“That’s right. Lois is a rather severe paranoid. Did you know that at one time she couldn’t live at home because she thought her mother was poisoning her?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I’ll get her mother to tell you. She wouldn’t eat anything. She was practically anorexic. Lost twenty pounds before I effected a cure. When she goes off her medication, as she apparently did recently, she suffers from paranoia again. Now I understand she was saying that my vitamin was another kind of poison.” He laughed. “Funny, the forms the paranoia will take, isn’t it? Something that can only be good for you suddenly becomes deadly.” He shook his head.
Justine relaxed her posture and stepped away from the wall. “All the kids here are weird.”
“Different, maybe, but not weird. They’re more responsible. They have less street smarts, but they all come from good homes, so you think they’re weird. It’s just the way things are out here,” he said. “After a while, you’ll get to appreciate it. Believe me.” He nodded knowingly.
But Justine’s expression didn’t soften. “Something’s wrong with my parents,” she said. “They’re acting strange.”
“How so?”
“They’re saying and doing things they never did.”
“Well, they’re in a new place with new things to do, new people to meet. It’s understandable they would change.”
“Not like this. And my mother…she painted the exact same painting Christy Duke painted. Exactly the same,” she emphasized.
He nodded. “I know.”
“Well, that’s not right.”
“Maybe not right, but easily explainable. My fault, in a way. I showed them both a landscape someone did of the exact same location. It’s hanging on the wall at the clubhouse. It influenced them. No harm. They’ll realize it.”
“I…don’t believe you.”
“Go down to the clubhouse and look on the wall in the meeting room if you don’t believe me,” he said.
“And what about the ringing in my ears. Lois said—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. There’s a radio station just over the hill here, WBRO, FM, and occasionally they boost their frequency. Absolutely harmless. Oh, you might hear a dog howl once in a while, but other than that…”
She shook her head.
“No. Lois said—”
“I told you, Lois is a paranoid. She sees everything as potentially harmful. You can’t let her influence you. Now why don’t you try to calm down. You’ve got your parents very upset and worried.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, standing. “If you still have these ideas after a day or two, I’ll ask Lois’s parents to talk to you.”
“No, that won’t matter,” she said. “You own them.”
“What?” He smiled widely again.
“I don’t know how or why, but you own them. You own everyone here, even…even my parents.”
His smile froze, and then faded. “You are suffering, Justine. I think it might be best for you to stay home from school for a few days. Get some rest. Eat well. I’ll come around to see you from time to time.”
“No. Don’t come here anymore.” She backed away again.
His eyes looked as if a thin layer of ice had formed over them. “Don’t leave this house,” he said slowly, in the tone of a command. “It’s not safe for you to go out.” He glared at her, and she felt the blood rush from her face. Then he turned and left the room.
She rushed to the door and waited until he went downstairs. Then she went out to the landing to listen to what he would tell her parents.
He told them to keep her at home. He told them she was a very sick girl.
But he told them he could cure her, and they were grateful, very grateful, sickly grateful.
More frightened than ever, she rushed back to her room and went to the front window to watch him get into his black Cadillac and head up the hill.
What would she do now?
She remembered what Lois and she had planned. Since Lois was out of commission, she would have to do it alone. She would sneak up to Dr. Lawrence’s house and spy on his son. Then she would bring that information back to her parents.
It was her only hope.
11
When Justine didn’t respond to her parents’ call to dinner, her mother came to her room. She told her she wasn’t feeling well, and she had no appetite, but Elaine insisted she eat something and brought up some hot oatmeal. Even though there was no mention of Dr. Lawrence’s visit, Justine knew why her mother wanted her to eat something.
She waited until her mother left, then emptied it all into the toilet. When her mother came up to collect the empty cereal bowl, she was satisfied.
“You’ll feel a lot better now,” she said. “I’m sure.”
Justine didn’t respond. She was disappointed that her father hadn’t come up, but she was also relieved. With her dad out of sight, it would be easier for her to sneak out of the house. She waited until she felt sure they were having their coffee, and then she started down.
She hesitated at the bottom of the stairway, listening for the sounds of their voices coming from the kitchen. After she heard them, she slipped out the front door and started up the hill toward Dr. Lawrence’s house.
As Justine drew closer to the house, she realized it was much larger than it appeared. Viewing it from the streets below, it was impossible to see the back of it. The front facade made it appear deceptively narrower, even though it was obviously bigger than the other ranch style structures in the development. Its size made it more intimidating, and she hesitated, her heart still beating rapidly. She considered retreating, but she also found herself drawn to the house the way someone might be drawn to a dark cave. The mystery made it dangerous, but thrilling at the same time.
Even though there was no one in sight, she couldn’t shrug off that sense of being watched, as if she were trapped under some giant magnifying glass. She studied the front of the house. To the right of the door was a large bay window with a sheer blue curtain drawn across it. The lamp that produced illumination within what Justine assumed was the living room only revealed the silhouettes of some furniture and a bookcase.
