A Place Called Perfect

by Helena Duggan

  Quickly she crawled across the garden and ducked in under the sill of the main window.

  “What are you doing?” Boy whispered, angrily joining her side.

  “I’m going to have a look, I have a strange feeling…”

  She held onto the edge of the sill and inched herself up to peer through the window. A red bulb hung in the centre of a cement room casting the walls in bloody tones. Rows and rows of small potted plants filled the floor space. The plants were similar to the ones in the park but smaller. Boy tugged on her leg.

  “What?”

  “Do you see anything?”

  “I’m not sure…” she whispered, turning back to the window.

  Suddenly she ducked back down.

  “What is it Violet? You’ve gone white!”

  “It’s…it’s…”

  “It’s what?”

  “It’s eyes, pots and pots of eyes. They’re growing eyes Boy!” she shivered.

  Unable to understand, Boy pulled himself up for a look.

  “It’s eyes,” he gasped, falling back down, “It’s eyes. Lots and lots of eyes. They were staring at me.”

  “Those bodies, in the graveyard,” Violet trembled, “none of them had eyes.”

  “But why would anyone want dead peoples eyes Violet? Why would anyone want eyes at all, it’s terrible, horrible, I don’t even want to think about it!”

  They sat under the window ledge in silence. A thought played with Violet but she couldn’t grasp it, the Archers, Perfect, the glasses, her Dad...

  “My Dad,” she said, sitting upright, “my Dad is here Boy. He’s here in this place.”

  “Ssh,” Boy whispered, looking anxiously around, “what makes you think that?”

  “It’s the eyes. The Archers asked him to come and work here because he’d won an award. I remember reading about it in “Eye Spy” I thought it was disgusting. It had something to do with eye transplants.”

  “But why would the Archers want eye transplants and using the eyes of dead bodies Violet…imagine you’d never be able to see with all the maggots!”

  “All I know is that Dad is here. He has to be and we have to rescue him. Please Boy you check that side of the estate and I’ll check this one.”

  “Really…on your own?”

  “Yes, I’m not a girl you know!”

  “Well you are actually,” Boy smiled, then turned and crawled back across the garden.

  Violet shivered as he dashed for the other side of the park. She was on her own.

  Quickly she crawled across the garden to the next house. Inside there were more rows of eyes. They grew from pulsing veins rooted in pots of dark red clay. The pots bubbled over in blood. Pools of the gruesome liquid seeped across the floor as if a million people were murdered in the room. Small plastic tubes inserted into the side of each pot were connected to a large barrel of blood in the corner, which was feeding the mass of eyes. Her stomach churned as she rested her back against the wall of the house. She was going to vomit. Bile ran up her neck stopping short of her mouth. She steadied then continued her trip across the gardens until she reached the next house. There was another room of eyes but still no Dad.

  Suddenly a loud bang shook the estate. Her pulse raced as George Archer strode out from one of the houses across the park towards Boy. All air escaped her lungs. Boy was caught. He had to be. She clambered onto her feet and as quietly as possible followed after the taller twin. Boy was across the park on his hands and knees looking in another window. George Archer had seen him too.

  What could she do? She was powerless. What use would it be if they were both caught? Maybe Boy had to get captured? They might take him to where they were keeping her Dad. She could rescue them both.

  George Archer slowed as he reached the wall of the house. Boy was oblivious. Violet wanted to shout but she couldn’t. Her friend turned just as George Archer was upon him. The huge man pulled something from his pocket and sprayed Boy in the face. Within seconds he was unconscious. George Archer threw the lifeless body over his shoulder and turned. Violet just managed to hide inside the belly of a rusted old barrel. Moments later, large leather shoes strode past her for the second time that day.

