Hand Me Down Evil (Hand Me Down Trilogy) (19 page)

And where is Mom now? Did she really abandon me and my sisters or did she meet with some foul play? I shivered at the possibilities. All I knew was that her car was found at the airport. She could very well be in Michigan somewhere. And what about her co-worker? He had disappeared, too. What did he have to do with Mom?

As I drove down the dirt road in the storm, all sorts of thoughts bounced around in my head. I thought about Catherine and the miserable life she led while she hid from Edgar’s alter personality. But really, Edgar was not the true source of her problems. Her tormentor was her own child, Edgar’s child, Peter.

My thoughts shifted to Dr. Foster. Perhaps he was on to something when he reasoned that an evil trait might get passed down from generation to generation. But the psychiatrist was apparently focusing his theories on Travis and Edgar since he had no way of really knowing that Peter was Edgar’s child. At least, Dr. Foster did not let on that he knew anything of the sort.

I recalled my studies in high school biology class about how DNA duplicates itself, enabling us to pass genetic traits from parent to offspring.

Anyone looking at me and my mother would be able to deduce that we are genetically related because we look physically alike, but how about the genetic similarities between Peter and Edgar and Travis? Do personalities get passed down through replication? And, more importantly, do evil genes get passed down? Isn’t that proposition exactly what Travis had in mind when he lamented that he had unleashed his evil genes on the universe? He must have known somehow that Edgar had fathered a child who had inherited the evil trait. Travis’ last words, “The madness must stop”, began to make sense to me.

When I reached the narrow path near Peter’s house, I realized that the gray brick bungalow was dark, foreboding, isolated. Massive oak trees and a weeping willow hovered around the house, as if to conceal it from anyone who happened to stumble upon the secluded dirt path that led to it. The closest neighbor was at least half a mile up the road on the other side of the lake where houses were sparsely scattered. With the exception of some specs of dim light that seeped from a few public lampposts that lined the periphery of the lake, the lane leading to Peter’s house was utterly dark.

I sat in my car with my headlights still on. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure entering the house through the side door. Was my imagination playing tricks on me, or was the dark figure merely the outline of the trees swaying near the side of the bungalow? I switched off the ignition, exited the Lincoln, and cautiously moved toward the home while the fierce storm lashed me with rain.

W
hen I reached the side door, I froze in my tracks. I debated about whether I should knock and announce my presence. It might be better for me to just sneak around to look for my sisters, I thought. And what about the person who had just entered the house through the side door? Was that Peter? Or perhaps it was a figment of my imagination. What if Peter caught me? No one knew where I was headed. Indecisive and confused, I stood with my back to the wall near the side door which was opened a crack, debating about what to do.

What if Amber and Tally did not have much time? The relentless wind howled through the trees. I sighed out loud and decided to enter the house quietly.

On the landing of the stairs, I hesitated about where to go next. The house smelled musty and old. To my left, there was a hazy light emanating from the basement. A door at the foot of the basement steps was open a tad. To my right was the kitchen. A small round table sat in the middle of the room with four chairs around it. There was a windbreaker on one of the chairs. Quietly, I tip toed into the kitchen, examined the jacket, and gasped when I realized that it was mine. It was the windbreaker that was stolen out of the Lincoln the night I went to Catherine’s house. With my heart pounding furiously in my chest, I broke out into a cold sweat.

The table was covered with dust. Spider webs hung around the ceiling and sink. There was only one plate and one cup in the sink.

Something on the table caught my eyes. It was a piece of paper with a pen next to it. Once I snatched the paper, I had to cover my mouth with my hand to prevent myself from screaming out loud when I realized that it was the report with my ACT score. Everyone at school had received their ACT scores at least a month or two ago, except me. In the darkness, I examined the report carefully. I had received a 35 out of a possible 36. One more point, and I would have had a perfect mark.

