Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

Davey knew he didn’t want to meet anyone this man knew. Still, he couldn’t resist asking “Who?” in the hope that it might be Brenda. Maybe he was wrong and Brenda was okay; maybe the man hadn’t hurt her.

  “The sign says his name is Samson. A real live lion, like in the jungle. The kind that eats kids like you and doesn’t even burp. Now shut up and walk!”

  Lorrie and Sanders came to a standstill in front of the Space Port. When the park was open it would be packed with kids plunking their quarters into video games like Space Invaders and Indy 500. Now it was deathly silent.

  “He’s here,” Sanders said bitterly, “I know it!”

  “What now?” Lorrie asked, despair in her voice.

  “I’m going to call in to see where our backups are. And I want my section chief to get in touch with somebody to organize turning on all the goddamned lights in this park. Even if Davey’s not in the park, but somewhere nearby, the lights should attract him.”

  “Good idea. But wouldn’t the storm have knocked the power out?”

  Sanders’s face fell. “Well, it’s worth a try. Anyway, it’s time to call in.” He walked over to the closest building and sheltered under its eaves.

  Lorrie waited nearby, her nerves shattered. As soon as Sanders had finished the call, she was at his side. “Well?”

  “They’re on their way.”

  “And the lights?”

  “I don’t know. They’re going to try, maybe use the generator.”

  “Let’s go back down the main concourse,” Lorrie suggested. Even though she was exhausted she just couldn’t give up.

  “Right,” Sanders said grimly. It was worth another try.

  They walked side by side, their flashlights fanning the ground, searching for clues that might lead them to Davey. Each kept their thoughts to themselves. It was beginning to look as though they were on the wrong track. Every lead was cold.

  “Hey, watch out,” Sanders cautioned. “What’s that?” His light sought out the shiny object that had reflected the beam back at him. “There!”

  Lorrie’s eyes followed the beam of light. The disc was silver, shining and new. A quarter. She picked it up, holding it for Sanders to see, her manner almost reverent.

  “Hot damn!” Sanders slapped his thigh. “That’s one of the quarters I gave Davey. I know it is because of the nail polish on the edge!”

  Suddenly their steps were lighter and their gloom lifted. “Davey!” Lorrie called, loud and clear, the rain drizzling into her mouth unnoticed. “Davey!”

  Strong fingers reached out and yanked at his collar, pulling him backward so violently that he almost lost his hold on Duffy. Davey hadn’t realized how heavy the little dog was until he’d had to carry her for so long. They had left the main amusement park behind now and were circling the far side of the parking lot, heading for the trees again. The rain had almost stopped and the wind had died down. The air was cold and Davey was colder. His one shoe squished with each step he took, and he could feel a blister growing on the bottom of his foot.

  They came to a cyclone fence like the one at the parking lot, only this one was higher and had spiked wire strung along the top. Davey could hardly see the top, even when Cudge held the flashlight high. Duffy was nosing into his neck and sometimes he could feel her shiver. She was cold too. He wrapped his arms protectively around her, warming her, trying to keep her from Cudge’s notice. Somehow the responsibility of looking after Duffy gave Davey the courage to go on.

  Cudge was searching for something. He kept lifting the flashlight, scanning the fence, then looking off into the distance. Eventually, Cudge prodded Davey on again, leading him across the field toward the next stand of trees. The grass was short and the ground was soft and muddy. Several times, Davey almost fell, his knee refusing to support him. But he thought of Duffy and what Cudge might do to her, and he kept pushing forward.

  After what seemed to Davey like forever but was only a short while later, Cudge reached out and yanked on his shoulder. “This is as far as we go. We’re gonna sit down over here, right where you can see the lion and he can see you. Bet you thought lions slept at night, didn’t you? Well, they don’t, especially not this one. He’s got his old lady in there and some cubs. He stays up all night to watch over them and protect them. He don’t want no wiseass kid coming near that fence to upset things. Know what I mean?” Cudge snorted. “You ain’t even gonna make a good bite for that big guy. He’s gonna chew you to pieces in one gulp.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” Davey asked fearfully.

