When She Was Bad

2

Lily covered her face. Clawlike hands closed around her wrists, tugging them down to her sides. Her mind flashed back to earlier, in bed, she and Lyssy getting to know each other’s bodies, Lyssy showing her how tightly his scarred hands could grip, how weak they were when it came to letting go.

But worse than the welling fear, worse than the pain in her wrists, was the sickening realization that that Lyssy was gone. This dry husk of a voice trying to bully her into switching alters (as if it were something over which she had any control, something she wouldn’t have done in a heartbeat, if only she had the power) was not her Lyssy’s voice, any more than these soulless eyes glinting with false merriment were those of the man with whom she’d made love earlier. They reminded her more of her father’s eyes, dead and glassy as he whisk-whisk-whisked his closed fist up and down his penis, getting hard, getting ready to hurt her.

Thinking of her father triggered that old familiar sadness that usually presaged an alter switch-perhaps if Max had had the sense to back away and let her drift, it might have happened. Instead he tightened his grip on her wrists, brought his face up to hers.

“This is your last chance,” he hissed. She felt his breath warm and damp against her skin, and knew what she had to do: whatever Lilith would have done. Fearless Lilith. Fearless, foulmouthed, hot-tempered, biker-tough Lilith. She loosed a quick inward-directed prayer-Lilith, if you’re there, for God’s sake help me out here-then squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and forced herself to meet his eyes.

“Actually,” she said, “it’s your last chance.”

A startled laugh. “For what?”

“To get your fucking hands off me before I knee your balls up into your throat.” The words came with surprising ease; their effect astonished them both.

“Well, I’ll be blowed,” said Max, releasing her wrists, leaning even closer, peering into her eyes. “Lilith?”

“No, it’s Princess fucking Di,” she snapped. “Now would you mind backing off a tad, amigo? — your breath smells like you’ve been gargling raw sewage.”

Any doubts Max may have had concerning Lilith’s identity had been largely put to rest by the time they’d finished dragging the corpse into the underbrush. She hadn’t winced when Max ordered her to take one of Fano’s legs while he took the other, nor flinched at the way the lolling head went bumping over the rough ground-timid Lily could never have managed all that without breaking character.

Lily, meanwhile, had been steadily growing in confidence. If I can get through this, she told herself as she helped him cover her murdered friend with fallen redwood boughs, I can get through anything. Indeed, by the time the grisly task had been completed, there was no remaining effort, and very little volition, in her adoption of Lilith’s personna-the longer she played the role, the more it felt like a channeling rather than an impersonation.

And afterward, sitting on the bottom step of the porch brushing damp earth and redwood needles from her bare feet, she made sure that he noticed her glancing around the clearing as though she’d never been here before-which she wouldn’t have, not as Lilith, because in their system there’d never been any co-consciousness or memory-sharing among alters. “Who was that, anyway?” she asked him casually, nodding toward the edge of the clearing where they’d left the body.

“Just some Mexican in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Sure looks that way.” She forced a shrug. “Whose place is this-yours?”

“No, it’s yours. The DeVries family retreat. Come on, let’s go inside.”

She felt his eyes boring into her from behind as she preceded him into the dark cabin. You’ve never been here before, she reminded herself, and made a point of feeling around the wall next to the door. “Where’s the light switch?”

“There isn’t one-there’s no electricity.”

“Oh, swell-fucking great. You got a flashlight?”

“Here you go.”

The beam from a 12-volt lantern darted around the square, cluttered cabin like an obese Tinkerbell, coming to rest on a shelf with oil lamps, a Coleman lantern, and dozens of candles. In a nearby drawer she “discovered” a box of Strike Anywhere matches sealed in a baggie. They lit everything with a wick; when the cabin was ablaze with light, they closed the shutters while Lily made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

While Max rested his leg, Lily came within a whisker of blowing the masquerade. Having realized that all she needed to do to save herself was get a good running start on the one-legged man, then hike out of the canyon and flag down a car, she was just about to tell him she was going back outside to fetch the drinks cooling in the creek, it dawned on her that Lilith wouldn’t have known anything about Mother Nature’s fridge.

“Goddamn it, didn’t we bring anything to drink?” she blustered, feeling cold sweat dampening the back of her T-shirt. “No fucking way I’m choking down a pb amp;j dry.”

“Lily stashed everything that needed to be refrigerated in the creek.”

“I’ll get ’em,” said Lily, quickly slipping on her sneakers. “Just tell me where.”

“No, I’ll do it-I know where they are.”

“Fine by me,” said Lily. It might even be better this way, she told herself-she could be long gone by the time he returned.

“I’ll be right back.” Max limped over to the door, opened it-and immediately slammed it shut.

“What? What is it?”

“Either I just saw Bigfoot out there,” said Max, leaning his back against the door, “or we have company.”