  Quickly she crawled out and followed, her legs shaking. She had to be strong. She ducked behind the half built wall of a house and watched as George Archer pushed open the door. When the solid wood slammed firmly shut, Violet jumped to her feet and raced around the back of the house. Double glass doors gave a better view inside, and she watched George Archer carry Boy’s lifeless body up the stairs. A few moments later he was back down without her friend, and disappeared out the front door. She raced back round the front to catch his willowy frame return across the green. This was it. Her moment.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Locked Room

  It was clear what she had to do, how to do it was the hard part. First things first, she had to get inside the house.

  The windows! The upstairs ones at the back had no glass. Only white plastic sheeting covered the cavities. As quietly as possible she raced around the estate for something that would reach the windows. In the back garden of one of the derelict houses was a battered workbench. Stained coffee and teacups and a half eaten moldy sandwich sat on it’s surface as if the place was deserted in a hurry. A sudden chill danced up her spine and her arm hair stood to order. The garden was eerie as though the souls of ghostly builders still worked there. Behind the bench a pile of tools and oddities gathered rust on the dirt. Hidden amongst them was a wooden ladder. Though missing some steps it was long enough to reach the windows.

  She picked up the heavy wood and dragged it as quietly as she could to the back garden of Boy’s prison. Propping it up against the wall, it fell just a little short of the ledge. With a deep breath she took her first step. The wood cracked under foot so she quickly climbed upwards. Pulling herself over the missing steps she reached the top. The ladder wobbled below as she stretched onto her toes inching her fingers up until they gripped the corner of the ledge. Resting for a minute she then pulled with all her might, wiggled onto the window ledge and tumbled inside, landing with a thump on the cold cement floor.

  Thunder boomed loudly above, this time it was followed by a flash of white light that illuminated the empty hallway. It was grey and barren. Shadows haunted every corner. The house was silent. Deadly still.

  There were four doors off the hall in front of her and she crawled quickly across the landing to the first. It was empty. Her body alive, she crawled through the darkness to the second. This room was bigger than the last and pitch black. The windows were blocked up with plastic sheeting. Violet felt her way across the floor as another bolt of lighting lit up the place illuminating Boy’s lifeless body in the corner.

  Her arms weakened as she scurried on all fours towards him. A dog collar was fastened round his neck and secured to the floor by a steel chain. Bruno was etched into a metal tag that hung from the leather, she smiled, the name suited her friend perfectly. The chain was strong, too strong to break and the dog collar was locked shut at the catch. She searched for something to cut through the thick material. Suddenly the front door slammed. She froze. Laughter filled the hallway below. Heavy footsteps walked past the stairs and into a room at the back of the house.

  “What do ya suppose he’ll do with ‘im?” someone snorted.

  “Haven’t a clue. Probably experiments,” another voice laughed.

  “Ya reckon? He deserves it anyway. That boy was always a troublemaker. Could never get me hands on ‘im in No Mans Land. Slippery little one that.”

  “Go up and check on him will ya! Make sure he hasn’t wriggled out of this one.”

  Steps pounded towards the stairs. The room was bare, there was nowhere to hide. She scrambled for the door at the other side of the hall and rattled the handle. It was locked. She squealed on reflex.

  “Crying like a girl eh Boy!” a voice laughed, nearing the top of the stairs.

  Suddenly the door in fr
ont of Violet opened. A hand dragged her inside the room just as the Watcher stepped onto the landing. Heavy steps walked down the hall outside as Violet took in her rescuer, a dark haired lady. The woman signalled for Violet to climb into an old wardrobe in the corner of the room. She did as instructed without question or sound.

  “I definitely heard a squeal but he’s still asleep up here,” the Watcher shouted to his friend downstairs.

  “How stupid are you ya twit! Go check on your one. Make sure she’s not up to no good,” roared the reply.

  Violet’s heart pounded in the darkness as the room door creaked open.

  “What are you playing at in here?” the Watcher scowled.

  “Cards,” the woman coolly replied.

  “Mind if I join? Would like to give you a good beatin.”

  “Of course I mind!”