  “Yeah. Well, no. It’s gonna be my fault but that there lion is the one what’s gonna do the actual killing. All day long I been thinking about wringing your neck, but then I came across Samson here and decided he’d have the pleasure instead. Besides, why should I hang for killing you? You ain’t nothin’ but a little brat. I don’t like brats, and you especially. I wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for you. Elva would still be alive, and we’d be on our way to Florida. You spoiled everything. Wringing your neck is too good for you.”

  Davey was frightened. He sat on the cold, wet ground and watched Cudge pace back and forth. Duffy curled into his lap, making herself into a little ball to keep warm. When Cudge’s pacing brought him too close to Davey, she lifted her head, bared teeth and growled.

  “Shut that bitch up,” Cudge warned.

  Stopping to think for a minute, he lifted up his army-colored jacket and pulled off his belt. He leaned down to reach for Duffy and was rewarded with the threat of snapping jaws. “Here,” he threw the belt at Davey. “Make a leash out of this and hook it to the fence there. Now!”

  Davey’s fingers fumbled with the belt. He wasn’t sure how to put it on Duffy. It was wide and made of thick leather, like his good Sunday shoes. It wouldn’t fit around Duffy’s neck without choking her. The next best thing was to put it around her middle; he slid the strap through the buckle then threaded the strap end through a hole in the fence.

  The man seemed satisfied. Now he could stay just beyond the reach of the belt and Duffy couldn’t get to him. “You know what kind of fence that is, kid? It’s called horse fencing. I noticed this afternoon that they use it to section one kind of animal off from another. It keeps them from eating each other.” The man seemed to find that funny, because he threw back his head and laughed. Davey didn’t like the way he laughed. It wasn’t nice, not at all like his dad’s laugh.

  Davey could make out the curving stretch of the horse fencing. The highest wire had been pulled down by a giant tree which had fallen against it in the storm.

  “Don’t like the look of that, hey kid? Neither did I when I come across it earlier today. Old Samson there gave me a scare when he charged the wire. Only he don’t seem too interested in getting over. Guess it’s because his wife and kiddies are in there.”

  Davey was silent, looking through the darkness to where Cudge was pointing. Duffy was restless, straining to the full length of the belt, trying to get close to her master.

  “You don’t believe me, I can tell. You’re just as stupid as Elva ever was. Look, kid—I’m gonna show you something that’s gonna make you wet your pants.”

  How did the man know he’d wet his pants? It had happened so long ago, when Davey was locked in the camper.

  Cudge picked up the flashlight and stepped closer to the fence. There was a fallen branch lying on the ground and he picked that up too. Immediately, Davey’s eyes flew to Duffy. “Worried about your little doggy? I’ll tell you when it’s time to worry. Look! Look over here!”

  Davey did as he was told. Cudge ran the end of the branch against the fence; it made a harsh grating noise which was loud in the still night air. Immediately a yellow streak charged out of the darkness and threw itself against the wire. The earth seemed to shake with the impact! Davey felt it in his belly, like he’d once felt the big bass drum that came marching behind the parade. Boom! Boom! Samson’s roar was the loudest noise Davey had ever heard, like all the thunder in the world put
together in one big sound that made your ears pop and your backbone melt like ice-cream on a hot day.

  Duffy yelped with fright and tried to crawl away from the fence, but the short length of leather held her back.

  Davey clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted the noise to go away. He had been scared before, but now he was terrified. Again Samson roared, a rumbling which began deep in his chest and exploded through his fanged, cavernous mouth. Yellow eyes reflected the light of the flashlight, watching, daring, defying.

  “How do you like him, kid? Pretty big, huh?” Cudge laughed but the sound was smothered by another of Samson’s warnings. “I’m gonna toss you right over that fence. That old lion only has to lift his leg and bam!” He smacked one fist into the other hand. “Just like that! Only I’m gonna rile him up a little first, sorta whet his appetite, if you know what I mean. Then he’ll be in fine form when you hit the ground.”

  “You’d better watch out ’cause Mr. Sanders is looking for me,” Davey lied, hoping to frighten the man. “And when he finds you, he’s going to lock you up.”

