Perfect Little Angels

by Andrew Neiderman

  A figure was hidden within the shadow. Right now it resembled some kind of animal, almost like an ape. A tiny part of it had been painted in a slightly darker shade of black so that it seemed to be gradually emerging out of the darkness.

  Justine couldn’t help but reach out slowly and touch it. The moment she did so, she pulled her finger back as if she had touched the tip of a burning candle.

  She stepped back from the painting, unable to turn away from it, and yet terrified of it. Finally she groaned, closed her eyes, and rushed out of the studio. She hurried upstairs, calling as she took two steps at a time.

  “Ma! Mommy?”

  The bedrooms were empty. Puzzled, Justine went back downstairs. Her mother’s car was in the garage, so she must have gone off with someone else, she thought. Yet, she had been making such a big deal about being home when Justine returned from school.

  The answer was in the kitchen. She had rushed through so quickly she hadn’t seen the note on the refrigerator.

  “Next door at Christy’s. Come over if you get home before I do. Mom.”

  She decided to go over and see if she could get her mother to come home with her so they could talk before her father returned from work. She needed to convince her mother of the validity of her fears first.

  Dressed in an oversized, dark blue sweat shirt and a pair of jeans, Christy Duke greeted her at the front door and insisted she come in.

  “Your mother’s in my studio. We’ve been discussing art all afternoon. I’m so glad she’s here. I’ve got a fellow conspirator,” she said and winked. “Come in. You look lost. Is something wrong?”

  “No, I just have a headache.”

  “Oh. Well, we’ll fix that. Come in,” Christy said, her voice so cheerful and her smile so warm, Justine couldn’t help but relax. How could anything be wrong with someone like her? Maybe…maybe she should confide in her, too, Justine thought. Christy wasn’t like the other parents she had seen here. Christy would be sympathetic. Perhaps she should even tell Christy why she thought Brad was acting odd. Then Mrs. Duke would really become involved. “Everything all right at school?”

  “Uh-huh,” Justine said, entering.

  “Good. It’s a great school system. You’re really going to like it here,” Christy said. “All the kids do.”

  Justine kept her reaction down to a slight smile.

  Christy studied her for a moment. “You don’t suffer from sinus headaches, do you?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “Because there’s something about Dr. Lawrence’s vitamins…you’ve been taking them, haven’t you?”

  Justine hesitated. She thought it would be best to talk to them both at the same time.

  “Where’s my mother?”

  “Oh. Let’s go in the studio.” She led Justine through the house. Her studio was practically in the same place—off the kitchen, with a window facing the rear.

  Elaine stood up the moment Justine entered. She, too, was dressed in a sweat shirt and jeans. For some reason, the resemblances Justine had seen between the two women seemed to be stronger than before. Both had their hair tied back in the same way. Neither wore any makeup, not even lipstick. They looked like the coconspirators Christy had jokingly suggested they were.

  It bothered her, but for a moment Justine wondered if she wasn’t just envious of her mother for developing a warm and close friendship so quickly, while she was unable to find anyone with whom she could share intimacies.

  “Hi, honey,” Elaine said. “Home so early? I thought you had a newspaper club meeting.”

  “I have a headache,” she said. She looked at Christy again. “So I came right home.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe you should take a couple of aspirins and lie down for a while. I’ll come right home,” she added.

  “Maybe she’s developing an allergy,” Christy said. “It can come on suddenly.” She smiled and stroked Justine’s hair. “You look good, honey.”

  “Thank you.” They both call me “honey,” and they say it the same way, she thought.

  “Doesn’t Christy do beautiful work?” Elaine said.

  Justine looked at the paintings on the walls. There were various landscapes, the usual fruit stills, a portrait of Brad and Steven when they were much younger.

  “Yes,” Justine said.

  “And I just love her latest,” Elaine said, gesturing toward the easel.

  Justine stepped forward to take a look.

  The little bird that fluttered beside her heart closed its wings slowly. She felt its head lower and its heart stop while hers pounded.

  Christy Duke was painting a landscape, too—the view from the rear of her house.

  And it was exactly like the one her mother was doing, down to the dark and grotesque shape emerging from the shadow cast by Dr. Lawrence’s overwhelming house.

  Still as a statue, he hovered near the rear window. The only part of his body that had moved during the last half hour was his eyes. They went from side to side slowly, searching the scene below like a radar device, recording all movement, studying every change. He was waiting for her, waiting to catch sight of her coming up that hill. He was obsessed with the need to see her. Even the nurse was impressed with his intensity every time she came in to check on him.

  “You’re in deep thought today,” she told him just before she left his room the last time. “What’s on your mind?”

  She looked into his eyes, gazing into his dull blue pupils as though they were literally windows through which she could see into his head.

  He was afraid she could, so he closed them. “I’m just tired,” he said, but she didn’t move away from him. It had been so long since he had successfully deceived anyone.

