Wicked Angel by Taylor Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page B

and paint with astonishing skill and artistry. He was naturally athletic and supple. He looked upon the world without illusion, but also with extraordinary interest. His intellect was sparkling and sure, without the usual superficiality of young children. He was never bored, except when among his peers. His vocabulary was astonishing, and he had a charming, acute and winning way of expressing himself, which captivated Kathy’s friends and made them adore him. He passed the hors d’oeuvres at parties with such grace and politeness that adults smiled at him with blissful affection. It was only when he was alone with his parents that he expressed a fierce but cunning hysteria and uncontrollable behavior and almost wild passion. Part of this was calculated to get what he desired; part rose out of the dark places of his personality, primeval, full of self-knowledge and secret, unchildlike thoughts.
    When he was pleased with the world and his parents—he was always pleased with himself—no child could be more delightful or more intelligent, or more obliging. Kathy and Mark carefully taught him the difference between right and wrong, with parents’ devotion, and he would nod seriously. He understood the difference as clearly as they did. The only departure from their own knowledge was his utter disbelief that anything he desired was wrong, and that those who believed in “good” were sincere. When he finally did learn that they were sincere he was both astonished and contemptuous. He was wise enough to keep this to himself, though he laughed inwardly. He thought people extremely stupid, easy to deceive, absurdly easy to be cajoled.
    Alice had permitted herself, a year ago, to be reconciled to Kathy, but she still avoided encountering Mark. Her love for him grew as she became nineteen, and then twenty. A few times, in desperation, she accepted the company and entertainment of other men, but was invariably heartsick afterwards. She lived a solitary life in her apartment, for the girl she had roomed with had married and left the City. Slow to make friends, Alice did not look for someone else to share the apartment. Mark had been invited to become a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and his photograph, showing his kind smile and vivid eyes in excellent detail, had appeared in the newspapers. Alice had cut out the photograph and framed it, and then had placed it in a special drawer out of anyone’s sight. But sometimes she slept with it under her pillow, and wept.
    Mark was delighted that the sisters had been reconciled, though he saw Alice not more than half a dozen times a year. But he knew that she often visited Kathy. It seemed to him, when he entered his house, that he could detect if Alice had been there; a faint emanation of her personality remained behind, like a clean scent. Angelo did not mention his “dear Auntie Alicia” at any time. The hatred between the girl and the boy had increased in these years; they accepted it. Angelo knew all about Alice, and she would have been surprised to know that she was the only person in the world he respected, for he knew that only she was not deceived by him. But it was a hating, destructive respect, vengeful and waiting. He had no doubt that someday, somehow, in a way not yet emerging from the darkness of his distorted spirit, he would destroy her. No one dared be in his orbit who did not adore, worship, love, cherish and serve him.

    Two days before they were all to leave for the customary four weeks at the cabin, Mark said to his wife, “Kathy, Bruce is almost seven. Like all boys, he should have a dog to care for, something his own for which he is responsible. It will be company for him, too.” He remembered the beloved Ruff of his own boyhood, who had been his companion, friend, playmate and guardian, and whom he had guarded in reciprocal love.
    “Oh, animals are so germy, so dirty!” Kathy had protested. “You know how they soil things, and cover everything with hair,