  “Oh ya cheeky,” the Watcher said, surging into the room, “I’ll smash your pretty little face in two.”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” the woman replied, her voice still even, “do you want me to report you to the Archers?”

  “You…” the Watcher growled.

  “What,” the woman replied, “you think I wouldn’t do it?”

  The door slammed as the Watcher thundered back downstairs.

  “One of these days,” he roared up from below.

  The dark haired lady chuckled.

  Violet remained in her hiding place. She wasn’t afraid of the woman; she was in awe of her bravery, but for some reason she felt she should wait until asked to leave.

  “You can come out now.”

  Gently she pushed the door of the wardrobe so it swung open gradually revealing the room. The interior was a complete contrast to the rest of the house. It was lit in candles, which cast warm flickers of light and shadow across the ornate wallpaper. The room was full of rich reds and deep woody browns just like the Archer’s shop. She stepped out onto the lavish carpet and her feet sunk into it. Beautiful paintings of seascapes and countrysides in gold gilded frames decorated the walls. All of them were wild and full of life like the artists was trying to paint freedom. The room was homely and safe.

  “Have a seat young lady,” the woman said, gesturing to a chair by an antique wooden table.

  The woman was like a Queen or a Princess. Violet climbed the chair, her legs dangled over the ornate edge resting a little from the floor.

  “So what brings you here?”

  What could she say? She stared blankly at her host. The woman’s face was cast in shadow highlighting her delicate features. She was maybe the most beautiful woman Violet had ever seen. She was old though, probably as old as her mother and her hair was long, as long as Violet wished hers to be. It fell down the back of the chair and sat like a jet black veil on the floor. Her face was pale and her large eyes were green, as green as the grass in spring. If ever the word beautiful fit a person, it fitted this woman. Violet wished for a minute she could be just like her.

  “Are you okay, has the cat got your tongue young lady?”

  “Is there a cat?”

  “Oh no it’s only an expression,” the woman smiled gently.

  Violet shifted awkwardly in the chair.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  Should she tell this woman? She wasn’t afraid of her. Could she trust her? She needed a friend.

  “Kind of,” she answered, “well I’m kind of in trouble but my friend Boy is in big trouble.”

  “Boy?”

  “Yes, I know,” Violet smiled, “he’s from No Mans Land. He says that’s his name.”

  “Oh! Where is he now?”

  “He’s next door in the room. He’s chained and has a collar on his neck. I’m trying to free him so we can go and find my father.”

  “Is your father in trouble too?”

  “Yes. Well I think so. I think the Archers have him and are making him do some sort of experiments.”

  The woman’s face changed. She turned and walked to the window that overlooked the estate. She didn’t speak for a while. Unsure whether to break the silence, Violet distracted herself with the writing desk beside her where there was a letter half written. It wasn’t right to read it...

  Dear Boys, it started, this is a day like all the others. I sit in my room and cry for all I have lost…

  “What is your name young lady?” the woman said sharply.

  Violet blushed tearing her eyes away from the letter.

  “It’s…it’s Violet,” she stuttered.

  “That’s beautiful. You must have wonderful parents to pick such a beautiful name.”

  “Em…yes.”

  Images of her parents flooded her mind. Her throat tightened.

  “You know your father is looking for you,” the lady said mysteriously.

  “Have you seen him?”

  Violet sat forward.

  “No I’m afraid not Violet but I know what it is like to lose your children and he will not rest until he finds you.”

  “He didn’t lose me. I lost him.”

  “For a parent it’s the same thing Violet. He’ll find you.”

  “Did you find yours?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t.

  “No,” the lady replied.

  Silence flooded the room once more.

  “I gave up my family a long time ago Violet but I will always love them. I know when it is my time I will see them again.”

  “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “It’s okay,” the woman smiled, “now don’t you want to free your friend? The Watchers will be back soon.”

  Violet nodded.

  “Well then,” the woman said.

  Walking to the cabinet she pulled a knife from the depths of a drawer.