She moved very slowly, studying the house and checking every few feet to be sure she hadn’t been discovered. Fortunately, the sun had just about disappeared beneath the horizon. Shadows were forming quickly, cloaking her movements.
She stopped to listen. The silence from the house was encouraging, yet also confusing. It seemed like no one was home, but she knew the house wasn’t empty. Dr. Lawrence’s car sat in the driveway. Yet all was so still.
Her legs wobbled. Her body, as if it had a consciousness of its own, rebelled. The movements were involuntary, instinctive, like fingers that shied away from a hot stove. But her curiosity was stronger. Realizing she had to discover something that would awaken her parents to the terrible danger in their lives, she forced herself to move ahead.
The wooden part of the structure was comprised of the same type of cedar planks that had been used to build many of the houses below, but the facing was made from natural fieldstone. Dark blue curtains were drawn over the other front windows. She paused to study one of them, as the curtain seemed to be trembling. Someone might have been peering out at her, and then drew back. Maybe it was Dr. Lawrence. Maybe he was expecting her.
She waited for what seemed to be an eternity. When there was no movement in the curtain and no sign of anyone, she continued along the front of the house.
A black metal table and chairs were placed on the patio, but they looked cold and uncomfortable—nothing like the cushioned outdoor furniture her parents had behind their home.
Although there was a small garden in front of the house with rows of impatiens neatly planted along the walls, the grounds on the sides and rear were covered with silver and white stones. To Justine it looked as though Dr. Lawrence was trying to put up a false impression, a facade of a splendid home, when it was really something entirely di
fferent. It reminded her of the fake scenery she had seen when she and her parents vacationed in California and visited the movie studios in Burbank.
Triggered by the loss of sunlight, the solar sensitized switch turned on small spotlights placed along the front grounds of the house. Justine jumped back to the safety of the shadows. She thought someone might have heard her and turned the lights on, but still there was no sign of life in any of the front windows, nor did anyone come to the front door.
After a moment, she realized the lights came on automatically. The beams were focused on the front walkway, the garden, and the fountain. But the sides and the rear of the house were left in darkness.
Although she moved stealthily, her feet crunched loudly over the rough rocks. She paused, feeling that she was being watched intently again. Only this time, the strange presence seemed to be outside the house, in the darkness behind her. Was it some animal? She saw no movement. There were no eyes, and all was deadly silent.
In fact, the silence up here was so complete, it was as though she had climbed up out of the world. From her house she could sometimes hear the sounds of cars on the street in front of the development. Occasionally, noises of the outside world penetrated the walls of Elysian Fields. But up here, she heard none of that. The loudest sound was the thud of her own heartbeat, reverberating in the channels of her ears, vibrating through the bones in her face. She had to catch her breath.
For a moment, she considered turning and fleeing, but it was too late for that. She had to find out what Lois meant; and, anyway, her feet felt glued to the stones. It was as if a wall had formed in the air behind her, pressing her forward. She bit down on her lower lip and closed her eyes.
A slight movement in a side window caught her eye. Someone was inside; something was happening. There was something to see. She would have to take at least one peak before retreating.
Since there were no bushes or flowers planted near the house on this side, she pressed herself against the building and slid along the walls until she reached the window. The curtain was partly open. Justine moved to the window frame and raised herself on her toes to peer in.
At first she saw nothing unusual—a large dark oak bed, a matching oak dresser, a plush-looking pecan-brown carpeted floor, and a standing lamp. She remained close to the window, but shifted to the other side of the frame to get a complete view.
Now she could see the entire room. It still looked like an ordinary bedroom. She saw another oak dresser and a desk, nightstands, and an armoire. She did note that the antique white walls were bare of pictures or ornaments, though a strange garment hung on a hook in the far left corner.
She heard some soft music, but still saw no one in the room. Justine’s legs ached from standing on her toes, but she dared not move. Surely the music meant something was happening or something was about to happen. She waited, her eyes on the bedroom doorway. She held her nose so close to the window, the end of it grazed the glass.
Suddenly, without any warning, a young man’s face appeared in the window. Rising up from below the window pane, he pressed his nose and mouth against the glass to peer out at her. For a split second she was unable to move. In that moment, she saw the face of a corpse. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin nearly milk white. His lips were as pale and as dry as day-old dead worms. She couldn’t be sure, but when she thought about it and envisioned him again afterward, she thought his closely shaven head had tiny wires emerging from the sides of his scalp.
Justine screamed and fell back on the stones. The face disappeared from the window as quickly as it had appeared. She struggled to her feet, then ran back along the side of the house the way she had come, tripping once and tumbling to the stones. Frantic, she pushed herself up with the palms of her hands, and scampered on.
She whipped around the corner of the house and ran right into the arms of the waiting Dr. Lawrence.