  He opened his eyes again and saw her scrutinizing him, her puffy cheeks even more blown out, her eyes shrinking into probing microscopic lenses. Her nostrils moved like a rabbit’s, and her lips writhed up in the corners like worms, revealing just a little bit of her nicotine-stained teeth.

  He couldn’t let her know what he was thinking; he couldn’t let her know what he was planning. If he did, she would rush off to call the doctor, and they would do something to stop him. And they wouldn’t let him sleep without being strapped in.

  He gazed quickly at the shadow in the corner and saw his second self watching with anticipation.

  “I’m waiting for her to come home,” he said. “She’s bringing me a surprise.”

  “Oh, shit,” the nurse said. Instinctively now, he knew what bothered her. “I don’t want to hear about it. Your father has the patience for this, but I don’t,” she added, then left the room.

  “Good work,” his second self said. He stepped up a little, but stopped short of the lighted area. “Didn’t think you could think that fast, anymore.”

  “I didn’t lie to her, did I? I am waiting for her to come home.”

  He turned back to the window and peered down. A car had turned into the development, then continued on toward the west end. Everything below seemed to move in slow motion. Now his concentration was so strong that he didn’t even feel the fly settle on his forehead. It pranced over his skin, then dropped down to the tip of his nose. It even walked over his puffed lips before it grew disinterested and flew away.

  His tongue stirred, and the tip emerged like a red ant coming up from a tunnel. There was an increase of activity below. Younger kids were coming home from school. Cars turned into driveways as others wove their way through the development. Threads coming back to the eye of the needle, he thought.

  And then, he saw her. She was walking very quickly, so quickly that her head, somewhat loose, he thought, bounced precariously on her neck. For a moment he envisioned it falling off and bouncing on the road as it rolled down the hill toward the front gate. He saw the decapitated torso turn as if it could watch the head spin away. At the gate, the security guard knelt down and scooped it up gracefully, moving his arm with the follow through of a bowler after he had just thrown a perfect
strike.

  He carried the head back up the hill and returned it to the awaiting torso.

  “You want to be more careful about this,” he said. “Can’t go around losing your head.”

  She thanked him and continued on to the house. When she drew closer to it, he could see her features more clearly, especially now that he was looking at her in daylight.

  He gasped.

  “What?” his second self asked. “Come on, this isn’t fair. You can stand there in the light and look. I’ve got to lay back in the shadows.”

  “It’s her; it’s her; it’s definitely her.”

  “I told you that. Is that all?”

  “Being told and seeing for yourself is not the same thing.”

  “So?”

  “Her head—it’s not even on that well. To tell you the truth, I don’t think there’ll be any problem. I’m surprised at the sloppy work my father did.”

  “Hey, he’s a pioneer. He’s just starting out. It’s not fair to judge his work like that.”

  “I know; I know.”

  When he saw her go into the house, he didn’t step away from the window, anticipating her reappearance. He watched her come out and go into the house next door. Then he turned from the window and went to the desk. He sat down and began to sketch her face. He was never good at art, but this was important. After only a few minutes, he had what he considered to be a perfect likeness. He lifted it up to show his second self.

  “Not bad.”

  “Not bad? I’d say, rather good.”

  “So say it.”

  A few moments later, the nurse returned. It was time for his sedative. He didn’t want to take it, but he knew there was no way to avoid it. And, anyway, it was better not to stir up any suspicions.

  “Oh, good,” she said, seeing him at the desk, “you’ve done some writing. The doctor will be happy.”

  “It’s not writing,” he said. “I drew a picture.” He plucked the pill from her fingers and chased it down with the cup of water.

  “A picture, huh?” She leaned over him to look. “So?”

  “What?”

  “Where is this picture?”

  “Right there in front of you. If it were a snake, it would bite you,” he said, and his second self laughed. She turned to look into the corner, but he had retreated into the darkness sufficiently.

  “Is that so? A little frisky today, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “But you’re nuts, nuttier than ever, in fact.” She held up his sheet of paper. “There’s nothing on here. Just a pencil dot in the center.”

  He smiled. She couldn’t see it.

  “Jesus, you’re a lot of laughs,” she said, dropping the sheet of paper. “You’d better go and lie down.”

  “Anything you say,” he said. He winked at the shadows, and then looked down at the sheet.

  His mother’s head couldn’t be any clearer. As he looked at the picture, it began to grow a body beneath it. There was already half a neck.

  She’s coming back, he thought. In every way. It won’t be long, now.

  His thoughts were so vivid, he spoke them aloud.

  “What’s that? What won’t be long?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t mean your pecker, do you?” she asked and laughed.

  He laughed, too.

  “You’re getting good at this,” his second self whispered. “I think you’re going to succeed.”

  Filled with hope and anticipation, he followed her back to his bedroom where he would drift into an easy sleep. His rest was very important now. He needed all his strength and wits about him when he went down there.

  Maybe he would go tonight.

  And then, in the morning, he would wake up and find her head on the table beside him, smiling, happy he had brought it back to where it belonged.

