Perfect Little Angels

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Hi.” She looked at the six boys and two girls. Four of the boys wore slacks and short-sleeved shirts. Brad and Steven wore jeans and white T-shirts. One of the girls wore a red hair clip on top of her head, a bright blue and pink oversized shirt, and dark blue dungarees. It was hard to tell because of the shirt, but she seemed to have a nice figure.

  The other girl had her hair pinned back in a bun. She wore an ankle-length, dark blue skirt, and a frilly white blouse buttoned to the neck. She had a long neck, a small bosom, and rather large hips.

  “I can’t even remember when we first moved in,” Brad said, smiling as they all drew up in front of Justine.

  “Can’t remember? Why?” she asked, remembering his parents’ confusion about that same date. How could people be confused about such important facts and events in their lives?

  Brad shrugged, as if the answer weren’t important. “Dr. Lawrence says, life began for us at Elysian Fields,” he said, smiling. “Everyone, this is Justine Freeman. Justine, this is Mark Bronstein, Scott Halsey, Paul Kotein, Benjamin Billups, Lois Wilson, and Janet Bernie.”

  “Hi,” they said, almost in unison.

  “Hi.”

  “Lois is a sophomore, too,” Brad said. “Janet’s a junior. The rest of us are seniors this year.”

  “Really.” She couldn’t help but be curious, especially because of the way they stared at her. They all seemed friendly, but it was as if they were wearing masks with permanent, identical smiles. These boys certainly didn’t look as mature as the senior boys she had known in New York, she thought, reinforcing her original fears.

  “Uh-huh.” Brad, his hands on his hips, surveyed the scene before him. “We all walk to school together in the morning,” he said. “It’s only three-quarters of a mile from the front entrance of Elysian Fields. Janet and Lois will show you around the first day, right, girls?”

  “Oh, sure,” Lois said. Her smile warmed and became more sincere. Justine decided she might like her.

  “Of course we will,” Janet said. Justine thought she had a rather deep voice for a girl. She pressed her hand against the side of her head and stroked her hair back, as though to be sure there wasn’t a strand out of place.

  “Thanks,” Justine said.

  “You’re not interested in being on the school paper by any chance, are you?” Paul Kotein asked. “I’m the editor, and we need some good writers.” His mouth turned up in the corner when he finished his sentence. His hair, cut even shorter than Brad’s, exaggerated the size of his ears. He wore light yellow framed glasses, the lenses of which magnified his eyes.

  Justine thought he looked like a frog. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Give her a chance to get orientated,” Scott Halsey snapped. Justine was surprised at his sudden burst of anger. It was as though these kids turned emotions on and off like a faucet. Scott’s face was so narrow, his nose so long, and his eyes so beady that Justine was reminded of a rodent. He was the tallest boy there, but he had an awkward-looking, gangly body, with arms that brought his fingers down just above his knees. His dull, dark brown hair looked as though it had been cut under a bowl. “Maybe she wants to be on the debate team.”

  “I don’t know whether I want to belong to any clubs yet,” she said. “I didn’t belong to any at my old school.”

  “Nothing?” Janet asked. When Janet smirked, Justine thought she looked like a disapproving schoolmarm.

  “I didn’t, either, before I came to Sandburg Creek,” Lois confessed softly. Almost immediately after she said it, she looked as though she regretted it. “I was kind of lazy and unproductive,” she added quickly. Her sudden excuse sounded automatic, memorized.

  “What changed you?” Justine asked. She wondered if her father was right with his predictions of change for her. Lois looked at the others again before replying.

  “I started taking better care of myself physically, vitamins, exercise, and my parents had me see Dr. Lawrence. He gave me a pep talk I’ll never forget.”

  “Dr. Lawrence? What’s he, the development’s private shrink or something?” Justine laughed at her own joke, but the others, except for Lois, seemed angry, as if she’d just insulted them personally. “I gotta go in and help my parents,” she said. Something about those kids made her uncomfortable. “See you all later.” She headed for the house.