  “Take this, it should cut through the collar.”

  “Will you come with us?”

  “No Violet, but I wish you the best of luck.”

  “Are you a prisoner?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “But you’re not chained?”

  “Not physically Violet but the world has changed. There is nothing out there for me now. I am happy here.”

  “But it’s just a room?”

  “It’s my room Violet,” the woman replied abruptly.

  “I’m sorry, my Dad would kill me for asking so many questions,” Violet said, as she took the knife from the lady and walked to the door, “Thank you.”

  “Violet, I try not to spend too much time at my window but when I do I notice there is always a lot of activity in that house,” she said, pointing across the park, “I think perhaps your father might be there.”

  “Thank you,” Violet said, her body suddenly alive again.

  The lady nodded and Violet slipped out the door and back across the hall.

  CHAPTER 20

  Wickham Terrace

  Boy was still unconscious when Violet began to saw through the thick leather. Her progress was slow and he was coming round as she cut.

  “Ssh,” she whispered, when he started to groan, “It’s me. Violet. I’m going to free you. You have to be quiet. There’s Watchers downstairs.”

  Boy slowly opened his eyes and grimaced.

  “Do you have to be so rough?” he coughed.

  “Do you have to be so ungrateful?”

  Chairs scraped across the floor downstairs and Violet increased her pace. Eventually the leather snapped. She helped Boy from the floor. He was a little groggy and wobbled to his feet. They stopped at the corner of the door. Violet checked the hallway.

  “Thank you,” she whispered across the hall, as they left the room.

  “For what?”

  “Not you Boy,” she replied as they slipped quietly along the dark corridor.

  The plastic sheeting blustered in the wind masking any noise as the pair climbed through onto the ledge and down the rickety ladder. Once back on solid ground, Violet pulled Boy round the side of the house and they slid onto their honkers by the pebble dashed wall. They sat in silence catching their breath.


  “What happened?” Boy finally whispered.

  “George Archer caught you. I saw him but there was nothing I could do. I thought maybe if he caught you he might lead me to Dad.”

  “So you let him!?”

  “Yeah but I rescued you didn’t I?” Violet snapped, “and anyway I think my plan might have worked.”

  “Did you find your Dad?”

  “No but I met this woman…”

  Violet filled Boy in on all that happened while he slept. When he was up to speed, they decided to cross the estate and have a look at the house the woman had pointed to.

  “I have a feeling about it,” Violet said, persuading her friend.

  Taking care not to be seen the pair ran past the park and crouched down behind the half built wall that surrounded the house. Then, as they had done before, crawled up the clay garden coming to a rest under the main windowsill.

  “You have a look,” Violet said, her voice shaking.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded and Boy lifted his head up over the rim of concrete.

  “I can’t remember what your Dad looks like,” he whispered, returning quickly to her side.

  “He’s tall for a Dad, has reddish brown hair, wears glasses,” she said, spurting out words to fill in her father.

  “Well in that case I think I saw him,” Boy smiled.

  “You what…you mean…what do you mean think!?” Violet stammered, quickly peering up over the ledge.

  The room beyond the window was different to the others on the estate. Firstly it didn’t have rows of planted eyes. Instead it was filled with glass boxes sitting on top of shiny steel tables. Each box held a small red light and under the light rested a solitary eye. There were about six boxes that hugged the edges of the room. In the centre of the space was another table; this one too was shiny steel and filled with piles of papers that streamed onto the floor. A white board crowded with calculations filled the back wall. To the left of it stood a man in a white coat.

  “Dad,” Violet gasped.

  It was him. He’d lost weight; his eyes, underlined by half moon shadows, bulged out from sunken cheeks. He looked sad and lonely. Her Dad had always been strong. Anger filled her bones. She wanted to kill the Archers for what they’d done. She was about to knock on the murky glass when something moved in the corner of the room. She ducked down just as Edward Archer walked past inside.