Child of Darkness

by V. C. Andrews

  "It all looks as good on her as it does on you," the salesgirl, Deirdre, said, and I realized Ami had the exact same dress and shoes, as well as the handbag. Why was she duplicating her own wardrobe for me? I wondered.

  "I'm starved!" Ami suddenly exclaimed. Of course, considering how little she had eaten for breakfast, that didn't surprise me. "We need fuel before we can continue. Buying the right things is work. Few people realize how hard it is, especially Wade. Which reminds me. Deirdre, put it all on my bill," she cried with a wave of her hand while she hooked my arm and rushed me out the door.

  "I left my clothes and shoes in the changing room!" I screamed.

  "Good, and good riddance to it all. Who wants to take that ugly stuff back to our house anyway?" She laughed, and we drove off to have lunch at her favorite upscale restaurant.

  I couldn't believe the prices on the menu. Every-thing was so expensive. Ami ordered a fancy chicken salad, but for someone who said she was starving, she ate very little. I didn't eat much either. I was very nervous. My sexy dress made me so selfconscious, I was sure everyone's eyes were on me, especially the men, who were all dressed in sport jackets with ties or suits. Many knew Ami and stopped by to say hello, and when they did, I could feel their eyes moving over my breasts. She introduced me as her young companion. Just as with Mrs.

  Stone at the hotel, she made me sound like some sort of exchange student.

  I hadn't had all that much experience being with an older, pretty woman who was married, but I couldn't help noticing how Ami flirted with every man, no matter what he looked like. Some took her hand and kissed her cheek, but no matter what, she teased with her eyes, held on to their hands practically until they walked away, and said many things that were suggestive, turning even the most innocent words into something sexual. When one man, Chris O'Connor, said he hadn't seen her for a while, Ami replied, "You're just not looking hard enough, Chris. It's important that it's hard enough."

  He turned crimson, right to the tip of his nose, stuttered and stammered, and hurried away to join his group. Ami followed his retreat with a laugh and winked at me.

  "See how men are so easy to manipulate? They could be made of putty, for all I know."

  Why did she take so much pleasure in teasing them? What if her behavior got back to Wade? I thought. Wouldn't he be very upset? Why didn't that concern her? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask when suddenly Basil walked in with a woman who looked half his age holding onto his arm.

  "Well, isn't this a co-inky-dink," Ami muttered, and gave Basil a big smile.

  He nodded at her, but walked on to a table in the far corner of the room.

  "You think he's embarrassed?" Ann whispered, leaning toward me. "He's not embarrassed. That's not why he's not coming over to us. He just doesn't want the girl to know he has a daughter-in-law older than she is."

  She glared at him, her eyes narrowing darkly.

  "Why does it upset you so much? I thought you told me you knew he was like that," I said, and she looked at me sharply for a moment before smiling.

  "Oh, it doesn't upset me. Not really. Well, maybe a little. He is family, and what he does can bring embarrassment to us all," she explained.

  But what about what she did? I thought. No. There was something else. It was like a message coming from somewhere, a message growing louder, louder. I looked about the room. Was that Noble by the kitchen doorway?

  He turned, and I saw it was just another waiter.

  "Oh, let's get out of here," Ami declared. "We have a lot more important shopping to do, and I want to get home early enough to have a massage. We're going out tonight, remember. Wade's splurging on an elegant dinner, whether he likes it or not."

  She signaled for the check.

  The food she was leaving on her plate would feed two young orphans lunch, I thought. I couldn't help thinking about it. After spending so much of my life counting pennies, saving old ribbons and paper bags, mending socks, and washing clothing until it all faded, it was hard to witness someone spending dollars un-wisely or too loosely. I suppose it would always be that way for me.

  At every boutique and department store we visited afterward, the salesgirls immediately knew what Ami wanted for me. They brought us directly to the garments, the shoes, the blouses and skirts, and in every case, what we were buying was either very close to something Ami had or exactly the same. Before we left the last department store, she took me to the jewelry counter, where she picked out what she called an inexpensive dress watch.

