day’s dose of candy-colored pills and held them in the palm of my hand: two green pills, one pink one, three white caplets, one multicolored round pill, two tiny black ones, and a yellow gelcap.
These were Malcolm’s special super-vitamins, which he’d brought home from the factory for us ever since we were kids. I’d looked for them in the
Physicians’ Desk Reference
and in the Angel Pharma catalog, but I’d never found matches for them. I had always suspected that our pills were Malcolm’s off-label special blend.
“They’re why you children never get sick,” he’d say if we asked. And since we were the only kids we knew of who pretty much never got sick, there was no reason not to believe him.
But I hadn’t taken my pills the night before—had missed just one dose—and then I had fainted, had an emotional breakdown, sobbed, and felt out of control. In short, I’d acted in a way that was just not like me.
I felt… like a lot of other teenage girls must feel.
Could this be… normal?
I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. But an idea was forming. It was not an entirely new idea, but it had never before seemed so powerful. And scary.
Why were the Angel kids so special, so different from other people and from one another?
Were my laser focus and concentration, Matthew’s speed and agility, Hugo’s strength, and Harry’s artistic talent enhanced by this daily handful of pills? Had our father found some way to help us become more perfect, as good as we could possibly be, maybe even a little… supernatural?
If so,
what would happen if we stopped taking the pills?
I’d already started to see myself break down emotionally. Were my focus and concentration and analytical skills next?
I dropped the handful of pills onto my bed and ran straight to Harry’s room.
He was wearing headphones and had started a painting that was both garish and strangely familiar. The colors were swirled all around, but I could have sworn I recognized our father’s face in the deep green, purple, and black shapes with striking white zigzags Harry was throwing onto the canvas.
I lifted one of his earpieces and said, “Harry—the pills. What are they for? Do you know?”
He shrugged. “You’re the detective. I’m just an art dweeb.”
“I think we should stop taking them.”
“You do? But why?”
“Until we know what they are, I definitely think we should stop.”
“What will happen?”
“I don’t know for sure. But listen, Harry—we need to find out.”
“But what if they’re… necessary, or something? I’ve never
not
taken my pills. Malcolm and Maud would give us Big Chops for it.”
“Malcolm and Maud are gone,” I said, probably more harshly than I should have, because Harry’s eyes began to water. “I just think we need to try this,” I went on in a more soothing tone. “Don’t you want to know what they’re for… and why we are the way we are? I’m sure it’s all connected somehow.”
Harry looked at my doubtfully. Even in death our parents were still controlling him through their rules. “Okay,” he finally said, smiling through his tears. “I’ll stop being a druggie if you do.”
“Good,” I said, patting his hand and leaving him to his painting. We were one step closer to figuring everything out.
37
The doorbell rang at
7:26 the next morning, and this time I was ready for them. I wore jeans and a soft black cashmere turtleneck. I had brushed my hair, and I’d had coffee.
I opened the door and said to Caputo and Hayes, “What a surprise.”
Caputo stepped around me and into the foyer. I flipped the light switch and the UFO blazed overhead and played the musical signature from Spielberg’s
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
.
Hayes looked up at the light fixture and smiled. I was actually starting to like him a little. Not too much, though.
“Your parents must have been hilarious,” he said.
I said, “Is this a social call? Or should I phone our lawyer?”
I
These were Malcolm’s special super-vitamins, which he’d brought home from the factory for us ever since we were kids. I’d looked for them in the
Physicians’ Desk Reference
and in the Angel Pharma catalog, but I’d never found matches for them. I had always suspected that our pills were Malcolm’s off-label special blend.
“They’re why you children never get sick,” he’d say if we asked. And since we were the only kids we knew of who pretty much never got sick, there was no reason not to believe him.
But I hadn’t taken my pills the night before—had missed just one dose—and then I had fainted, had an emotional breakdown, sobbed, and felt out of control. In short, I’d acted in a way that was just not like me.
I felt… like a lot of other teenage girls must feel.
Could this be… normal?
I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. But an idea was forming. It was not an entirely new idea, but it had never before seemed so powerful. And scary.
Why were the Angel kids so special, so different from other people and from one another?
Were my laser focus and concentration, Matthew’s speed and agility, Hugo’s strength, and Harry’s artistic talent enhanced by this daily handful of pills? Had our father found some way to help us become more perfect, as good as we could possibly be, maybe even a little… supernatural?
If so,
what would happen if we stopped taking the pills?
I’d already started to see myself break down emotionally. Were my focus and concentration and analytical skills next?
I dropped the handful of pills onto my bed and ran straight to Harry’s room.
He was wearing headphones and had started a painting that was both garish and strangely familiar. The colors were swirled all around, but I could have sworn I recognized our father’s face in the deep green, purple, and black shapes with striking white zigzags Harry was throwing onto the canvas.
I lifted one of his earpieces and said, “Harry—the pills. What are they for? Do you know?”
He shrugged. “You’re the detective. I’m just an art dweeb.”
“I think we should stop taking them.”
“You do? But why?”
“Until we know what they are, I definitely think we should stop.”
“What will happen?”
“I don’t know for sure. But listen, Harry—we need to find out.”
“But what if they’re… necessary, or something? I’ve never
not
taken my pills. Malcolm and Maud would give us Big Chops for it.”
“Malcolm and Maud are gone,” I said, probably more harshly than I should have, because Harry’s eyes began to water. “I just think we need to try this,” I went on in a more soothing tone. “Don’t you want to know what they’re for… and why we are the way we are? I’m sure it’s all connected somehow.”
Harry looked at my doubtfully. Even in death our parents were still controlling him through their rules. “Okay,” he finally said, smiling through his tears. “I’ll stop being a druggie if you do.”
“Good,” I said, patting his hand and leaving him to his painting. We were one step closer to figuring everything out.
37
The doorbell rang at
7:26 the next morning, and this time I was ready for them. I wore jeans and a soft black cashmere turtleneck. I had brushed my hair, and I’d had coffee.
I opened the door and said to Caputo and Hayes, “What a surprise.”
Caputo stepped around me and into the foyer. I flipped the light switch and the UFO blazed overhead and played the musical signature from Spielberg’s
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
.
Hayes looked up at the light fixture and smiled. I was actually starting to like him a little. Not too much, though.
“Your parents must have been hilarious,” he said.
I said, “Is this a social call? Or should I phone our lawyer?”
I
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