Perfect Little Angels

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Our parents, our friends.”

  “Know what?”

  “That we know something’s wrong,” Lois said. “And if they find out, they’ll tell Dr. Lawrence.”

  “So? What will happen?”

  Lois looked out at the development again.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’m afraid,” Lois said softly.

  Justine felt a chill undulate through her body. However, it passed through as quickly as it had come. “But…” She looked out her window again. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here. Here we’re safe.”

  For a long moment, Lois didn’t reply. Then she turned to Justine, her eyelids drooping as if she were fighting great fatigue.

  “Yes. As safe as animals in a zoo, secure in their cages,” she said.

  But Justine didn’t understand, and she was caught in confusion. For now, the sweet lure to comply was irresistible, so she turned back to her homework.

  Reluctantly, Lois joined her. When they were finished, she left quickly to go home to help her mother set the table and read to her little brother, explaining that these were daily chores. She reminded Justine about the vitamins again, then hurried out. Justine looked out her window to watch her new friend walk down the street.

  Then she straightened out her books and papers. When she discovered the sheet from Lois’s notebook again, she stared down at it with the same disbelief. It disgusted her. Finally, she tore it up into little pieces and dropped it in the waste paper basket, treating it like some profane utterance.

  It’s a forgery, she told herself. I could never hate Elysian Fields, she added, putting it out of her mind for what she thought would be forever.

  “When you were a little boy,” his father began, “there wasn’t very much out there. We didn’t even have a paved road leading up to the house, but it was wonderful being surrounded by the wild fields and the forest. One could think up here; one could concentrate without fear of distraction.

  “Over there to the left is Sandburg Creek, which was also not half as developed as it is now. Even so, there were enough lights and traffic to make it sound like a little beehive in the distance, and at night the sky over that town had a pink glow from the lights of civilization.

  “Your mother liked to sit out here on summer nights and look out at the clear, starry sky. When there was a full moon, it would almost be as bright as it is down there now.”

  His father stood up and motioned for him to follow. He rose so quickly, he looked as though he were his father’s shadow. They were out in front of the house, looking down at Elysian Fields. His father said this was the beginning of his reorientation with reality. His father’s voice was soft and kind now, a voice he had rarely heard. He was afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid he would break the spell.

  But he wasn’t sure he was really out here with him. When he looked back at the house, he saw himself standing by the window, looking out. Were there two of him? Sure, that’s it, he thought. There’s me and there’s him, the other one, the one his father was creating. Now which one of us is out here?

  “Eugene,” his father said, “look out there. What do you see?” When he hesitated, his father turned to him. “Go on, tell me what you see.”

  He peered down at the houses. The streets were so well lit that the community seemed to be housed in a giant bubble that kept night out.

  “A giant bubble,” he said.

  “Really?” His father looked again, as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes, I see what you mean. Well, in a true sense, it is a giant bubble, Eugene. I’m keeping everything under glass.” His father liked the sound of that. He laughed. “Under glass,” he repeated.

  “You know what I mean now when I tell you this is my project,” his father said, spreading his arms far apart so that he resembled Christ on the mountain. “I created all of it. And, like God, I control it. At least, that’s what I’m trying to do. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes,” he said. “They’re toys.”

  “Toys? I suppose you can say that. Yes. You have an original way of putting things, Eugene. You always did. As you know, your teachers thought you were very creative, and they excused your inadequacies in other areas because of that. A very bad mistake, I think. Anyway,” he said, turning back to the houses spread out before him, “it’s going well, Eugene. Better than I ever expected it would. Only, there are a few hitches here and there, trouble spots that have to be mended, problems that have to be solved, mistakes that have to be corrected.”

  He nodded. He didn’t want his father to stop, and he didn’t want to go back inside the house and join his other self just yet. He always liked being out at night, especially when the sky was clear and dotted with stars. He remembered his mother enjoying the warm nights, and he remembered sitting out here with her and listening to her tales about the constellations. He even remembered his father joining them occasionally.

  Doing things he used to do when she was here and being in the places she used to be made him feel as if she had returned, as if all that had happened since was a long, bad dream. Perhaps now that he was waking up, all the good feelings would come back. He turned back to the house to see if his other self was still watching. He was. Can’t blame him, he thought. He wants to come out, too.

  “Anyway, Eugene,” his father continued, turning back to the town below, “that’s where you’re going to come in. That’s where you’re going to help me. You’re going to help correct things from time to time. You don’t mind doing that, do you?” he asked. “You want to help, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  His father laughed. “You almost sound sincere—as if you have a will of your own,” his father said. “But in the end, it really doesn’t matter, does it? It’s the same with everything down there. In the end, it doesn’t matter if they do it because I tell them to do it or because they have come to the point where they, themselves, want to do it.

  “When you think about it, Eugene,” he said, turning back to him, “this is what it’s all about—power, control—no matter if it’s a church or a government or a civic organization. Someone always wants to have control. Correct?”