  "You gave me one already," I reminded her.

  "Did I? That doesn't matter. You need more than one dress watch, Celeste."

  I thought the one she had chosen resembled the one she was wearing. It had tiny diamonds at the 12, 3, 6, and 9, and was shaped like an almond.

  "There," she said, "you're almost complete."

  She moved us down to the window case housing earrings and chose three pairs, each with matching necklaces, and each set meant to fit a particular one of the outfits we had bought previously.

  "You're spending so much money on me," I finally gasped. "Wade will be so angry."

  "What of it? I've been so angry, too," she snapped, and then smiled. "It's nothing. I told you. We're rich. Money is not any concern. I can't send you to the Dickinson School underdressed. I won't have anyone referring to you as some poor waif, which is exactly what those snobby girls would do once they looked at you in ordinary clothing without any decent jewelry on you."

  "If they're such snobs, perhaps I should attend the regular public school."

  "Of course not. I know they're snobs, but they have the best teachers and the best facilities, and why shouldn't you have the best as well? You're living with me, and I won't hear of your attending some inferior school. You don't have to like the snobs, but you can learn things from them. Someday, just like me, you'll attract the attention of a wealthy man, and you'll want him to think you're someone with class, someone elegant and sophisticated, won't you?"

  I shrugged.

  "I don't think about my getting married so much," I admitted.

  "Of course you do. You're like me. You go to sleep dreaming about handsome princes and castles, wonderful dances, and a storm of jewels forever falling about you. We're--royalty--and it's not from any bloodline, either. We're royalty because we're beautiful," she declared, laughing and hugging me.

  Then she turned serious and held me out at arm's length.

  "Just enjoy every moment of all this, Celeste. You've waited too long, and you deserve it. Don't you think you deserve it after what you've been through in your life?"

  Why did I deserve it any more than the other orphans in all the orphanages in the world? I wondered, but smiled and nodded anyway.

  "Of course," she said.

  She fluttered her eyelids, smiled, and sighed.

  "Let's do one more thing," she said, gazing at her watch. "I'll sacrifice my massage. I want to take you to my makeup adviser. We have to be sure I'm showing you the right things to do and giving you the makeup that fits you. I'm not really as much of the expert I pretend to be, and I don't want to make any mistakes."

  Before I could agree or disagree, she grasped my hand, ordered the boxes of clothing we had bought sent to her house immediately, and pulled me out. Ami's makeup adviser was at a different department store. Once again, I had the distinct impression he had been told we were coming. His name was Richard Dunn. Ami said he had worked on television shows and for runway models.

  He immediately went to work on my eyebrows and then began to experiment a bit with some makeup shades before concluding that what Ann was using was perfect for my complexion after all. The same went for the shades of lipstick, eye shadow, and liner. Just as she had done with the clothing she had bought for me, Ami duplicated much of her own makeup and bought that for me as well. When we left the department store, I felt like a clone. I was wearing the same outfit, had the same hairstyle, wore similar makeup, and had the same watch and similar earring
s, necklaces, and rings.

  I had no idea how much she had spent on me, but I knew it was a great deal of money, and she had taken all this time as well. How could I ever complain or question any of it? She was obviously so pleased.

  "I just knew you were a truly beautiful girl, Celeste. The moment I set eyes on you that first day I saw you walking up the street, I knew and told myself, this is a deprived young woman who could rise to great heights if she had only the opportunity, and that's what I am going to give you, opportunity. And don't feel you have to thank me all the time. I feel so good doing it. I love to defeat evil fate. That's what happened to you, you know," she said. "Evil fate made you a victim. Mrs. Cukor would agree, I'm sure. I don't usually place much value in those things, but I do like having an influence on someone's future, helping her, I mean. You understand, don't you?" she asked quickly.

  "I think so," I said.

  "Good, good. Because if you weren't happy with everything I was doing, I'd be simply devastated, Celeste, and very disappointed. You're happy, aren't you?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Good."