How did Peter get my score? Mom had already divorced him when my score came out. He must have been snooping around our house, stealing letters from our mailbox. There was a lot I didn’t know about Peter. Not only was he a stalker and a possible kidnapper, but he was a thief, as well. But what really shocked me was what was scribbled on the bottom of my score sheet. “Deliver Celia, Amber, and Tally to Hand Me Down Laboratory” had been jotted down in small letters in Peter’s handwriting. I recognized the unique scribble since I had often marveled at how Peter could write in such small letters. When he and Mom were married, he used to leave Mom notes on the kitchen counter to tell her he would be late from work and other such messages. The script was jagged with sharp, uneven strokes, the calligraphy of a madman.

And Hand Me Down Laboratory. Those words sounded remarkably similar to Psychiatrist Foster’s book,
Hand Me Down
Evil
. What did Dr. Foster have to do with anything? Why would anyone deliver me and my sisters to a laboratory?

Strange thoughts began to take shape in my mind. My mother was working for a laboratory when she disappeared. Perhaps Mom’s disappearance had something to do with Hand Me Down Laboratory.

Feeling sick to my stomach and realizing that whatever was going on behind the scenes was part of some sinister design that involved me, Mom, and my sisters, I decided to bolt out of the house, escape from the desolate place, and call the police. Whatever ominous scheme was brewing in this dark bungalow was too bizarre for me to tackle by myself. That my stolen windbreaker was in Peter’s house was enough evidence for the police to search the dwelling.

If only Mark was with me at this time. He would have given me courage and support. Where could he have possibly gone when he left the library? Could he have figured anything out by now even though he did not have the benefit of having overheard the conversation between Edgar and Dr. Foster? If Mark really did care about me, then he would be worried sick if he did not find me in the hospital.

With my hands trembling and the rumbling in my stomach growing louder and louder, I stuffed the ACT score sheet into my jean pocket and started tiptoeing quietly toward the side door. That was when I heard muffled noises coming from the basement. It was the sound of Amber crying.

“A
mber,” I heard myself scream, as I sprinted down the steps to the basement. “Amber!”

“Celia!” came the muffled voice.

Then I heard Tally scream.

“Tally!” I yelled.

When I was at the foot of the steps, I saw a woman standing with her back toward me. She was peering out the window at the Lincoln. Obviously, she had been watching me, knew that I was parked just down the path. She must have seen my every step as I entered the house.

The basement was cluttered with old furniture, boxes, and tools.

Tally and Amber were crying and calling my name. I glanced in the direction from where the voices came, and realized that my sisters were locked in a closet and that a heavy dresser was propped up against the door.

I wanted to bolt toward the closet, but I was keenly aware of the presence of the woman standing with her back toward me. Both of her hands were in front of her like she was holding something in them. She was calm, still.

I did not move.

The woman was waiting.

“What did you do to my sisters?” I shouted. A rush of energy flooded my body. Pent up anger and frustration exploded through my veins.

The woman turned around slowly, deliberately, but was careful to pull her hands behind her back, in an apparent effort to conceal what she was clutching.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” said the woman, her voice shrill, emotionless. She was wearing a black pair of pants and a dark sweater with a black shawl over it. Makeup was smeared on the woman’s face underneath the black wig that was propped on top of her head, but I recognized the dark beady eyes that peered at me from behind the mascara.

She looked grotesque, hideous, like a demon.

“Peter!” I screamed. “Let my sisters go!”

Amber and Tally started yelling my name again, crying and knocking on the closet door.

Peter gave a slight smile. “I’ve been waiting patiently, and you came to me.” He sounded pleased.

“Why did you kidnap my sisters? And where is my mother?” I asked, ordering myself to keep calm.

“Your mother, that annoying scientist, is out of the country. Let’s just say she had no choice but to go there. Trust me, Celia. You won’t recognize her now. You would never know her even if you saw her. So don’t bother looking for her,” came Peter’s rasping voice.

I glowered at him in disgust.

He appeared sincere, but hateful.

“Where is my mother?” I asked again, clenching my teeth.