  He nodded quickly.

  “What do you feel like doing right now, Eugene? What comes to mind?”

  He looked from his father to the lights below, and then back to his father.

  “I want to fly,” he said. “Fly over the toy houses.”

  “You can’t fly, Eugene. You’re not a bird, and, anyway, I don’t want you in the light. Remember that. The light is bad. You know what the light can do to you?” He shook his head. “It can turn you into a blob of protoplasm, a pool of human jelly. It can melt you. Never go in the light. From this day forward until I tell you otherwise, you are a creature of darkness. Understand?”

  He stared at his father, then looked back at the house.

  “What about him?” he asked. His father looked back at the house.

  “Who?”

  “Him. The other me.”

  “Oh, him. He can’t come out of the house.”

  “Never?”

  “That’s the way it has to be, Eugene. He stays in. You come out, but only at night, and never do you go in the light. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were always a very bright boy, Eugene. You saw your IQ scores, your aptitude tests. You have high native ability, great conceptual capacity. Your failure to do well in school was the result of other things, not your lack of intelligence. Now, Eugene,” his father said, turning him back to the development, “I’m going to number the houses below so you will be able to identify them. You don’t have to know the names of the people in them, just the numbers, okay?”

  “Like painting by numbers?”

  “Exactly. I’m going to paint the development in your mind by numbers. I have reasons for this. You don’t have to know the reasons right now, but later on, I’ll need you to help me. Think you’re ready?”

  “I’m ready,�
� he said. He looked back at the house. Too bad about him, he thought. He’ll never be ready. He’ll have to stand in the window and watch me.

  “Okay. Right below us, you see house number one. I want you to go down there, staying in the darkness all the time. Go into the back yard, and get that potted plant on the small, round metal table. Understand? Get it and bring it up to me without being seen by anyone in the house. Go on,” his father said and pointed.

  He shot forward like a golden retriever and scurried down the small slope, sliding over the grass, running, it seemed to him, on air. He suddenly realized why. He had been turned into a shadow. When he reached the bottom of the hill, he looked up and saw his father’s silhouette. His father was a shadow now, too. He was the son of a shadow. It was easy to become one with the night. It also explained why his father told him to avoid the light. Light burned away shadows. Light was deadly.

  When he reached the rear patio of house number one, he crouched into a ball. Then he rolled himself to the edge of the patio. He flowed over the stone until he reached the small metal table and seized the potted plant in his dark hands, hands he, himself, could not see.

  But just before he started away, he saw her through the patio door. She had a glass in her hand, and she wore a diaphanous nightgown. The outline of her breasts and her small, flat stomach was vivid. He was fascinated because of the way the light passed through her body. She didn’t melt, nor did she disappear. She absorbed the light; she even seemed nourished by it. He watched her until she was gone.

  Then he turned and rushed back into the night. He scurried up the hill, clutching the plant to him. When he reached the top, he paused, and then moved to the patio and joined his father’s shadow.

  “Good,” his father said. “That was very good, Eugene.” He took the plant from him and handed him a tiny chocolate bar. “Go on, eat it,” he said. “You earned it.”

  He stripped away the wrapper and put it in his mouth. The taste was fantastic, and with that taste came a whole rush of memories of delicious things he had not had for…forever. Unfortunately, the tiny chocolate bar was gone in seconds.

  “Want another?” his father asked.

  He nodded.

  “Take this plant back and put it exactly where you found it on that table,” he said. “Go on,” he said, handing him the plant.

  He responded instantly, moving swiftly through the darkness. He looked through the patio door again, hoping to see the creature of light, but she wasn’t there. He put the plant back and rushed up the hill where his father waited with another small chocolate bar. He seized it greedily and shoved it into his mouth, forgetting to take off the wrapper.

  His father laughed. “Ye old carrot and stick method,” his father said. “Eugene,” he said, putting his arm around him, “you’re going to be all right now. You really are going to be my assistant, okay?”

  He nodded, and his father led him back to the house. The other backed away from the window and retreated to the darkest corners of his bedroom to wait.

  When he reached his bed and undressed, he lay back expectantly, but his father came to the door to stop the nurse.

  “Mildred, forget the straps. He doesn’t need them anymore,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  “I think I know when I’m sure,” his father said sharply.

  “Nevertheless, I’m locking my bedroom door,” she said.

  His father laughed. “I should have him lock his instead,” he said. “Good night, Eugene. Welcome back.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “But I forgot where I was.”

  “You weren’t here, that’s for sure,” Mildred said. He watched her walk out behind his father. She closed the door and left him in complete darkness.

  It was then that his other self emerged, approaching the bed. When he looked up into the darkness, he could just make out his image.

  “How was it?” he asked, envy dripping from his voice.

  “It was…good. I felt free and I was able to fly. As long as I stay in the darkness, I can fly.”

  “It’s not fair. I should be out there with you.”