  She looked relieved. Was I happy? How could I not be? Yet there was something, that old sense of my being followed, that sense of foreboding, that something dreadful was following me, stalking me.

  As we sped along to home, I saw a young man leaning back against a parked car. He raised his head as we passed, and I was sure it was Noble. He was shaking his head slowly. I turned around quickly to look back.

  "What is it?" Ami asked.

  "Nothing. I mean, I thought I saw someone I knew."

  "Really? How could you know someone here?"

  "Right," I said. "How could I?"

  She looked at me with a confused smile on her face. "Don't start pulling Mrs. Cookie stuff on me, Celeste. Not now, not after our wonderful beginning."

  "Mrs. Cookie stuff?"

  "Never mind," she said, and a moment later she began to talk about what we should wear on our first evening out with Wade. She wanted me to wear the red tube dress we had bought at Le Monde, one of the boutiques. It had a slit skirt and rhinestone trim on the top.

  When we returned to the house, we learned Wade hadn't returned home yet. Ami was annoyed.

  "He better not appear and tell me he forgot to make our reservation at Hunters," she warned. "Not that it would matter," she added. "I know the owner too well. He'd go out and buy another table if he had to, to please me. To dress!" she shouted like a battle cry, and charged into her bedroom.

  Mrs. Cukor brought up all the packages and bags and boxes that I couldn't carry. Hardly glancing at me, she began putting everything away.

  "I can do that, Mrs. Cukor," I told her.

  She ignored me and continued to hang up the dresses, skirts, and blouses. Rather than argue with her, I went into the bathroom to take a quick bath, taking great care not to mess up my hair or my makeup. When I emerged, she was gone. Even the makeup had been set out neatly on the vanity table. I shrugged and thought to myself that I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth just because the horse acted strange. I'll just avoid her, I thought. It wasn't critical to my living here that she like me, or I like her.

  I thought I would just take a short rest and lie down on my bed. After a few moments, I realized I smelled something new, something redolent. I sat up, and the smell diminished. More curious than ever now, I lowered myself to my pillow and sniffed. Then I lifted the pillow and saw leaves I recognized as dill, basil, and clove. The clove was the strongest smell. I scooped it all into my palms and stared at it.

  The odors and the sight of the herbs revived old images and memories, like similar leaves tied on doors and on windows. I remembered why my mother put them there. To find them here, under my pillow, made me angry. It wasn't difficult to understand how these herbs got here I carried them all in my palms to the doorway.

  When I opened the door and stepped out, I saw Mrs. Cukor closing the door of the bedroom Basil Emerson used. She had just finished cleaning up in there. I waited for her to turn and look my way.

  "Did you put this under my pillow?" I asked, and held out my hands to show her the leaves.

  She glanced at them but said nothing and started toward the stairway.

  "I know what this is supposed to mean," I said, chasing after her. "Why did you put it under my pillow? Why?" I demanded, raising my voice.

  At the top of the stairway she turned, her eyes darkening as she narrowed them and peered into my face.

  "I knew it when I saw the dead bird. It was a sign, a warning. You brought it into this house, the evil eye. I must drive it out before it does even greater harm," she said, turning and starting down the stairway.

  "Brought . . . what?" I cried after her. "What are you talking about? What evil eye did I bring into this house?"

  She paused and looked up at me, a wry smile on her pale lips.

  "You know," she said. She nodded. "You know."

  She continued down the stairway and didn't look at me again until she reached the bottom. Then she turned, looked at me, made the sign of the cross over her breasts, and walked away. My heart didn't beat fast as much as it beat hard, pounding under my breast. A cold feeling passed over the back of my neck and then, like a melting icicle, dripped and ran down my spine.

  I thought for a moment, and then I spun around.

  And he was standing there.

  Noble.

  He had returned, and he was more than simply a memory, more than Dr. Sackett had described, more than merely a projection of guilt or fear.

  He was there!

  What frightened me, however, was that he was smiling with glee.

  7 Appearances Are Everything

  .

