standing there staring in at us, mainly at me. A long moment passed without her saying anything.

  "Anything wrong, Mrs. Cukor?" Wade said.

  "A bird," she remarked.

  "Pardon?"

  "A bird died on the front stoop this morning."

  "Really? What happened to it?"

  "From the look on its face, it looks like it was frightened to death," she said. "I'm just going out to bury it with some garlic," she added. She narrowed her eyes at me and then walked off.

  "That make any sense to you?" Wade asked me, trying to hold on to his smile. "Burying a bird with garlic?"

  I thought a moment. Garlic was something that stimulated all sorts of early childhood memories. Just at the mention of it, I could smell it. I recalled how it was used as a medicine, and how it was hung about sometimes to ward off something dark and

  unpleasant.

  "Yes," I said softly. "It does."

  Wade raised his eyebrows.

  "Really?" He looked at the empty doorway and then back to me. "Perhaps you and Mrs. Cukor will get along just fine."

  No, I don't think we will, I thought, but didn't say it.

  "Making such a deal over a dead bird. I swear. Maybe Ames right about Mrs. Cukor. My father will keep her until she keels over, however. Now, what I would like to know--"

  "What would you like to know, Wade?" we heard, and turned as Ami entered the dining room. She was in her robe and slippers and looked like she wasn't quite awake, but she had put on some makeup.

  I looked at Wade. Had he been about to ask me about last night?

  He stared at her a moment.

  "What would you like to know?"

  "Nothing," he said, and snapped his paper.

  "What are you eating?" she asked me, grimacing. "Oatmeal? Ugh."

  "It's very good," I said.

  She poured herself a cup of black coffee. Wade lowered his paper.

  "Hangover?"

  "Hanger-on, I'd call it," she said.

  "I take it you showed Celeste a little bit of our nightlife?" he asked. He didn't sound at all angry about it.

  "A little bit," Ami said, not offering any real information. "Basil gone?" she asked in what I thought was a nervous tone.

  "Yes," Wade said, "but he threatened to return in a few days. I'm sure he won't," he added. He looked at his watch. "I've got some things to clean up at the plant, and then I'm going to lunch at the club. Maybe we should eat out tonight."

  "Oh, what a good idea," Ami cried. "I'm surprised I didn't have to suggest it first, Wade."

  "I just thought--" He smiled coolly. "Unless you're too tired from last night, that is," he said. "I didn't hear you come home. I lost myself in bookwork," he added, mostly for my benefit.

  "Too tired to go out to dinner? Never," Ami replied. "It's a wonderful idea. Let's go to Hunters."

  Wade grimaced.

  "Don't you think something more like Billy's Hideaway? The food's good and it's not pricey and--" "No," Arai said thinly. "Hunters."

  Wade nodded.

  "Okay. I'll make a reservation for seven." He stood and looked at me.

  "Enjoy your shopping spree," he said.

  "We will," Ami promised. It sounded more like a threat.

  He folded his paper, glanced at me to smile and nod, and then left.

  As though she was constantly in the doorway watching and listening, Mrs. McAlister appeared instantly and began to clear off his dishes and silverware. Ami nibbled on a small piece of my toasted muffin.

  "Please get me a piece of diet-bread toast, Mrs. McAlister," Ami told her. "The one with the raisins."

  She nodded and returned to the kitchen.

  Ami shook her head and turned to me.

  "See," she said, "see why I need you to help me liven up this dreary place? Billy's Hideaway. If you ever go there, you'll understand why it's a hideaway. All he cares about are the prices on the menu."

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her about the pajama bottom and about her whimpering, but I thought if something had made her sad, she wouldn't want to talk about it. I never liked to do that at the orphanage, no matter how the nuns pleaded for me to reveal what had darkened my eyes and brought tears to my cheeks. I was more comfortable with silence, so I just assumed she would be.

  Ami sipped her coffee. As suddenly as the depressing note had come into her voice, it was gone, and she was excited again.

  "First, we'll go to my beautician and do your hair. I've got that all arranged. Then we'll go to my boutiques and get some fun clothes for you. We'll have lunch at an expensive restaurant, too."

  She slapped the coffee cup down so hard, I was surprised it didn't shatter.

  "Mrs. McAlister!" she shouted.

  The cook appeared instantly.

  "Forget about my toast. I don't have time. Come on," she told me as she rose. "Get ready to leave. We have too much to do to waste time here."

  She squealed with delight and hurried out of the dining room. I felt funny leaving dirty dishes and glasses on the table. All my life, it seemed, I'd helped clean up, especially after myself. I looked back at Mrs. McAlister. She was shaking her head in those small jerky motions that reminded me of a

  weathercock.

  As soon as she was dressed, Ami appeared at my door and held out a pair of designer sunglasses.

  "Take them. I have two pair," she said. "Don't lose them either. They're five hundred apiece."

  "Five hundred?" I hesitated, my hand frozen in midair.

  "I'm just kidding." She pushed them into my hand. "If
you lose them, we'll get them replaced instantly. Put them on," she urged, and I did so. Then she put hers on. They were exactly the same. "We're killers," she said. "Let's go hunt."

  I hurried after her out of the house and into her sports car. As we pulled out of the garage, I looked to the left and saw Mrs. Cukor standing in the field, a shovel gripped in her hand. She looked like someone holding a flag on a field of battle. She watched us leave before returning to her task. Ami hadn't seen her. She was talking quickly, describing her boutiques and the great relationships she had with all the sales personnel. With the money she spent at each shop, that didn't surprise me.

  All day Ami moved me from one place to another as if she didn't want me to stop and think about any-thing. If that was her intention, she was right. I was caught up in a whirlwind of her

  excitement. At times I thought what I looked like was more important to her than it was to me.

  First, we went to her beauty salon.

  "I see where you got the idea for the tint," her beautician, Dawn, said when she set eyes on me. And just nodded and then went into a discussion of my hair. Dawn wanted to do something different from what And wanted to do, but she gave in when she saw how determined Ann was. When Dawn had

  completed the cut and style, it looked like I had a carbon copy of Ami's hairdo. She stood beside me checking out what looked to me like every single strand to be sure we matched.

  "I can't take you to lunch at Mario's dressed like that and wearing those ugly shoes," she said and drove quickly to Ooh-La-La, a boutique in the mall.

  What surprised me was that the salesgirl had the dress all set out for me. Ami had apparently called ahead and picked out a charmeuse and chiffon kneelength spaghetti-strap dress. It had tan charmeuse ties at the Empire bustline and was ruffled at the hem. When I put it on, it felt like tissue paper against my body.

  The shoes that matched were natural wood wedge slides with buckles. Ami said I had to have a handbag to go along with it and bought me a distressed handbag with whipstitching. I felt like such a nerd; I knew practically nothing about style and the latest fashions.