  When she turned back, they were all still watching her. Lois looked like she wanted to follow, but the others stood so still, their posture so erect, they seemed to be planted in the ground.

  Justine opened the door quickly and stepped into the house. Her mother was supervising the delivery of the cartons, directing the movers here and there. Her father was upstairs, organizing the placement of furniture in the bedrooms. When Elaine saw her, she paused. Justine thought her mother looked kind of cute, dressed in an old sweat shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Her hair was disheveled, with strands falling over her forehead, and her face was flushed from the activity.

  Justine searched the long, wide entryway for the boxes that contained her clothing and possessions. Her room in this house was considerably bigger than her bedroom in New York. She was anxious to hook up her stereo and see what kind of sounds she would get when she set up the speakers farther apart then they had been in the apartment.

  “Where are my things?” she asked.

  “Everything’s been brought up to your room. You can start unpacking the cartons.”

  “Okay, I—”

  “Hi, Mrs. Freeman,” a voice called from behind her. Justine turned around to see all the teenagers enter the house. “We thought we’d drop by and see if we could be of any help.”

  “Why, that’s nice of you, Brad.”

  Justine stepped back as Brad introduced everyone to her mother. The placid gloom that had come over their faces when she left them outside was gone. All of them were friendly and bright. They began to help carry cartons upstairs, and moments later, she heard Brad introduce the other teenagers to her father. Soon afterward, the boys were helping him assemble furniture. Lois and Janet followed her to her room.

  Her new bedroom, a good twenty-by-fifteen feet with two windows facing the front, was open and airy. A thick, mauve-colored, tightly woven nylon carpet covered the floor. The walls were papered in a darker pink, floral pattern. Her mother had already hung matching curtains. There was a full-size walk-in closet to the left on entrance, and another, smaller closet to the right. Justine had decided to store her tapes, some books, albums, and other personal articles in the smaller closet. Her queen-size, cherry-vanilla tinted canopy bed was already set up against the far wall. Matching nightstands stood on both sides of it.

  A large, matching dresser had been placed to the left of the bed, and a small vanity table with a square, white wood framed mirror stood beside it. She and her mother had planned the arrangement of the room the last time they were here, and Elaine had marked where each piece of furniture would go.

  “I love organizing clothing,” Janet said, digging into a carton on the floor. “I love organizing anything. I just love it when things are neat.”

  “I’m afraid I’m a slob,” Justine said.

  “Sometimes I am, too,” Lois admitted.

  “No you’re not,” Janet snapped at Lois. “Why are you saying that?”

  “Well, I used to be,” Lois corrected quickly. “Janet’s right. I’m not anymore.” The smile fell from her face, peeling down slowly. First her eyes faded from a bright, eager look to a dull glaze, and then her lips became a thin, knifelike slice.

  Justine realized that neither of the girls wore makeup, not even a touch of lipstick. Janet had harder, sharper features. Justine thought her mouth was too long and her nose had an ugly bump just at the bridge. Her dark brown hair looked dull, and it was brushed and pinned back so tightly, it made her forehead look even wider than it was. She couldn’t understand why the girl didn’t shape her eyebrows.

  Lois, smaller and more attractive, had a smoother complexion and softer facial fe
atures. Her tiny, delicate hands reminded Justine of a doll she’d once had. Her almond brown hair, brushed down around her shoulders, seemed shiny and natural. The red hair clip seemed out of place, as if it had been added hastily, just for effect.

  “You want your top drawer for socks and the second for lingerie?” Janet asked.

  “Lingerie?” Justine said. Janet held up a pair of panties, but she looked pained, as if her fingers were burning and she had to get rid of the garment quickly. “Oh. Yeah, sure, put it in there.”

  She watched them fold her things carefully and shook her head. She found her tapes, records, and magazines far more interesting than the prospect of getting organized. She began to set up her stereo.