  To whom are you speaking?" Ami asked. She stood in-the bedroom doorway in her

  bathrobe. Her face was covered in a white skin cream, luminescent in the hallway light. I glanced back at where I thought I had seen Noble, but he was gone.

  "I--" I looked toward the stairway. "Mrs. Cukor . . . she put this in my bed under the pillow," I blurted, and extended my arms to show Ami the leaves.

  "What is that?" she asked, grimacing and stepping back as though I had a handful of bugs.

  "Dill, basil, and clove, herbs."

  "What? Why would she put that under anyone's pillow?"

  "These are herbs that have certain magical qualities," I said. "She put them under my pillow to drive away evil, the evil eye."

  "The evil eye? Is that what she told you? That woman. Something has to be done about her. I'm sorry. I'll speak to Wade about her. This has just got to stop."

  "I don't want to be responsible for anyone losing her job," I said quickly.

  "I wouldn't worry about it. I doubt she'll lose her job. Throw that junk away and get ready. We have to look like dynamite on heels," she said, backed into her room, and closed the door.

  She doubted she would lose her job? What was the hold Mrs. Cukor had on this family? I wondered. I re-turned to my room, crumpled the leaves in my hand, and flushed them down the toilet. I immediately felt guilty about it. Maybe it was important, I thought. Maybe she was trying to help me by keeping the evil eye away. Maybe I shouldn't have been so angry. Maybe . . . visions flowed by, memories of Mama, shadows over the lawn, an owl perched on a gravestone.

  I shuddered.

  "Noble?" I whispered. "I know you're here. Where are you? I need to speak with you. I need your advice."

  It felt strange calling to him, speaking to him. It had been so long.

  The curtains on the windows fluttered, even though the windows were closed. I waited, but he did not appear. He's punishing me, I thought. He's punishing me because I have ignored him so long.

  After another moment, I felt my heartbeat slow and my breathing get more regular.

  Get hold of yourself, Celeste, I told myself. Don't spook Ami. Don't risk losing all this now.

  I put on the rhinestone-trimmed tube dress and looked at myself again. I wasn't sure wheth
er I looked beautiful and sexy or simply sexy. Was this a good makeover that I was permitting Ami to accomplish for me, or would I be sorry? Being brought up under such dire and in many ways strict circumstances at the orphanage, I rarely, if ever, thought of myself in the way Ami thought of herself and me: sticks of dynamite, ready to explode in the eyes of every man who looked our way. I never experimented with clothes, with my hair, or of course with makeup. What people saw was what they got.

  How different it was now. hi Ann's world, just like her, I could cast myself into different roles, move through life as if we were in a movie of our own making, treat clothing more like costuming, and listen to our own music in our heads. Every time we left our bedrooms, dressed to go out, we were literally making an entrance onto a stage, imagining a spotlight always on us. I didn't have Ami's confidence yet, and I might never have, but I saw how she anticipated and expected applause, admiration, attention. I had only been here a few days, and I was already moving in lockstep with her.

  Was this what I really wanted? Was I so desperate for love and for family that I would willingly trade my own identity to have it? Or was this my true identity, hidden and waiting all this time for the opportunity to rise to the surface? Was I more Ami's sister than I imagined I was or could be?

  I was usually so good at seeing what lay in waiting for other people. Why was I so poor at doing it for myself?

  I heard a knock on my door and grabbed the purse Ann had bought for my dress. One more glance at myself in the mirror sent me to the door, my heart pounding. I opened it and stepped out. At first I didn't see Ami, and then she stepped forward on my right, and I felt my jaw unhinge.

  I was expecting her to be wearing something similar to what I was wearing, what she wanted me to wear, so we would look like that pair of dynamite sticks she had described. Instead, she looked years older and far more conservative in her jacket and ankle-length violet column dress. The jacket had three-quarter-length sleeves, and the dress a straight neckline. It was far from a revealing garment. What was the most shocking, however, was the wig she was wearing. We no longer had similar hairstyles. Her wig was shoulder length with straight bangs and a slight curl at the shoulder. Most surprising, however, was the color. It was black.