“Ha,” Peter hissed, narrowing his eyes.

“What happened to Mom?”

Peter kept his hands behind his back. Clearly, he was holding something.

I felt my legs grow weak.

“That bothersome scientist is in China,” Peter said.

“Why did she leave?” I asked. My hands were trembling.

“She had to go away,” Peter murmured, his voice calm and steady but tinged with disdain.

“Why?” I asked, perfectly aware that my heart was pounding in my chest.

Peter laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Curious little creature, aren’t you?” he asked, not expecting a reply.

I said nothing.

The closet fell silent. My sisters had stopped crying and banging on the door.

They were listening.

“If you want to see your pesky mother, then go to China,” Peter blurted. His voice rose a pitch. “That’s where she is. But don’t bet on recognizing her,” he said. He burst into a loud fit of laughter.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Peter did not respond. His eyes were penetrating, intense.

“Your mom escaped from Hand Me Down Laboratory only to find herself in another kind of prison. Let’s just say she’s a prisoner in another country in her own body,” he said, calmly. “But then I’ve already given you too much information.” He sounded pleased.

I wanted Peter to keep talking. He knew much more than he was revealing. What happened to her in Hand Me Down Laboratory, and where was this place located? At least Peter had indicated in so many words that Mom left under some type of duress. What did he mean by her being a prisoner in her own body? I shuddered at the possibilities.

For some reason, I believed every word that Peter said about my mother. I had felt all along that Mom would never abandon me, would never leave me. She was not the type just to get up and take off on a plane to China without thinking about her daughters first. China was on the other side of the planet. And why wouldn’t I recognize her? What had Peter done to her? Or worse, was Peter involved with more evil minded people like himself?

P
eter took a step toward me. Instinctively, I shrank back against the wall.

Amber and Tally were sobbing softly now.

Peter was taking great care to conceal whatever he held in his hands, but I caught sight of a slight glimmer of a silver metallic object. It glistened behind his back when he turned slightly to look toward the closet.

With my back against the wall, I took inventory of my situation. There was no way that I would be able to overpower Peter. My best bet would be to inch my way toward the stairs, make a dash outside into the storm, and yell for help. But who would hear me? There was not another house nearby for at least one half mile.

I felt my jean pocket. The Lincoln keys were tucked safely there. In a pinch, I could bolt toward the car and race off toward help. But then I would be leaving my sisters in imminent danger. I could not take the chance that Peter would hurt them or take off with them before I could summon help.

And no one knew where I was, not even Mark. I was now beginning to fully grasp the scope of why Mark had been so upset when he learned that I had gone to Catherine’s house earlier by myself. I had promised him that I would never do that again, and here I was, in a house in an isolated location where no one could ever hear me scream.

I clenched my jaw as I acknowledged that my only hope now was that Mark would figure out where I had gone and come to my aid. He had been able to determine what Catherine was thinking as she lay helplessly in the hospital bed just before the doctors snatched the life support apparatus from her body. If only Mark could read my thoughts, comprehend the clear danger that I was in, realize that I had gotten myself into an awful mess.

Peter did not take his gaze off of me.

I decided to buy myself some time, with the hope that Mark might discover where I was and start heading my way.

“Why do you have my ACT score upstairs on the kitchen table?” I asked, in a low, quiet voice.

“How do you know about that?” Peter asked. His expression changed, became furious.

I could not find the right words to form a response.

“You’ve been snooping in my house. How dare you?” came the shrill voice.

The nerve Peter had of accusing me of snooping. It was he who stalked my sisters, kidnapped them. But then, criminal minded people don’t quite realize how despicable their own actions are, I thought.

“Answer me!” Peter demanded.

I took a step sideways toward the stairs with my back against the wall.

Peter lunged at me, lifting his arm to strike me with the metallic object in his hand. It was a large wrench.

I retreated, stepped sideways, away from the stairs, fell over a couch, and hit my head against the coffee table.