Child of Darkness

by V. C. Andrews

  "What?" That's all I need, someone to remind me of when to say thank you, I thought.

  "Nothing," she said, smiling. "Just kidding. No one says thank-you much around here. And no one apologizes for anything, so don't expect it."

  "I don't," I said. "I don't expect anything from anyone. That way, if something good happens, it's a wonderful surprise."

  She smiled.

  "Actually, my mother made me promise, hand on the Bible, to be your friend. She had promised that to your cousin!'

  "Oh, don't worry about that," I said, glancing at my schedule card to confirm the classroom for my first period. "I don't expect to make any friends here."

  "Huh?" she said, her mouth opening with surprise.

  "Just kidding," I told her, and walked on.

  "Nicely done," I heard on my right and turned to see the dark-haired boy flash me a smile and walk on toward the same classroom. I had no idea he had been standing nearby and listening to our

  conversation.

  As it turned out, he sat across from me. It was our class in economics taught by Mr. Franks, a spry little man in his forties with prematurely gray hair, whose flow of energy and excitement was designed to fill his students with enthusiasm and interest. Sometimes he looked like he was teaching to the back of the room, to an imaginary perfect class of students. I was amused by the way he would ask a question and then, anticipating no response, answer it himself as though someone in the class had done so. I could see that the dark-haired boy was just as amused by him as I was.

  "Hey," he said when the bell rang to end the period, and we stood up to leave. "I'm not the class president, but welcome to Dickinson."

  "Thank you," I said, and then quickly put my hand over my lips. "Oops. Didn't mean to say it."

  He laughed.

  "I'm Trevor Foley. Don't believe anything Lynette tells you," he warned. "She's a pathological liar and the least popular girl in the school. In fact, if anyone wanted to get you off to a bad start with the kids at Dickinson, she'd be the one he'd recommend you be-come friends with.

  "Take your time. Do what everyone else does here: window-shop first:'

  "Is that what you're doing?"

  "Sure. And I like what I see," he told me, smiled, and walked on.

  There was something about him that reminded me of Noble. Was it the way he looked at people? The way he smiled? The mystery in his eyes? Or was it just my wishful thinking?

  After all, there was nothing I feared more than being alone. And something told me that could happen here as easily as it could anywhere.

  9 My Mother's Child

  .

  Ami was waiting for me at the end of the school day, but despite Wade's prediction, she was not full of apologies. She was angry instead. She stood by

  her sports car waving as I stepped out of the front entrance. Trevor was beside me. He and I had spent most of the day together. He had sat with me at lunch, introduced me to other students, and given me advice about some of them and some of our teachers.

  Waverly, who was obviously the class clown, teased him mercilessly about me.

  "You finally found a girl who would give you the time of day, huh, Trevor?" he said at lunch. "Wait until tomorrow," he warned. "When she finds out you just got over a sexually transmitted disease."

  "Shut up, you idiot," Trevor told him, trying not to give him the satisfaction of sounding too angry.

  I could see that Lynette was upset about my not clinging to her offer of friendship. She tried to get me to sit with her at lunch and was both surprised and disappointed that I was already spending time with Trevor.

  "I'm just trying to be nice," she quipped indignantly, but it looked like tears were imminent.

  I invited her to join us. She thought about it for a moment and then opted to sit with two other girls who were at least twenty pounds overweight and shared her disdain for most of the student body. Together they formed a perfect picture: Misery Loves Company.

  "Celeste!" Ami called, even though she knew I had seen her waiting. "Hurry up, we have some things to do and we're already late."

  I turned to Trevor.

  "Thanks for spending so much time with me," I said.

  "Another thank you? I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can do about it now. I'll have to report you tomorrow," he joked.

  I started away, laughing.

  "Hey," he said, catching up and seizing my arm to turn me back. "Seriously, if you have any questions about any of the work, here's my number," he said, and gave me a card. "We all have cards," he added when he saw my surprise. "It's a thing here. Gives you more prestige."

