the heavy taste of her rich blood and unbounded love that was
represented by the gift of it, but cause of the metronomic rocking of
the chair and the lul rhythms of her voice. As he sucked, she smoothed
the hair away from his brow and spoke to him of God’s intimacies for the
world. She explained, as she had done many times before, that God
condoned the use of violence when it was committed in the defense of
those who were good and righteous. She told him how God had created men
who thrived on blood so they might be used as the earthly instruments of
God’s revengements on behalf of the righteous. Theirs was a righteous
love, she said, and God had sent Candy to them to be their Protector.
None of this was new. But though his mother had spoken of these things
many times during their secret communions, Candy never grew tired of
hearing them again. Candy often relished in the retelling of a favorite
story. And as. certain particularly magical tales, this story somehow
did become more familiar with retelling but curiously more righteous and
appealing.
That night in his sixth year, however, the story took a turn. The time
had come, his mother said, for him to accept the truly amazing talents
he had been given, and embark on the mission for which God had created
him. He had begun to exhibit his phenomenal talents when he was three,
the age at which Frank’s far more meager gifts had become evident. His
telekinetic abilities-primarily his talent for telekinetic
transportation of his own body-particularly enchanted Roselle, and she
quickly saw the potential. They would never want for money as long as
he could teleport at night into places where cash and valuables were
locked away: bank vaults; the jewelry-rich, walk-in safes in Beverly
Hills mansions. And if he could materialize within the homes of the
Pollard family’s enemies, while they slept, vengeance could be taken
without fear of discovery or reprisal.
“There’s a man named Salfont,” his mother cooed to him as he took his
nourishment from her wounded breast.
“He’s a lawyer, one of those jackals who prey on upstanding folks,
nothing good about him at all, not that one. He handled my father’s
estate-that your dear grandpa, little Candy-probated the will, charged
too much, way too much, he was greedy. They’re all greedy, those
lawyers.” The quiet, gentle tone in which she spoke was at odds with
the anger she was expressing, but that contradiction added to the sweet,
hypnotic quality of her message.
“I’ve tried for years to get part of the fee returned to me, like I
deserve. I’ve gone to other lawyers, but they all say his fee was
reasonable, they all stick up for each other, they’re alike, peas in a
pod, rotten little peas in rotten little pods. Took him to court, but
judges are nothing except lawyers in black robes, they make me sick, the
greedy lot of them. I’ve worried at this for years, little Candy, can’t
get it out of my mind. That Donald Salfont, living in his big house in
Montecito, overcharging people, overcharging me, he ought to have to pay
for that. Don’t you think so, little Candy? Don’t you think he ought
to pay?”
He was five years old and not yet big for his age, as he would be from
the time he was nine or ten. Even if he could teleport into Salfont’s
bedroom, the advantage of surprise might not be sufficient to ensure
success. If either Salfont or his wife happened to be awake when Candy
arrived, or if the first slash of the knife failed to kill the lawyer
and brought him awake in a defensive panic, Candy would not be able to
overpower him. He wouldn’t be in danger of getting caught or harmed,
for he could teleport home in a wink; but he would risk being
recognized. Police would believe a man like Salfont, even as regarded
such a fantastic accusation as murder lodged against a five-year-old
boy. They would visit the Pollard place, as questions, poking around,
and God knew what they might or come to suspect.