  “I can’t do anything about that. Don’t make me feel bad. I feel good now,” he pleaded.

  “He gave you chocolate. I saw him.”

  “So?”

  “You ate it all?”

  “It was just a small piece,” he explained.

  “You could have saved a little for me.”

  “I didn’t think of it. Next time, I will. I promise.”

  “Sure.” He could almost see him smirking.

  “I mean it.”

  “I won’t hold my breath. I’ll tell you this—I’m not staying in here forever.”

  “Listen to me,” he said, sitting up. “If you go out there into the light, you’ll disappear. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not staying in here forever,” his other self repeated, then stepped back into the darkness.

  “Hey,” he called. “Hey.” He wouldn’t return. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he whispered, but there was no response. He listened for a long time, then turned over and closed his eyes.

  He had been flying, floating over the land. He couldn’t wait to do it again. It wasn’t only that the movement felt good, either; it had also pleased his father.

  He was forgiving him. He really was. That was why he had spent all this time working with him and why he was now permitting him to help him with one of his important projects.

  Maybe, if he worked hard enough and was good enough, he would be able to find a way to put her head back, too.

  And then, they would be all together again, sitting on the front patio, looking up at the stars, listening to her talk about the constellations.

  It would be so good, even if the three of them were only shadows and could live only in the darkness.

  He turned over and called to his other self.

  “Hey, listen,” he said. “I just thought of something that is going to make you very happy.” He waited. After a long moment, he heard his reply.

  “What?”

  “If this works out, you and I will become one again. And you’ll be out there with me, and you’ll get the chocolate, too.”

  “You’ll screw up; you always do.”

  “No, I’m going to really try this time. I promise. No screw-ups. Trust me.”

  He listened. “Well?” he asked.

  “You’ll go into the light and die and leave me here, lingering in the darkness,” his other self finally said.

  “I won’t. You’ll see,” he said, trying to fill his voice with the sound of confidence.

  There were no more words between them. He sensed that his other self had gone to sleep, so he turned over again and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he saw the translucent creature of light, her body sparkling as though it had been carved out of diamond. Instinctively he understood that she was temptation, that she would draw him out of the darkness and to his own death.

  He kept her image locked inside his eyes so his other self wouldn’t see it, because he knew if he did…

  He would go down there again and again until she saw him and drew him into the light. And he knew that if his other self died, he would die, too.

  There was only one safe solution, and that was to draw her into the darkness before she could draw him into the light. Then he would be safe, as safe as a shadow locked in a coffin.

  He even imagined being in it now. He reached up and pulled the lid down over him and then…he fell asleep.

  7

  She remembered. The homework she and Lois had done together had been left neatly on her desk and it helped trigger her memory. As she showered and dressed for school, she kept thinking about not taking the vitamin. In fact, she concentrated on it as if it were information for an exam. She repeated it to herself as she walked down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where her parents were already seated at the dinette having breakfast. Instinctively she sensed that if she didn’t keep conscious ab
out it, she would automatically take it.

  Her mother had left the vitamin out, next to her glass of orange juice. Her parents smiled at her as she entered, both of them looking bright and cheerful. Her mother wore her beige blouse, the one with the tie painted on it, and her dark brown skirt. It had an accompanying jacket, an outfit Justine thought of as her mother’s business outfit.

  She had her hair pinned back, the way Lois’s mother had worn hers yesterday, and she wore only a touch of lipstick. Tiny diamond earrings glittered in her pierced ears. She was so fresh and alert, Justine thought she looked as if she had been up for hours.

  “Good morning, honey,” she said, the musical tone in her voice so emphatic, she almost sang it.

  “Morning, princess,” her father added.

  “Morning. Where are you going, all dressed up?”

  “Christy and I are going into the city to an art gallery on Sixtieth.”

  “An art gallery?” She smirked. “You never used to dress like that to go to an art gallery.”

  She remembered the outfits her mother usually wore to galleries. Her father had always teased her about them, calling them “artsy-fartsy.” She’d looked more like a resident of Soho than an upper-middle-class housewife who lived in an exclusive section of Manhattan. Her hair was always loose and carefree. She wore dangling, handmade earrings, faded jeans and an oversized shirt.

  And anyway, her mother was never one to put on airs, despite the fact that she came from a rather wealthy family. Justine’s maternal grandfather was a highly successful broker on Wall Street and, before she died last year, her maternal grandmother was very active in New York high society, always on this committee or that, organizing charity balls. And yet, Elaine had rejected that life and at times seemed determined to express it by dressing casually.

  “Well, this is the proper way to dress for a gallery on Sixtieth,” her mother said quickly. “Take your vitamin. Do you want eggs this morning or cereal?”

  “Just cereal,” Justine said. She eyed the vitamin for a moment, then looked at her parents. They were watching her like hawks.

  She plucked the vitamin off the table and put it in her mouth, working it under her tongue the way Lois had demonstrated in the luncheonette yesterday, then lifting the glass of juice to her lips.