Perfect, p.1
Perfect, page 1
Perfect – Copyright © 2022 by Lisa Kessler
Kobo Edition
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2022
Also by L.A. Kessler
The Genesis Trilogy
PERFECT
FLAWED
TAINTED
As Lisa Kessler
The Muse Chronicles
LURE OF OBSESSION
LEGEND OF LOVE
BREATH OF PASSION
LIGHT OF THE SPIRIT
DEVOTED TO DESTINY
DANCE OF THE HEART
SONG OF THE SOUL
The Night Series
NIGHT WALKER
NIGHT THIEF
NIGHT DEMON
NIGHT ANGEL
NIGHT CHILD
The Moon Series
MOONLIGHT
HUNTER’S MOON
BLOOD MOON
HARVEST MOON
ICE MOON
BLUE MOON
WOLF MOON
NEW MOON
The Sedona Pack
THE LONE WOLF’S WISH
SEDONA SIN
SEDONA SEDUCTION
SEDONA SCANDAL
SEDONA SURRENDER
SEDONA SERENITY
SEDONA SACRIFICE
SEDONA SUSPECT
SEDONA SANCTUARY
SEDONA SALVATION
The Salem Pack
WOLF’S WITCH
The Sentinels of Savannah
MAGNOLIA MYSTIC
PIRATE’S PASSION
PIRATE’S PLEASURE
PIRATE’S PERSUASION
PIRATE’S PROMISE
PIRATE’S PARADOX
Summerland Stories
ACROSS THE VEIL
FORBIDDEN HEARTS
A WINTER’S WISH
Standalone Works
BEG ME TO SLAY
FORGOTTEN TREASURES
*
Dedication
This one is for my amazing daughter, Panda.
I love you!
PERFECT
by L.A. Kessler
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also by L.A. Kessler
Dedication
1990
Prologue
1999
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
2008
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
2017
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by L.A. Kessler
About the Author
“Perfection is attained by slow degrees; it requires the hand of time.”
—Voltaire
PROLOGUE
Dr. James Turner’s size-twelve loafers clicked against the worn linoleum floor, echoing down the cold, white hallway like a clock and marking the seconds as they ticked away. It was a constant reminder of the time slipping away.
How long would this baby live?
Dread sapped the energy from his body as he stared down at the small bundle he was holding in his arms. The newborn was healthy, and her parents were demanding to see her. He had no right to keep her from them, but he wished he had another option.
Shaking his head, he kept walking, forcing himself closer to their room. This was the fourth daughter he’d delivered for Dr. and Mrs. Huff.
None of the others had lived to see their first birthday. Crib death had claimed them all.
CPS had inspected their home. There had been no signs of abuse or neglect, so police and child services had deemed the deaths tragic but not criminal.
Dr. Turner hoped this baby would be safe. He had run every test at his disposal, and to the best of his knowledge, this little girl was a perfectly healthy newborn.
But the other infants had seemed every bit as healthy…
Something knotted in his gut as he weighed her chances of survival. He was beginning to wish he had asked the nurse to bring the couple their baby. Looking the other way would have been so much easier.
But he couldn’t. Something was happening to these infants. It couldn’t be coincidence that they had all died. Crib deaths happened, it was true, but it was extremely unlikely to happen three times in the same family, especially to otherwise healthy babies.
But if they weren’t dying in their sleep, then how?
Deep down, he was afraid he already knew the answer. That was why he had insisted on bringing this child to them himself. He hoped that by talking to the Huffs, seeing them hold their little girl, that he might be able to make a difference in her future. That maybe this infant would survive.
He had to try.
With each echo of his footsteps, Dr. Turner’s trepidation multiplied. He stopped when he reached the door and looked down one last time at the baby in his arms. For a split second, he yearned to keep on walking. Just wander out of the hospital and give this infant to a couple who couldn’t have children of their own, people that would love her and keep her safe.
But he couldn’t do that, no matter how much it seemed like the right thing to do. Kidnapping was a crime, and he drew the line at breaking the law. He was probably overreacting. He had to be. Surely, if there was any chance of foul play, Child Protective Services would have taken action against the Huffs. But just in case, he’d documented every aspect of Mrs. Huff’s delivery, as well as the infant’s initial test results and prognosis. This time, if she fell to the same fate as the other babies, maybe his documentation might lead to an investigation.
Shifting the tiny bundle into one arm, he carefully opened the door and entered the room. The baby’s father spun around with cold, emotionless eyes. He was tall and slender with a pronounced pointed nose and short brown hair.
