Perfect People

by Peter James

  His mobile rang. Glancing at the dial he could see it was Naomi. Jamming the phone into the hands-free cradle, he answered. ‘Hi, honey, I’m almost home. Be there in five minutes.’

  ‘You’re so late – I’ve been worrying about you.’ Her voice sounded strange, very strained.

  ‘I’m sorry, I did try to call back a couple of times but you were on the phone.’

  ‘You said you’d be home at six.’

  ‘I got stuck in a staff meet—’

  Then the line disconnected.

  He cursed. Reception was always bad in this area. He tried to call her back but there was no signal. Minutes later he saw the lights of a garage forecourt and pulled into it.

  The selection of flowers was poor. The best was a small bunch of red roses, wrapped in cellophane. He bought them then drove on. Five minutes later, he turned off the main road onto the narrow lane that led to the village.

  Caibourne was ten miles east of Brighton and four miles from Lewes, the ancient historic county town of Sussex. It was more a hamlet than a village. There was a pub, used mostly by locals rather than tourists, a church badly in need of a major roof restoration, a tiny Post Office that doubled as a general store, a thriving primary school, a one-court tennis club, and a community that was mostly farm and estate workers in tied cottages that were owned by the nearby stately home of Caibourne Place.

  John drove past a row of labourers’ cottages, the schoolhouse and the church. A mile and a half beyond the village, he turned onto the single-lane farm track that led up to their house. A rabbit ran across the road in front of him, and he braked sharply as the creature darted back across his path again, then loped for some yards up ahead of him before finally diving through a gap in the wire fencing and into a ploughed field. Beyond his headlights was total darkness.

  Slayings.

  Mutilated.

  The second couple this had happened to.

  There was a ton of stuff on the internet about Dettore, and what was particularly concerning was a series of anonymous blog posts by someone claiming to be a former employee from the clinic. God knows what information from the clinic had been leaked.

  If this organization – sect – bunch of crazies – whoever – or whatever – they were – if they had taken over Dettore’s clinic, if they had enough information to find George and Angelina, and the Borowitzes, then almost certainly they had enough information to find everyone else.

  He negotiated a sharp right-hand bend and could see the lights of the house a few hundred yards ahead of him. He drove over a cattle grid, onto the gravel drive and pulled up next to Naomi’s Subaru station wagon.

  As he climbed out of the car, Naomi opened the front door, looking pale. He grabbed his laptop bag off the back seat and the flowers, shut the door, and strode over to her. Barely acknowledging the flowers, she put her arms around him and held him tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I did try to call you back, but—’

  Her face was wet and her eyes were red from crying.

  ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ he said, although he could tell what it was from her expression.

  They went in. Naomi closed the front door, locked it and clicked home the safety chain. ‘Lori rang, from LA.’

  John heard a roar of laughter from the television in the kitchen. He dumped his bag on the tiled floor and wriggled out of his coat. He hung his coat on a hook on the mahogany Victorian stand. There was a good smell of cooking meat in the house. ‘How are they? How’s Irwin?’

  She looked at the flowers, but said nothing.

  They went through to the kitchen. The playpen was on the floor, a mess of toys lying beside it. John saw a half-empty bottle of red wine on the table and a glass that had a small amount left in it. ‘How’s Luke? Did you call the doctor?’

  ‘I have an appointment for him tomorrow. He said he doesn’t think it’s anything to worry about, but to take Luke to him if he’s still not well in the morning.’

  ‘Is he still throwing up?’

  ‘He stopped.’

  She put the flowers in the sink and ran the tap. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘These are beautiful. You used to buy me flowers all the time when we first went out. Remember?’

  Guilt tugged at him. ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He went over to the baby monitor and listened. Silence. ‘Are they asleep?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Just quickly take a look at them.’ He sprinted up the stairs, treading as softly as he could, went down to their room and gently pushed the door open. Both were sound asleep, Luke with his thumb in his mouth; Phoebe, her fists balled, had a tiny spot of drool running down her chin.

  He blew each of them a kiss, then went back downstairs and into the kitchen.

  She poured herself some more wine, then turned to face him, her eyes wide, full of fear. ‘Lori said there’s a big story in the press – all over the news. There’s been another killing. Another couple who went to Dr Dettore and have had twins, just like us, John.’

  ‘Kalle rang,’ he said. ‘He told me. That’s what I was calling you about.’

  She walked over to the window. ‘Does Kalle have a suggestion about what we should do?’

  ‘He said to be vigilant.’

  He did need a drink, he realized, so he took a fresh bottle of white wine out of the fridge. ‘We need to get an alarm system that goes through to the police. Get lights that come on if anyone approaches the house. Window locks. Stuff like that. And he said we ought to maybe think about getting a guard dog. And—’ He hesitated.

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted.

  ‘He thought we ought to have a gun in the house.’

  ‘This is England, John, not America.’

  ‘I thought I’d apply for a shotgun licence – could be useful for keeping down all the rabbits.’ He pulled the cork out.

