When She Was Bad

2

Irene Cogan rarely dreamed about her late husband. When Frank did make an appearance, it was as a nebulous figure on a busy sidewalk, or across the room at a crowded party, his face in deep shadow. Sometimes she’d realize he was there and try to fight her way across the room, or catch up with him as the current of the crowd swept him along, but always in vain.

Until tonight, that is. The party scenario again. Just as she recognizes Frank, he turns away and starts for the door. Frantically, she calls his name, struggles to catch up to him. He turns back just as she reaches him. His face is blue with cold, his beard rimed with frost.

“Frank! I thought you were-”

“Zip it,” he whispers harshly, touching his skeletal forefinger to his lips.

She turns to scream; the hand clamps over her mouth.

“Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.”

A boyish voice. The dream hand was still clamped over her mouth. Irene opened her eyes, saw Ulysses Maxwell’s face floating above her, filling her field of vision.

“Promise me you won’t scream?”

She nodded. He removed his hand from her mouth; she took in a great gulp of air. The bedside lamp was on, the bedroom curtains closed. Next to the clock-radio on her bedside table, the cradle for the cordless phone lay empty.

“Remember me, Dr. Cogan?”

Panic rose like a swelling tide; part of her yearned to lose herself in it, to make a clean psychotic break. But something in his pleading tone, in the earnestness with which his gold-flecked brown eyes searched her own, encouraged her to hold on just a little longer. “Yes, of course, Lyssy. How did you get in?”

“I squeezed through that little sliding window in the downstairs bathroom. You’re Lily’s doctor, right?”

“Ohmigod, Lily!” Irene sat up, fully awake. “Is she all right? Where is she?”

“In the next room. But there’s something wrong with-”

Irene, still wearing Frank’s pajamas, scrambled out of bed and hurried into the spare bedroom with Lyssy close behind.

Lily was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back to the door, busily cranking the handle of a plastic coin sorter. Irene knelt at her side. “Lily? Lily, it’s Dr. Irene.”

When there was no response, she passed her hand across Lily’s line of vision. The girl’s dark eyes failed to track. “How long has she been like this?”

“Since last night.”

Irene kept her eyes trained on Lily-it was easier to fight off the panic if she didn’t look at Maxwell. “Was there something in particular that set her off?”

“A shock-she got an electric shock. Can you help her?”

Irene saw a glimmer of hope. “Y-yes-but we have to get her to a hospital right away,” she lied, after a short hesitation.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why? Why a hospital? What are they going to do for her?”

“A brain scan, for one thing.”

“You know the police are after us, right?”

“I-yes, I know.”

“Both of us.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what they’ll do if they catch us?”

“Send you back to Reed-Chase, I imagine,” replied Irene, after another telltale hesitation.

“You’re not a very good liar, are you?” said Lyssy.

“I suppose not.”

“Me neither. Can you help her?”

“I think so, but…” Her voice trailed off.

“But what?”

Irene forced herself to look directly into his eyes. “I’m not sure I’d be doing her much of a favor.”