  “Mr. Sanders, huh? Who’s he?”

  “He’s the FBI agent that stays at our house. He gave me money to call him when I needed him and I called him from the pay phone by the Ferris wheel and told him where to find me.”

  “FBI agent? Who’re you kiddin’?”

  “Okay, don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

  Cudge lashed out and cuffed Davey on the side of the head. Dizzily, Davey shook his head to try to clear it. He should have kept quiet. Tears brimmed in his eyes; no one had ever hit him before. He didn’t like it one bit. He was helpless and scared. He focused on the fence, watching the lion pace back and forth, the animal’s feline eyes reflecting the light from the flashlight and adding a light of their own.

  “If that Sanders fella does show, kid, I’ll throw him over to the lion right after you. Then that damn dog. What do you think of that?” Cudge bellowed. When he saw the dread on the little boy’s face, he smirked.

  Suddenly all the wind seemed to go out of Cudge, and he wanted to sit down someplace dry and warm. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. Thoughts of Elva kept popping into his head and he had to push them away. It couldn’t be that he missed that stupid, scrawny broad. Why had he ever gotten mixed up with her anyway? He sat down heavily opposite Davey, leaning back against a tree. A match flared as he lit a cigarette.

  Davey saw Samson walking away from the fence. He’s going back to his family, Davey thought. I wish I could go back to mine.

  “I used to have a dog,” Cudge said quietly. “Well, she wasn’t exactly mine. She belonged to my grandmother.”

  Davey glanced at Cudge then back toward the fence again.

  “Don’t believe me, do you, kid? It’s true. I wasn’t any different from you when I was a kid. Matter of fact, I was just like you. Trouble, always trouble. Leastways that’s what my mother used to say. ‘Edmund Balog,’ she’d say, ‘I don’t know what’s come over you. You used to be such a good little boy. What made you change?’ I used to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about. Only I did know, and I knew when I changed too. I wasn’t any older than you when I found out what lives inside me. Only I never told anybody. Couldn’t. And when I look at you, kid, I know the same devil that lives inside me is inside you too. Think about what you did to mess me up with the law, with Elva, with everybody. Yes, I know it’s there inside you too.”

  His voice droned on but Davey was only half listening. The man wasn’t his biggest fear right now. His biggest fear was right there, behind the fence, with its tearing jaws and thunderous voice. Samson.

  “There were times when I didn’t know why I’d ever been born. I ain’t never had a friend. You know that, kid? Never, except for Elva. And she wasn’t a friend as it turned out. You made her turn against me! She was all right till you came along. So what if I did think she was stupid? And maybe I did think about getting rid of her, but I never would’ve done it. Never! But then you had to mess everything up.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. I never could when I was a kid. This thing inside my head would always mess me up. What’s yours like?” Cudge lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially. “Mine is like a bull, black and tough. It’s got hooves that cut into my brain, and long sharp horns that fill up the inside of my head till I can’t think! And it’s heavy, real heavy. It pounds around in there till I can’t stand it. And then it takes over, makes me do things I’d never do on my own. It was the bull that made me kill Lenny. And Elva too. And the other night I beat up this girl for no reason, except maybe she was breathing. It ain’t my fault,” he whined.

  Cudge’s voice had a strangely soothing effect on the little boy. Although his eyes never left the fence, he found that by reaching out with his fingers, he could touch the fur on Duffy’s neck. It was reassuring. Suddenly, there was a movement on the other side of the fence. The man’s voice must have disturbed the lion again. But no, it was too small for Samson. It was one of the babies, a cub, bigger than Duffy but a baby nevertheless. Davey felt sorry for the cub as it sat lopsided on its haunches, looking out at him. It must be terrible to live with a fence around you all the time. Beyond the circle of light, he could discern a larger form, or were there two shapes? The mother and father lion, he decided. A smile touched his lips. There were more cubs nursing from the mother. The thought delighted him; the mother must be sleeping, and the father was watching out so nothing happened to his family.