  "Thank yo--never mind," I said, stopping myself and putting his card in my purse.

  "Hey, that's not fair. How about giving me your number?"

  "I don't have a card," I said.

  "But you have a number."

  I laughed and told it to him.

  "See you," he said, and hurried toward his car in the parking lot. I looked after him a moment and then hurried to Ami, who looked after him as well.

  "Is that Trevor Foley?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "You made friends with him already?" she asked. She didn't sound as much impressed as she sounded disappointed.

  "I think it was the other way around," I said. "Why? How do you know him?"

  "I know who the Foleys are. His father owns a dozen car dealerships between here and New York City."

  She looked pensive and then smiled.

  "I knew you would have no trouble here," she said. "Get in. I have a surprise waiting for you at home."

  "A surprise?"

  "Yes, just be patient. So, Wade called," she said, her anger flaring as she got into the car and started the engine, "to bawl me out for not getting you up and getting myself up early enough to register you this morning. Big deal. We could have done it tomorrow just as well."

  I smiled to myself. How did he know her so well and yet not know her at all? I wondered.

  "C'mon. Don't just sit there like a stuffed toy. Tell me about your first day. Do you like the school, the teachers? Did you meet other boys beside Trevor Foley?" She fired her questions in rapid succession. However, the answer to all the questions was a simple yes.

  "What about the other girls?" she followed. "Oh, I know they can be very snobby at first. They want to see what you're all about before they commit to any friendships, but we'll take care of that ASAP.

  "Oh, did you meet Lynette Firestone?" she asked.

  I laughed at how she was more excited about my first day than I was.

  "Yes," I said. "She introduced herself right away." I recalled all she had said. "How did she know our story so quickly? I thought you and I made up the actual details together last night," I said, curious. "Mrs. Brentwood knew what you were going to tell people, too."

  "Oh, I had already planted some ideas around, and we just fleshed them out," she said, waving her hand to toss off the answer as insignificant. "Actually, I tried it out on Lynette's mother first to see how it would fly. Occasionally, we have lunch. Lynette would be a nice friend for you," she added. She smiled. "I'm so happy you have gotten off to a good beginning," she said.

  She went on to tell me about charity events that were upcoming, shopping sprees she had planned for us in New York City, and some possible ideas for vacations.

  "If I can ever get Wade to take one," she added. "Maybe now that you're with us, he'll have to."

  We paused at the gates, and then she said. "Close your eyes."

  "What?"

  "It's the surprise," she said.

  I laughed and did as she asked. We drove in.

  "Not yet," she said. "Not yet. Okay," she said when felt us stop. "Now."

  I opened my eyes. A car was parked in front with a man sitting in the driver's seat. Across the sides of the car was emblazoned SAFETY FIRST DRIVING SCHOOL.

  "Your first lesson," Ami squealed. "He'll be here every day for two weeks, or until he feels you're ready for the
driving test for your license. See. I live up to my promises," she declared. "Go on. He's waiting for you, silly," she said.

  I was just sitting there, staring stupidly.

  "Now?"

  "Of course now. What kind of a teenage girl doesn't drive? Go on," she urged, practically pushing me out of the car. "I'll take your books into the house for you and put them in your room. Go on. Don't keep him waiting. He gets paid by the hour, and you know how Wade is about money."

  Clothes, jewelry, hairdos and makeup, a private school, and now driving lessons, and all this in a matter of days, I thought. I am truly finally lucky.

  My first driving lesson went well. The instructor was nice but almost robotic, repeating instructions, driving regulations, and criticisms frequently in a dry monotone. I thought he had concluded I was simply spastic, but when we returned to the house, he told me I had done exceedingly well for someone who had no previous experience.

  "And unlike my other teenage students, you listened and didn't treat the car like a new toy."