  “You’re going to like it here, Justine. Wait until school starts,” Janet said with sudden enthusiasm.

  “Oh, I just can’t wait for that.” Justine expected a familiar grimace, but Janet missed the sarcasm and only smiled. On the other hand, a twinkle of understanding glimmered in Lois’s eyes.

  Justine turned back to her stereo, and the girls continued to unpack her clothing. As she watched them work, she smiled to herself. Actually, this wasn’t too bad, she thought. They were doing a hell of a job, and they were saving her a lot of work. She hated looking after her things, except for her albums and tapes.

  The moment she got her stereo set up and placed the speakers where she thought they would be most effective, she inserted a tape of The Cult, one of her favorite rock groups. Then she closed her eyes and absorbed the blast of music, much like someone who had been a prisoner of war for years and finally was biting into a hamburger.

  “Do you really like that?” Janet asked. “It’s so loud,” she said, pursing her lips together. “Isn’t that being inconsiderate?”

  Before Justine could respond, Kevin was at the door.

  “Hey, sweetheart, tone that down, will you. It’s hard enough shouting orders up and down the stairs and across rooms.”

  Justine grimaced and turned off the stereo. The girls stood there looking at her. Janet had a self-satisfied expression on her face, but Lois looked sympathetic.

  “We’re going down to see if we can help your mother with the kitchen things. Want to come?” Janet asked.

  “In a few minutes,” she said and turned away from them, still sulking about having to turn down her music. When she glanced back, Janet was gone but Lois hesitated in the doorway.

  “That was The Cult, wasn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Justine said, encouraged. “You have any of their tapes?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Janet called from the hallway.

  “Oh, yes.” She looked at Justine longingly for a moment, and then disappeared.

  Weird kids, Justine thought, shaking her head.

  The teenagers of Elysian Fields spent the rest of the day in the Freemans’ new home. Both Elaine and Kevin kept thanking them for their help. Before they left, the girls were dusting furniture, organizing cabinets, and washing down windows. The boys were a great help to Kevin. They seemed to have interminable patience, moving couches and chairs from spot to spot while Elaine decided on the best arrangement.

  Justine noticed the way Elaine took to Janet and Lois, how they were at her side, wiping down dishes and silverware and jabbering about detergents and sprays. She couldn’t help feeling jealous, but she couldn’t believe the conversation these girls were having with her mother. Justine didn’t know the differences between one detergent and the next, much less when it was better to use powders instead of liquids. How could girls this young be interested in such things?

  Late in the afternoon, Christy Duke arrived to help Justine’s mother set up her studio in the rear of the house. The large room boasted an enormous picture window facing the west, which permitted a great deal of sunlight.

  At suppertime, Christy returned home to fetch Michael and covered dishes of food. Right behind them came Sid and Sylvia Bronstein, who lived in the house beside the Dukes. The Bronsteins brought breads and cake and a bottle of wine. They were eager to help, but the kids had done so much, there was very little left to do. Kevin and Elaine couldn’t stop raving about the helpful teenagers.

  Justine was glad when everyone finally left. Her parents flopped on the couch and looked about the large living room. Justine sat in the blue cushioned easy chair. At least having the same furniture made her feel at home, she thought. She liked curling up in this deep, soft blue chair. When she was little, her father told her it was a magic chair because she could only wish for things when she was sitting in it. As she had received some things she’d wished for, she had a child’s faith in the magic.

  “Do you believe how friendly people are here?” Kevin asked. “I mean, we’re really moved in for the most part.”

  “Down to the dishcloths hanging on the pole above the sink,” Elaine agreed. “Those kids are fantastic. You’re going to make some wonderful new friends here, Justine.”

  “Sure, Mom.” She glanced at the mute television set. “Can we get MTV out here?”

  “We’ll see. The cable will be hooked up tomorrow.”

  “No television tonight?”