  It wasn’t like that in his family. If Aunt Lorrie had kids, she would be like Samson—watching and protective. But his family was different. Mom was the one who watched and took care of them, the one who said what was good to eat and where it was nice to play and work, and how things should be done. Mom liked things to be perfect, Davey thought. And she wanted him to be perfect too, but he wasn’t. Maybe if he didn’t need to get a shot every day, or wear a brace sometimes, he could be perfect. “Picture perfect” was what Mom liked to say.

  A loud, belly-rumbling roar startled him. Cudge was still talking but Davey stopped listening. Samson had come back to the fence; he was standing over his cub, anxious and uneasy about the intruders. He picked up the cub by the scruff of its neck and marched back to the lioness, dropping his bundle between her front paws.

  That’s what fathers are supposed to do, Davey thought, comparing Samson to his own dad. They’re not supposed to let the mothers do all the important things.

  Cudge was off in a world of his own, rambling through his memories, revealing things he’d never spoken about before. And as he talked, the differences between the little boy and himself became less clear. He felt like a child again, as if he was Davey’s age, scared of the night-walking monsters that haunted him, and recognizing the monster that inhabited his own body, compelling him to destroy and to kill. In the dim flickering light, Cudge came to believe that Davey was the young Edmund Balog, capable of all things evil, and the future stretched out before him. Every moment of pain and suffering, every weakness, was inevitable. There was only one way to stop it from ever happening again and Cudge was going to do it, before it was too late. The child might look innocent but the evil had already taken hold. The young Edmund Balog was as much to blame for Elva and Candy as the adult was. And now, because of that little boy, Cudge was going to have to kill again.

  Samson’s roar, when it came, made Davey clap his hands over his ears. Cudge stopped his ramblings. “I thought I told you to sit there and not move. I ain’t ready to dump you over that fence yet. The only reason that lion is bellowing like that is because he wants me to toss you over there. He probably ain’t had anything to eat for a week. You’re gonna be real sweet meat to him, kid.”

  Davey drew his knees up to his chest. He was so cold he couldn’t feel anything anymore. “I didn’t do anything to that lion,” he whispered to himself over and over. Again, he saw a movement by the fence. A smile tugged at his l
ips. The little cub was back, looking at him through the wire.

  Lightning swift, Cudge was on his feet. He clambered up the slippery tree trunk that straddled the fence, ignoring the soggy leaves and branches that were sticking out in every direction. Mesmerized, Davey watched as Cudge broke off a branch and proceeded to pound at the top of the wire fence. Horrified, he couldn’t bear the thought that Cudge might hurt the lion cub.

  Samson’s roars ripped through the night as Cudge pounded again and again at the wire. Duffy joined in the noise, barking and growling, straining to escape the belt.

  Cudge turned, almost losing his footing on the slippery trunk. “Don’t even think about moving, kid.”

  Davey was stunned. Why hadn’t he run off the minute Cudge started up the tree trunk? He could be away by now, looking for a hiding place. He was angry with himself, and angry that the little lion cub was occupying his thoughts, that the father lion wasn’t taking it back to its mother. He could still run now if he wanted to—Cudge was halfway up the tree. He would have a small head start if he got up now; but the cub held him rooted to the spot. The cub wasn’t afraid of the pounding noise, and it wasn’t afraid of its father’s anger.

  Samson backed off then advanced again. With one monstrous paw, he gently moved the cub to one side, then pushed with both front paws against the tree where it was leaning against the fence. A storm of sound erupted from the lion’s cavernous mouth; Davey shuddered but was pleased to see that Cudge was afraid and had started to back off down the tree trunk. The cub was safely back with its mother. Davey sighed with relief.

  “That was just for starters,” Cudge said, wiping his hands on his sodden jeans. “I wanted to show you that that lion means business, and so do I. You getting the message, kid?”

  Davey nodded.

  Cudge returned to his spot against the tree trunk. He started talking again. Davey knew that was good—he didn’t seem so mean when he talked. He kept saying the same things over and over and Davey wished he knew why. He didn’t really want to think about Cudge, or why he did anything, but he needed to think about what to do if Cudge dragged him up the tree trunk and tossed him into the lion’s mouth.