  I thanked him and went into the house through the garage, since the door was still open. Mrs. McAlister was working at a frantic pace in the kitchen, preparing the evening's meal. She barely glanced at me as I passed by. I didn't see Mrs. Cukor about, but I wasn't disappointed. I hurried upstairs, intending to get right into my homework. I wasn't in a panic, but I did realize that in every class, I was behind. In the back of my mind was Mrs. Brentwood's face and her words concerning my good grades at the public school. If I did poorly here, she would certainly feel justified, and I would see it in her face every time I looked her way.

  When I reached my bedroom, I noticed immediately that the garlic was gone from the door handle. Perhaps Wade had spoken to Mrs. Cukor after all, I thought, and went into my room, changed my clothes, and started my homework. I hadn't been at it ten minutes before I heard a knock on my door, and Ami appeared.

  "I'm sorry. I was on the phone. How was your first driving lesson?"

  "I think it went well. He seemed pleased."

  "Good." She hesitated and then said, "You had a phone call. I heard your phone ringing and ringing, so I answered it for you."

  "A phone call."

  "Trevor Foley." Her face turned a bit sour. "You gave your number out rather quickly, didn't you? I advised you to be very selective about that. I mean, you hardly know the boy, and that number is unlisted so that you won't be bothered by every Tom, Dick, and Trevor."

  "Oh." I said. I hadn't thought about it being so precious and restricted. The truth was, I had never had a phone I could call my own, and it was quite exciting to be able to give someone the number.

  "I don't mean to be so critical of you so quickly, Celeste, but I do want to look after your welfare and give you the benefit of my years and years of experience, especially when it comes to men. Boys," she added.

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "What happens is, you give it to one boy and then he gives it to another and another, and before you know it, they're all calling and saying stupid things to you to try to get you into bed with them. You have to understand from the start that their reason for calling you, for talking to you, for being friendly, is purely to get you to sleep with them. It's their nature. They can't help it."

  She continued into the room and sat on my bed.

  "Maybe I should give you a first lesson about boys. I know how isolated from the real world you've been. Those nuns wrapped the Bible around you, built walls between you and boys."

  "Well, not entirely," I began. "The wall wasn't that high."

  "It was high enough," she said sharply. "As soon as a boy's hormones develop, they take over completely. You can see it in the way they look at you, if you're observant. They're looking right through your clothes, imagining your breasts, your stomach, between your legs, everything. They make love to you in their minds over and over until their tongues hang out."

  I caught the note of bitterness in her voice, and she saw that I had. She smiled.

  "I don't mean to make them sound so horrible. I just want you to be aware. My mother was always quoting, 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' And for good reason. So many girls younger than you ruin their lives for a few moments of physical pleasure. They lose their reputations and then finally their self-respect. They become cynical and depressed and end up hating either themselves or everyone around them. Many become mentally ill. Yes, they do, Celeste, and you have had a very difficult childhood to overcome. Look how far you've come, too. I would just hate myself if I put you in harm's way. You can appreciate and understand that, can't you?"

  "Yes, of course," I said.

  "Good." She looked down at her hands and then up at me, her eyes glowing with tears held firmly back. "I just hate having to sound like I'm chastising you. I always hated it when my mother did that, or especially when my father did. I know it makes you feel small and empty inside."

  She smiled.

  "Just like me, you feel certain you can take care of yourself. I know. It's the arrogance of youth," she added, holding her head high. She laughed. "You feel nothing bad can happen. It makes you reckless. I can tell you I was, but I was lucky to have such strong parents."

  I listened, but I couldn't help raising and bringing my eyebrows together. Wade had told me her parents were too permissive, and careless about their obligations. Why did he believe one thing and she another so dramatically different?

  "Come here a moment," she asked, smiling. She reached out for me. I rose and took her hand. She patted beside her on the bed for me to sit. She still held onto my hand.