  “You won’t wilt, will you?” Kevin laughed. “I have a unique new idea for you,” Kevin said, jumping up dramatically. “What about a book? You know, like reading?”

  “Very funny, Daddy.”

  He laughed and gave her a playful pat on the head.

  “Well,” Elaine said, standing. “Let’s enjoy the food they brought. Everything looked delicious.”

  Justine had to admit the food was good. After dinner, she went up to her room. Her father had promised her her own phone if she started school well and brought home some good marks, and she was confident that she would be able to wrangle a phone out of him before long.

  She went back to her stereo immediately. Now that the commotion had died down, she could close her door and play her music, just as she always did. Actually, with so much more living space, her parents would have less to complain about, she decided.

  But when she reached for a tape, the box was gone. Her first reaction was confusion. In the middle of all that turmoil, she must have forgotten what she had done with them. She smiled to herself as she looked around the room. Everything was so neatly organized; it wouldn’t be hard to find the tapes here.

  But a perusal of the furniture, the chairs, the bed, and the closet floor turned up nothing. Where had she put all those tapes? She started to open drawers and pull out articles of clothing. She practically crawled over the closet floor. She looked under the bed and rifled through the drawers in her desk twice, but found no tapes.

  Frustrated and angry, she bit down on her lower lip and thought. All she could picture was Janet’s expression of disgust and Lois admitting she didn’t have The Cult. Now she realized they were just pretending not to like her music so she wouldn’t suspect them of snatching her tapes. The nerdy bastards, she thought, charging out of her room. Something made her hesitate, beside the empty cartons in the hallway. Slowly, she peered down into the first large box, and then she screamed.

  Her mother and father came running up the stairs.

  Justine stood by the carton, embracing herself, trying to staunch the tears of anger.

  “Justine, what is it?” Elaine asked.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Kevin was at her side.

  “My…tapes…look,” she said, pointing to a carton.

  Kevin looked down into the carton. Her cassette tapes were there, but they were a jumble of smashed plastic and unraveled tape.

  Elaine took his arm. “Kevin…”

  “Must have gotten smashed in the moving,” he said.

  “They weren’t in that carton,” Justine said. “They were in my room.”

  “Why would anyone want to smash your tapes, Justine? Huh?” Kevin said. He looked at his wife, but she only shook her head. “Tomorrow we’ll go downtown and buy some new ones.”

&nbs
p; “They probably don’t sell these recordings here,” Justine said. “They probably never even heard of Twisted Sister.”

  “Maybe they’re lucky,” Kevin said. It was a weak attempt at humor, but Justine didn’t appreciate it. She ran into her room and slammed the door.

  “Oh, Kevin.” Elaine scowled at him.

  “I was just trying to cheer her up. Hey, Princess,” he said going to Justine’s door. “Make a list, and I’ll pick them up when I go into the city Monday.”

  Justine didn’t respond. After a few moments she heard her parents go back downstairs, their voices low, their words indistinguishable.

  And suddenly, even in this beautiful, new house, she felt a terrible foreboding.

  2

  Gazing out the front window, Justine saw the black Cadillac pull up in front of her house and Dr. Felix Lawrence step out, carrying a small carton in his hands. The fifty-four-year-old man was a trim, one-hundred-and-eighty-pound six-footer. His salt and pepper hair was swept back neatly with a slight wave in the front. As he walked toward the front door of the Freemans’ house, his deep blue eyes focused intently before him, giving him the air of a man with a determined purpose.

  Even before he reached the door, it was opened. Kevin and Elaine had been expecting him, and had called Justine down from her room to meet him. Still depressed about her tapes, she had left her room reluctantly and come down to wait in the living room. Dr. Lawrence’s secretary had called only a half hour earlier to ask if he could stop by on his way home.

  “First time anyone ever made a formal appointment to pay a social call,” Elaine said, but she was impressed and anxious to meet the famous man.