  ‘You’re too absent-minded. I don’t think it’s a good idea to have a gun in the house, and certainly not with young children. Maybe a dog, when they’re a little older – we could get a guard dog of some kind.’

  When they’re a little older. Her words repeated in his head. When they’re a little older. There was something innocent in her remark that struck him as almost childlike. Two families had been butchered. A bunch of crazies were out there, somewhere in the night, maybe in America, maybe even in Sussex. They didn’t have the luxury of time to wait until Luke and Phoebe were older.

  ‘I’ve taken tomorrow morning off,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a couple of security firms coming up to give us their suggestions and prices.’ He poured himself some wine.

  Naomi nodded. ‘Good, let’s do that. I’m sorry, I got myself in a state with the kids, and with the call. I want to stay here, John, I want us to make a life here in England. We can’t just go on the run – spend our lives in hiding.’

  He kissed her. ‘I was thinking the same, driving over.’

  ‘These people will get caught – no one can get away with what they’ve done for long, can they?’

  Privately, John thought, They’ve got away with it for over a year, so far. Totally away with it. But he didn’t say this to Naomi. Instead, putting his arms around her, holding her tightly, he said, ‘Sure. Kalle said the FBI are throwing a lot of resources at this. They’ll find them.’

  She looked at up him, with total, utter trust in her eyes. ‘He said that?’

  ‘Yes,’ he lied.

  ‘Kalle’s a good man.’

  ‘He is.’

  Holding her even tighter, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, ‘Luke and Phoebe are asleep. Why don’t we take advantage of that?’

  For an answer she took his hand and led him up to bed.

  46

  A pitiful shriek pierced the silence of the night. Naomi shuddered at the sound as she lay awake, too damned awake, eyes wide open, brain racing, the room bathed in ethereal moonlight through the open curtains. With no neighbours, they never bothered to draw them.

 
‘A fox taking a rabbit,’ John said quietly. He slipped an arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

  ‘It’s the most horrible sound.’

  ‘Just nature at work.’

  She rolled over and stared at him. There was one more outburst of shrieks, a long squeal, then silence.

  ‘You study nature in your work,’ she said. ‘You simulate it in computer programs. Do you have rabbits squealing in your computers?’

  He smiled. ‘No.’

  She kissed him. ‘You’re a kind man. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hurt even a virtual rabbit. I don’t want you buying a gun. I don’t want us to live in an atmosphere of fear, like we’re under siege or something. We mustn’t lose sight of why we’ve done what we have, John. We haven’t done anything wrong or immoral, we haven’t done anything to be ashamed of – have we?’

  ‘No,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I am scared. There hasn’t been a day since – since the news about Dr Dettore – when I haven’t been afraid. I have dreadful dreams, I wake confused and exhausted and sometimes, when the sun is streaming in, or I hear birds singing, or just you breathing, I get a few precious moments when the dreams have faded, a few moments of private blue sky, of peace. And then it all comes back and I think – think – that maybe there’s a car down the end of the lane with a bunch of religious freaks in it, and they have guns and knives, and they don’t even have hatred in their hearts, they have some kind of deep inner peace because they know they’re doing the right thing, that they’re acting out God’s will. Does that scare you, John?’

  ‘I think about it all the time.’

  ‘You still believe man should take control of nature, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes; nothing’s happened to make me change my mind.’

  There was a brief silence, then she said, ‘You do love Luke and Phoebe as much as . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘As?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  He caressed her hair again. ‘Yes, of course. I love them – incredibly – I didn’t know I was capable such love. I—’

  ‘If you had to make a choice,’ she said, ‘between saving them or me, who would you save?’

  ‘It will never come to that.’

  Her voice became a fraction more insistent. ‘Just supposing it did – just supposing you had to make a choice – who would you save? Luke and Phoebe or me?’

  John thought carefully, unprepared for the question.

  ‘Who?’ she probed.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘I would save you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if anything ever happened to them we could have more children. But I could never replace you.’

  She kissed him. ‘That’s a very beautiful thing to say – but do you mean it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let me ask you another question. If you had the choice of saving yourself or them, who would you save.’

  His answer came out almost instantly. ‘Them.’

  She sounded relieved. ‘So you do love them, don’t you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘Why do you have doubts?’

  ‘I wonder, sometimes. I wonder if you feel that if you could turn back the clock, that—’

  ‘Never.’ He shrugged. ‘OK, I wouldn’t have done that bloody interview. But—’

  ‘You’d still have gone to Dettore?’

  ‘Yes. And you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hon,’ he said, ‘throughout history, people who have tried to challenge established thinking have been persecuted. Not everyone has been right, but if nobody had tried – well – the human race wouldn’t have progressed very far. We might not even have survived this long. We’d certainly be living in some kind of dark age right now.’

  ‘And we aren’t?’ Naomi said. ‘These people – the Disciples of the Third Millennium – the fact that they can be out there, roaming around, believing they have the right to kill people for their own beliefs, and that no one can do a thing about it – that doesn’t signal to me what we think is civilization is anything more than a very thin veneer.’