  "You don't realize how beautiful you are yet, Celeste. Where you lived and how you lived made that difficult for you to appreciate, I know. They probably told you it's a sin to think of yourself as beautiful, to concentrate on your looks, right?"

  "Sort of," I admitted.

  "Of course they did. That's what they do because they're so unhappy about their own

  appearances themselves. Misery loves company," she said, as if she had heard my thoughts earlier in the day and wanted to show me we thought alike.

  "I don't think it was quite that way, but--"

  "It was. Believe me," she practically

  commanded. Then she smiled. "It doesn't matter. What matters is what's true, and it's true you are beautiful. Now, when a girl is already out in the world, the normal world, and she grows into her own, into her own beauty, she has had some preparation and at least has some idea of what to expect.

  "But you . . . you were kept under lock and key, shut away in that place or one like it previously, and then suddenly, here I come along and emancipate you, just like Lincoln emancipated the slaves."

  I started to smile.

  "Don't laugh. I'm not making a foolish statement. It is like that. You're so free to do practically anything you want. In fact, you have more freedom, because you have the advantages now. You have your own things. You have beautiful clothing, a magnificent new home, and soon"--her eyes twinkled--"you'll have your own car. You will."

  She squeezed my hand harder.

  "However, with freedom comes responsibility. You must promise me on your soul, on your heart and your soul, on your very life that you will not give away your treasure quickly and foolishly. You must find restraint. You must--"

  "I wouldn't do that, as much for myself as for anyone else," I said firmly.

  She stared a moment, and then she smiled and nodded.

  "No, you wouldn't. I knew that about you the moment I set eyes on you. You are very special, Celeste. You have something those other girls don't have. I'm so happy about that."

  She took a deep breath of relief and let go of my hand. Then she stood up.

  "Let's make a pact for now. Until you're really settled in and you have a firm understanding of what I would call the lay of the land, you won't go on any dates or spend any time alone with any of the boys you meet. You can talk to them on the phone, of course, but for a while, let's keep them all at a safe di
stance. Not that you would be too weak or that I don't trust you," she quickly added. "I just would feel better. I can't imagine how I would feel if I had brought you into some danger instead of improving your life."

  I stared at her and thought to myself, wasn't she throwing up walls even higher and thicker than all the Mother Higginses in the world had done or could do? Wasn't she imprisoning me in a real sense?

  "When you say for a while, how long do you mean?" I asked, full of disappointment.

  "Oh, not long at all, but long enough to be certain you're on solid ground. If I didn't look after you properly, Wade would be all over me anyway, Celeste. He might even want me to send you back," she concluded, a thick sense of threat underlying her final words.

  It brought blood to my face.

  Behave and do as I want you to do, or we'll send you back, was the message, clear and strong.

  This was a day full of threats, I thought, recalling my moments with Mrs. Brentwood in her office after Wade had gone. Was there something on my forehead, something about me I couldn't see but others could? Was it the dark cloud of my past that hovered over my head? When had I been anything but a good girl, a proper girl, obedient and responsible and trustworthy? Mother Higgins appreciated me, but was that for the reasons Ami suggested? Was it because I was so shackled by the orphanage, by the religious chains? If someone is locked away for her whole life, is she far less likely to be a sinner?

  "Just show me you can handle the freedom," Ami finally said. "That's all I ask. Okay?"

  I nodded.

  "Okay."

  "Good. Good. Let that be the only serious, mean conversation between us ever." She pressed her palms together as if it was a prayer, hugged me, and then started to leave. "Oh, Basil is coming to dinner again tonight. Mrs. McAlister is preparing Irish stew, one of his favorite meals, especially the way she prepares it. Wear the outfit I got you at Oh-La-La, and don't forget the cologne he likes. After all," she said, trailing a thin laugh, "he's really paying for all this in one way or another."

  She left, closing the door softly behind her. It wasn't until that moment that I realized my heart had been pounding. Why was it so important to always look sexy for Basil? He was truly like the king of the manor.