She screamed again and tried to pull back, but he held her firmly at the shoulders. His fingers felt like vises that penetrated to the bone.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, but she couldn’t respond. His face was in the shadows. Just before she fainted, she realized that he had been watching her all along, that he had been tracking her in the darkness, and he knew exactly what she had seen.
He was ecstatic. There was no way to contain himself; he disregarded all warnings coming from the dark corner. He danced around his bedroom like a drunken fool, raising his arms over his head in a frenzied motion. He rushed to the window to look out, as though the image of her face was forever implanted on the glass. Then he turned back to his second self, who, although just as overwhelmingly happy, was far more reserved.
“She wants me. She wants me,” he said. “She came up here to show me. It was her way of asking me, begging me to help her. Didn’t you see? Didn’t you see?”
“I saw, but you’re only going to make it more difficult if you continue to act out like this. Control yourself.”
“I can’t. I can’t remember being this happy. Was I ever this happy, ever?”
“Of course you were. When she was here,” he added.
“Yes, yes. Oh, I looked right into her eyes, and she looked right into mine. And she called to me—screamed to me.”
“You’ve got to stop and think. Calm down.”
“Then she was gone. But that was only because he came along.” He paused and looked toward the window again. Then he thought for a moment. “He doesn’t want this. He’s going to try to stop it.”
“Of course he will. That’s why I’m telling you to calm down. You’ll give everything away before you have a chance to take action. Is that what you want?”
“No. I won’t let him or the nurse stop me.”
“She’s going to be coming in here any moment. You’ve been pounding the floor. She must’ve heard that scream.”
“Yes, yes.” He looked around and listened. “Where is she?”
“Maybe she’s helping your father. Get back into bed. Pretend you’re asleep. If they suspect anything, anything at all, they’ll strap you in. And then what?”
“I won’t be strapped in. I won’t!” he said defiantly. He looked at his bed with hate. Then he moved quickly to it, lifted the mattress a little, and pulled out his machete.
“Put that away. She’s going to see it.”
“Not yet.” He hacked at the first strap. It took a number of blows to cut through the leather sufficiently enough for him to tear it from the bed. Then he started on the next one. All the while his second self was begging him to stop, but he couldn’t listen to anything but his own excitement.
She was here! She had looked in on him! She had called to him!
How could he disregard that? How could he wait any longer? It was time to put caution aside. This was his chance, his chance to right the wrong.
He hacked off the second strap, then held them both up like freshly killed snakes to demonstrate his new power and control.
“Big deal, you killed two leather straps,” his second self said.
“I’ve permanently emancipated myself,” he responded.
“Not quite.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
She was in the doorway, her large body a huge barrier.
“I told you. I warned you,” his second self said, starting to retreat.
“Stay where you are,” he screamed at the shadows. “You don’t have to hide anymore.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” she demanded. She stepped into his bedroom and looked toward the corner. “Damn you, what have you done? And just when your father is having a major crisis in the development.”
“She was here,” he said. “She wants to come home.” He gestured with one of the straps.
“Who was here? How did you rip those off the bed?” She looked past him. “Where did you get that?” she demanded as soon as she spotted the machete lying on the bed.
“He reminded me where it was,” he said, pointing to the shadows.
She glanced at the empty corner again. “Christ, you’re a mess,” she said, turning back to him. “And to think your father had hope for you, some actual plans for you.” She shook her head. “I got news for you. I think either you or I have to go. I’ve had it, fringe benefits or not.”
She started across the bedroom toward the bed, and he stepped in her path.
“Get out of my way, you idiot. Go sit in that chair,” she said, pointing and commanding as usual.
He looked at it and smiled. “I can’t. I have work to do,” he said.
“Work? You? What kind of work could you possibly do now? You couldn’t even sweep a floor. You’d probably stay in one corner and sweep until the broom wore out,” she said with a laugh. “Go on over there before I lose my temper.”
“I told you this would happen,” his second self said.
“Stop worrying.”
“Huh?” she said. She looked into the corner again and in that instant, he reached back, took hold of the machete, and brought it around in one swift motion, striking her on the left side of the neck.
The machete sliced cleanly through an artery and came to rest against her neck bone. Her eyes exploded. Her mouth dropped. Her tongue quivered, then retreated toward her throat like a frightened mole. She raised her arms reflexively. Before her body folded and collapsed, he was able to strike her again, this time hearing and feeling the neck bone crack. As she dropped to the floor, her head tilted to the right.
Blood soaked the rug and ran down her starched white uniform, crawling quickly over her left breast. He rather liked the way it formed crimson shapes over her shoulders, down her arms, and across her bosom.
Her entire body shook spasmodically, then came to a quick halt. Her fingers curled like thick worms trying to protect their middles.
“What a mess,” his second self said. He was standing just at the border of the shadows so he could get a good view.
“He didn’t do such a good job with this one,” he said. “Look at those wires. Inferior materials. I always thought she consisted of inferior materials.”
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