  10

  Justine couldn’t wait to leave Christy Duke’s house. Christy’s warm smile had become eerie, frightening. She wanted to get out of there before Brad and Steven returned from their after-school activities, and certainly before Michael Duke returned. This family next door, as well as most of the other families in the development, were part of a conspiracy. At least, that was the way she saw it.

  Even more frightening was the fact that her parents could not see the problem. It might very well be too late for them, she thought, and if it was too late for them, it was certainly too late for her. Who else could she turn to at this point?

  When she and her mother returned to the house, Justine tried to make her mother see what was happening, even though she was not quite sure about the source of the evil. It was something terrible, that was for sure.

  “Let’s get you a couple of aspirins,” her mother said as soon as they walked in the door.

  “No, Mom. I don’t have a headache. I just wanted to get you home.”

  “What?” Elaine tilted her head and smiled. “Whatever for? And whatever it is, why couldn’t you tell me at Christy’s? She’s my closest friend.”

  “Closest friend? Mom, you’ve known her only a short while. How can she be your closest friend?”

  “We’ve known each other for more than a short while, Justine. What in heaven’s name are you saying?” her mother asked, maintaining that light smile.

  Justine thought she looked clownish. “But before we came here, you only saw her a few times, and…”

  “We’ve been here quite awhile.”

  “No we haven’t. Oh, God, this is all part of it,” Justine said, recalling Brad’s inability to remember exactly when his family had moved to Elysian Fields. All of the Dukes had been confused over how many years they had been living here. She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Part of it? Part of what?” Elaine asked.

  “Of what’s happening!”

  “I don’t understand, honey. What’s supposed to be happening?”

  Instead of responding, she took her mother’s hand. “Come with me, quickly,” she said, leading her through the house to the art studio. She stopped when they stood in front of her mother’s painting. To Justine, it looked as though that small, dark, ominous figure had emerged even more out of the darkness. “Look,” she said.

  Her mother, still wearing that incredulous smile, turned to the painting, then looked at Justine.

  “So? Don’t you like it?”

  “Like it? Mom, it’s the exact same painting Christy is doing. Can’t you see that?”

  “Well, we’re both doing a landscape of the development, but…”

  “It’s exactly the same!” Justine protested. “Down to the smallest detail. It’s as if you two were painting by numbers and doing the same picture.”

  “There are some similarities, but to say it’s exactly the same…” Her mother’s smile faded quickly. “I think I have some originality, and I didn’t even see Christy’s painting until I had been well into mine, Justine. I don’t appreciate your implication that I’m copying someone else’s work.”

  “Mom, I’m not talking about your artistic ability. This is…this is eerie. Don’t you see!”

  Her mother glanced at the painting again, then shook her head.

  “I don’t see, no.” She started to turn away.

  “And what is this supposed to be?” Justine demanded. She put her right forefinger on the dark figure.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  Justine pulled her hand back quickly.

  “Never touch a painting like that,” her mother chastised.

  “But Mom, what is that?”

  “It’s just a shadow. Now, do you want some aspirin, or don’t you?”

  Justine just stared at her mother. She looked back at the painting, then put her hands over her eyes.

  “You have a headache?”

  “No, Mom, it’s not a headache. Listen to me. Listen.” She tried to control the tone of her voice, tried to sound calm and reasonable so her mother would really listen. “Something strange is going on here, and it has s
omething to do with Dr. Lawrence’s vitamins. And something in the air, some ringing.”

  “What? What ringing? What are you saying?” Her mother’s smile widened. “Something in the air?”

  “I don’t know all the facts. But everyone’s kind of weird. I didn’t notice until Lois Wilson pointed it out, and she was able to do so because she stopped taking the vitamins. The kids are strange. Brad deliberately burned his own hand,” she said quickly, “because he…he accidentally touched me here,” she said, indicating her breast. “And at night, at a certain time, everyone’s watching the same videotapes made by Dr. Lawrence, listening to his opinions about things and believing them, just the way you and Daddy are believing them.”

  Her mother stepped back as if she had been slapped.

  “I don’t understand this. Do you have a headache or don’t you?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with a headache!” Justine screamed. Her mother closed her eyes and shook herself as if a chill had just passed through her body. “These kids aren’t normal. They’re worse than nerds, and you and Daddy…you’ve changed. You’ve got to listen to me. You’re forgetting things and doing things you never did and—”

  “Justine, I don’t like this. You don’t sound right; you sound sick.”

  “I am sick, sick of what’s happening here.”

  “Happening here?” Her mother looked confused, surprised. “Don’t you like it here?”

  “Oh, God. I hate it here!” she said, clenching her fists and pounding the air around her head. “That’s just it.”

  Elaine Freeman stepped back farther and brought her hands to her throat. “How could you say that?”

  “I can. I couldn’t before, when I was taking the vitamins, don’t you see? Now something’s happened to Lois. They found out what she was doing, and Dr. Lawrence came to her house and today she was like all the others again. She forgot everything she told me. It was horrible, frightening. I felt like I was talking to a zombie. And she was the one who told me to stop taking the vitamins.”