  ‘That’s what we are trying to change. That is what going to Dettore was all about.’

  ‘Is it? I thought going to him was about having a child who wasn’t going to die at four years old from an inherited disease. Is it about something else? Something you haven’t told me?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I tell you everything.’

  She was quiet for some moments, thinking, then she said, ‘You would have told me, wouldn’t you, if—’

  ‘If what?’

  ‘If you and Dettore had discussed anything else about – the babies.’

  ‘What do you mean by anything else?’

  ‘All the options he gave us. All those boxes we had to tick. I’d have no way of knowing if you and he had decided to – to go behind my back.’

  ‘No way,’ John said. ‘No way I would ever have done that, darling. Not in a million years. Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Yes, I do, of course I do. It’s Dettore. I look at Luke and Phoebe all the time, and wonder – you know – I wonder what he’s done, what’s inside them, what surprises we have in store. It would be great, wouldn’t it, if we could get their entire genomes read. Then at least we’d know.’

  ‘And if you found out something you didn’t like, what would you do about it?’

  She was silent. She had no answer.

  47

  Down here in the dark of the sewer there is only one light that shines, my friends. It is His light. He shows the path to those who follow, and if you choose not to follow, that’s your call.

  You are doomed.

  You, who do not follow, call evil good and good evil. You turn darkness into light and light into darkness. You make what is bitter sweet, and what is sweet you make bitter. Isaiah 5: 20.

  I have your names written down on paper, my friends. And I have you written in the memory of my computer. And written in my head. Today you are everywhere, basking in your self-importance. But, my friends, you are doomed. And not just here on the earth plane. Fear not me who can kill your body but cannot kill your soul. Rather be afraid of God, who can destroy both body and soul in Hell.

  How are you finding it down in Hell, Mr and Mrs O’Rourke and your hideous spawn, Jackson and Chelsey? Have you repented yet? Don’t worry, you have plenty of time, all the time in the world. Everything that happens in this world happens at the time God chooses. And God chose you first, Mr and Mrs O’Rourke. Soon others will be joining you.

  The Disciple sat on the hard wooden chair in the shade of his cell in the monastery, and stared out through the window at the walled kitchen garden below. Tiny green shoots appeared in the furrowed earth. He had planted tomatoes, broccoli, courgettes, lettuces, potatoes. Organic. Real vegetables. Not like the shit in supermarkets. Not like the shit growing in the wheat fields beyond the monastery’s garden. You could see the fields that had real wheat and those that were spawned by the Devil. The real wheat glowed a golden yellow colour under the sun because it had God’s blessing. The GM stuff stayed a murky brown colour; it grew, ashamed, in perpetual shade.

  A sharp, mantric rapping sound rose through the tranquillity of the warm morning air. The midday call to prayers. He rose obediently and placed his black veil over his head.

  The abbot had made him the Assistant Guest Master. His duties impinged little on his thoughts and his plans. Here in the wilderness of Iowa they did not have too many pilgrims visiting. His duties here were light compared to his duties to God.

  The completion of the Great Rite.

  And then God’s blessing.

  I look down the names on my list and I see you all. I read your names and I see your faces in my head. I see your homes, I see your children. There is never one moment when God permits me to stop thinking about you all in turn, in rota.

  I see your name on my list, Dr Klaesson. Dr John Klaesson and Mrs Naomi Klaesson of Los Ang
eles, California. I am thinking about you at this moment, wondering how you are feeling right now. You will have spawned by now. How are the creatures, Dr and Mrs Klaesson?

  How are you feeling about what you have done?

  Are you proud? Or have you woken and seen the light and been sickened?

  You don’t have to worry for long. Soon I will liberate you from your shackles of guilt.

  And hand you over to God. Who won’t be so merciful as me.

  Timon Cort walked down the stone steps, along the cloistered courtyard; then he crossed the small, grass lawn, past the fountain and joined the sombre queue of brothers at the chapel door.

  Entering through the screen into the sweet smell of incense, he was enveloped by the deep golden light glowing in the nave of the church. A sign.

  God confirmed the sign in his prayers. God told him it was time to take the next step in the Great Rite.

  48

  Naomi’s Diary

  Made a friend today! Her name is Sandra Taylor. She came up (in a green Range Rover, what else?) to ask if we’d like to subscribe to the Caibourne, Firle and Glynde parish magazine. Subscription three pounds a year. Bargain! Sandra has three young children, one just eight months old – the same age as Luke and Phoebe. There’s a toddlers’ group in the village, where the mums meet every Wednesday. I’m going to check it out.

  Today, Mum came to stay and I went shopping for a pram. I hadn’t realized there were so many different designs of prams for twins. The salesman in the store pointed out the advantages of a side-by-side, explaining that would give each child an equal view, and a shorter wheelbase, enabling it to get round tighter corners. But that needed to be balanced against the problem of width in some supermarket aisles . . .

  I worry so much. One of my worries is about cot death, and I constantly listen to the babyphone speakers around the house when they are sleeping. I wake in the night panicking that I can’t hear them breathing.