Dr. Huff uncrossed his arms. “We were beginning to wonder about you, Dr. Turner.”
“I apologize for the delay,” he replied. “I was running some tests to be sure your precious little girl here stays nice and healthy. Given the previous family history, I thought it pertinent to be extra cautious in this case.”
A silent glance passed between the new parents, sending a chill down Dr. Turner’s spine. While most couples who had previously lost babies were anxious, almost desperate, to hold their new infant, to touch it and love it, Dr. and Mrs. Huff made no such effort. In fact, they hadn’t even moved close enough to see her yet. It was awkward, almost ominous to witness. The cool detachment in their eyes made Dr. Turner wonder if they even wanted this child.
Maybe they were simply afraid to love the infant for fear she might die like the others had. He didn’t know, but something about the way they were staring at each other concerned him. Almost like two wolves circling their prey and giving each other silent signals before attacking.
Dr. Turner cleared his throat, pushing the disturbing image from his mind as he turned toward the biochemical research physician—although no one in the local medical community knew exactly what kind of research he did—and made a gesture to offer him his baby. “Would you like to hold her, Dr. Huff?”
The infant’s father didn’t move. Dr. Turner’s smile faded when neither Dr. Huff nor his wife made the slightest effort to see their child.
They both just stared at him.
Making a final attempt, Dr. Turner took another step closer. “Don’t worry, she’s healthy as an ox and beautiful as a butterfly. Come take a peek.”
Again, neither parent moved. Mrs. Huff looked over at her husband and gave him an encouraging nod, but he remained stiff.
“Does she have ten fingers and toes?” he asked cautiously.
Dr. Turner started to frown. “Yes, ten of each.”
“And she doesn’t have a coned head, does she?” Mrs. Huff interrupted.
He froze for a moment, caught off guard by their questions. “No.”
“And no nasty birthmarks?” Mrs. Huff’s nose crinkled in disgust.
Dr. Turner shook his head, hoping his uneasiness wasn’t showing on his face as he approached Mrs. Huff’s bedside. “None.”
Cautiously, he handed the infant to her mother. If he didn’t do it now, he might find an excuse not to give her to them at all.
She took her new bab
Dr. Turner relaxed. Maybe he had been overreacting. “She’s just perfect.”
Mrs. Huff looked up at her husband. Her lips curved into a thin smile and her eyes gleamed—but not with the joy Dr. Turner was accustomed to seeing in a new mother’s eyes. There was a ferocity there he didn’t understand.
She focused on the tiny bundle. “Did you hear that, Ed?”
Dr. Huff nodded and came closer to her bedside. They stared at their daughter for a moment, and whispered together, “She’s perfect.”
“Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”
—Matthew 5:48
CHAPTER 1
Billy pedaled his bike faster as he past the large Victorian house. Something about the people who lived there bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but a ten-year-old imagination could dream up all sorts of hideous reasons…
Which made him even more anxious to get past their property.
He stayed focused straight ahead. No way was he going to look up at those windows again. What if that ghost stared back at him? Okay, so she might be a really pale girl, but she never played on their street and no one knew her name.
Obviously, she must have been the spirit of a girl who died in the house, or maybe it had been built on an old burial ground like in that Poltergeist movie. His mom said he had an overactive imagination, but he didn’t want to find out if any of his guesses about the creepy things in that house were true anyway. He just wanted to get to school.
John Harding Elementary was small, but Billy liked it. He attended a larger school in downtown Los Angeles for kindergarten and first grade, but after his big brother passed away, his parents moved to the suburbs for a fresh start. Moonlight Cove was just southwest of Los Angeles, north of Malibu.
LA seemed like a lifetime ago. He entered Harding in second grade and never looked back. He was starting fifth grade today.
The suburbs hadn’t been bad. It was a nice change to have the whole school know your name. It made him feel like a big fish. So what if the pond was little?
Billy pressed the pedals backward to slow his bike. This was the only intersection between his house and the school, and he swore to his mom on his comic book collection that he would always stop and look both ways for cars, even when no one was coming. Cars had a way of not seeing little boys on bikes, his mother would say.
Arguing with her when it came to things like that was pointless.
But he wasn’t little anymore. Thankfully, he’d grown over the summer and was proud to say he now stood nearly five feet tall. Fifty-eight inches to be exact. It didn’t make him the tallest fifth-grader in his class, but he towered over the kindergartners.
Most everything about him was pretty average, only his bright-green eyes set him apart. His mom was Latina, and he had her brown skin color and black hair, but he got his dad’s green eyes. A few girls in school were starting to comment on them, but he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that yet.
