When She Was Bad

2

It took Max a few seconds to recover from his near-coronary over Lilith’s ostensible failure to recognize him.

“Just messin’ with your head,” she told him with a wink and a grin.

“If you ever do that again, I swear I’ll-”

But the psych techs had caught up to them. “Let’s get moving, Lyssy,” said Wally. “You don’t want to be late to your own party.”

The sky was Portland pewter, with a fitful summer breeze rustling through the pines as the patients and their escorts hiked through the arboretum. Wally unlocked the gate; the little procession ducked through the arch-topped door set into the spike-topped brick wall.

Everything felt different on the other side. The openness, the wide lawn, the heavenly smell of new-mown grass, the rusting swing set, the clothes drying on the line-a delighted Max spread his arms and turned in a clumsy circle, like a Bizarro-World version of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. “Wa-ow,” he said-the two-syllable wow was the cornerstone of his Christopher Walken impression.

“Wow what?” said Lilith.

Max glanced around to be sure the psych techs weren’t watching. “No walls,” he whispered. “No fuckin’ walls.”

Silver cardboard letters spelling out Happy Birthday dangled crazily from a string across the top of the front doorway of the director’s residence; it was the director himself who answered the bell. “The gals are in the kitchen preparing the, ah, birthday repast,” Alan Corder announced as he ushered the four of them inside. Lilith said she wanted to help, so Patty accompanied her into the kitchen. Soon, Max mouthed to Lilith as they parted; she nodded curtly and turned away.

But just how soon, not even Max could have predicted. The menfolk had just repaired to the living room, which was decorated with helium balloons and crepe-paper party streamers. Corder was still at the sideboard fixing their drinks-orange soda on the rocks for Wally and “Lyssy”; a weak Scotch and soda for himself-when Patty and Lilith passed the living room on their way upstairs.

“Everything all right?” called Corder.

“Lily’s feeling a little queasy,” replied Patty. “Mrs. Corder said for us to use the guest bathroom.”

Five, ten minutes later-Max was on the sofa sipping his soda; Corder and Wally were in the matching green leather recliners that flanked the fireplace-Lilith returned alone. “Patty had to take a dump. She said for me to wait for her down here,” she announced as she plopped onto the sofa next to Max, breathing hard.

Damn, he thought, be a little more careful with your language, would you? Take a dump was pure Lilith, not like Lily at all. But Wally and Corder didn’t seem to notice anything amiss-they were too busy talking shop. Without mentioning names, Wally seemed to be complaining about one of the other psych techs, who was not, in Wally’s opinion, pulling his fair share of the load. As Corder promised to look into it, Lilith slipped something into the crack between the sofa cushions. Max shifted position to cover the motion with his thigh as he reached down and felt-

A knife. A steak knife with a sharp serrated blade a good four inches in length. Obviously Lilith had purloined it from a cabinet drawer while she was in the kitchen earlier. But as his fingers closed around the handle, Max sensed Kinch stirring in the darkness. Quickly Max slid the knife point-first into the front pocket of his chinos, and the stirring subsided.

And now the ball was in his court. “Hey, Wally?”

“Yeah, Lyss?”

“I think maybe I have to go to the little boy’s room.” Infantile, sure-but very Lyssy.

“You can use the one off the kitchen,” said Corder.

So far, so good. Max led the way; Wally followed close behind. “Hi, Lyssy, happy birthday, don’t peek,” called Alison as they passed through the kitchen. She was wearing one of her trampy Britney Spears outfits under an oversize letter sweater; she and her mother closed ranks in front of the kitchen table in order to hide the slightly lopsided birthday cake they were decorating.

A dark hallway led from the kitchen to the back door, with a pantry on the right and the bathroom door on the left. Max glanced behind him, past Wally, to make sure they were both well out of sight of the women in the kitchen, then grasped the doorknob and rattled it, as though the door were stuck or locked.

“Here, let me,” said Wally. Max stepped aside, slipping his hand into his pocket and palming the knife. Wally opened the door easily. “There you go,” he said, turning back to Max.

“And there you go,” said Max, as a gash like a second mouth sprouted under Wally’s chin, a ghastly, ear-to-ear grin spurting blood at both ends. Wally’s hands flew to his throat; blood welled through his clutching fingers as he dropped to his knees, staring up at Max with one of the saddest, most surprised expressions Max had ever seen-and he’d seen quite a few in his day.

It was over in seconds. When he stooped to wipe the blade clean on Wally’s shorts, Max caught a glimpse of the wristwatch on the corpse’s outflung arm, and discovered to his surprise that it wasn’t even quarter to six. Less than fifteen minutes had elapsed since they first entered the house, and yet the most difficult and potentially dangerous aspect of tonight’s business had already been successfully negotiated.

Which meant he might be able to enjoy the next part, the real fun part, in relative leisure. “Hey, Wal,” he said aloud, as Lyssy. “You know what, I think this is going to be the best birthday party ever!”