Girls were a mystery to Billy. Annoying gigglers one minute, and then the next he’d catch himself doing some idiotic stunt just to make one of them smile at him. Girls had developed some sort of power over the boys this summer, and none of them could resist. Interactions were more confusing with each passing day.
He didn’t understand them, and according to his dad, he probably never would.
Billy parked his bike at the school and locked the chain around the rack with nervous anticipation. He hated the beginning of the school year with a passion. Not only did it mean the start of homework and tests but it also included a new teacher with a whole new set of rules and new expectations that bothered him.
He’d finally gotten the hang of doing all his homework in cursive with his last name first, just the way Mrs. Allen liked it, and now he had to start all over again.
And to make things even worse, this year he had Mr. Hart. Everyone said he was hard, and all the kids knew his secret nickname: “Mr. Hart the Old Fart.” And when a teacher had a secret name like that, you knew he was bad.
In fact, he might not even be human. It was possible…
Billy’s mom would disagree. She’d say his imagination was running away with him again.
He glanced down at his feet. At least he had cool new shoes this year. Money had been tight since his brother had gotten sick. He’d overheard hushed, late-night conversations between his parents about medical bills, so Billy knew better than to complain about his clothes, but this summer things had changed. His dad had gotten a new job, and his mom had taken Billy back-to-school shopping.
She’d surprised him when he’d floated the idea of a bright-white pair of Nikes with a blue swoosh on the sides and she’d actually said yes. Not only did these shoes make him run faster but he’d be a king among the other fifth-graders at school.
Billy adjusted his backpack and headed for class. He entered his classroom quietly and found his name card sitting at a desk near the back of the room. Relief washed through him as he smiled and took his new seat. There was nothing worse than finding yourself in the front row. Not that it would matter much in this class since it was well-known that Mr. Hart had superhuman hearing and could catch a kid whispering from across the room.
Even so, being near the back was always safer.
Todd waved from the other side of the room. Billy grinned. He hadn’t expected to get to sit near one of his best friends, but at least they got to be in the same class. Ever since third grade, none of his teachers had allowed their desks to be anywhere near each other.
He was beginning to smell a conspiracy.
Billy and Todd had become best friends as soon as he’d started at their school. Todd had been assigned to be Billy’s buddy on his first day, and they quickly discovered they both loved comic books. Todd was a little taller than Billy and wore his black hair shaved close to his head. He was also good at every sport he tried, a natural athlete. Billy wasn’t terrible at baseball and soccer. He’d even made it to the All-Stars in Little League last year, but Todd had a gift. He could hit, catch, throw, and run with any kind of ball you tossed him.
Sometimes Billy caught himself envying Todd.
Zack was the third man in their group. He was a little pudgy and pale with freckles, but no one could make them all laugh harder than Zack. Unlike Billy and Todd, he didn’t play any sports. He had a mild case of asthma and his mom worried even more than Billy’s about him getting hurt.
This year Zack ended up in Mrs. Price’s class. Although he seemed a little disappointed to be separated from Billy and Todd, he got the better end of the deal. Mrs. Price was one of the easiest teachers in school.
The bell rang, and silence fell over the class when Mr. Hart stood up from his desk. He was tall. Basketball player tall. His light-brown hair and brown eyes made him look pretty normal at first, but Billy had heard the stories about him. Mr. Hart was tough as nails and, more than likely, an alien from outer space, sent down to torture fifth-grade humans with too much homework and science tests that even Einstein couldn’t pass.
Billy sighed. If only he could blame this on his overactive imagination.
*
The first week of school flew by, with notes home to parents for curriculum night, homework agreements, and placement testing for the new school year. With a few days under his belt, Billy suspected the rumors about Mr. Hart might be wrong. So far, he’d been strict, but from everything Billy had witnessed, he was also fair. He didn’t tolerate gum-chewing or note-passing, or talking out of turn or pranks, but other than that, Mr. Hart was kind of okay, in a teacher sort of way.
Billy would never admit it to his friends, but he was almost starting to like Mr. Hart. Although he did go a little heavy on the homework.
When the final bell rang on Friday afternoon, Billy struggled to contain his excitement. His mom had agreed to let Todd and Zack spend the night.
They met at the bike rack, putting on their backpacks as they plotted the evening’s activities.
“So do you think your dad will let us use his tent to camp in your backyard?” Zack asked, then grunted as he fumbled to get his arm through the second strap of his backpack.
