When She Was Bad: A Thriller by Jonathan Nasaw Page B

be…?
    “Good lord, Al—you’re not talking about somehow eliminating the alters instead of integrating them, are you?”
    Corder’s response consisted of a wink so smug and feline Irene could practically see canary feathers floating behind him as he led her up to Lily’s provisional quarters on 2-South. The security precautions were impressive as always—he had to punch codes into keypads to gain entrance to the glassed-in elevator lobby, again to summon the elevator, and a third time to gain access to the observation suite, a largish room decorated in shades of peach, apricot, and burnt umber. Lily lay on a comfortable-looking single bed—not a hospital bed—with her head turned resolutely toward the wall.
    “Good seeing you again, Irene,” said Corder, framed in the doorway. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk—when you’re done, just press that intercom button over there. And Lily, you have a good night, don’t be shy about asking the nurses for anything you need.” He stepped backward as the door slid closed again.
    “What a lovely room,” said Irene, approaching the bed. “And look, you have your own television!” As if that were something entirely new and marvelous. Attagirl, Irene told herself, perching on the edge of the bed. Could you possibly be any more fatuous?
    “What do you care?” Lily’s elation at learning that Corder might be able to cure her DID had been short-lived, disappearing as soon as the door to her room had closed and locked behind her. “If you cared, you wouldn’t go away and leave me here.”
    “Please don’t make this any harder than it is already.” Irene reached out to pat the girl’s shoulder. She was sorely tempted to blurt out the unspeakable truth—that bringing Lily here hadn’t been her idea—but didn’t want to take a chance on upsetting the girl even more, or on selfishly undermining Lily’s relationship with her new doctor.
    Lily stiffened at the touch, then wrenched herself around almost violently, turning a tear-streaked face toward Irene. “I miss them, Dr. Irene—Grandma and Grandpa, I miss them so much. And I’m so scared. Please don’t leave me here. Something terrible is going to happen, I know it is.”
    “Ssh, ssh, it’s okay, I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” Irene crooned soothingly, taking the girl into her arms and hugging her tightly—something she’d never have been able to do before her ordeal with Maxwell. Awkwardly, one-handed, she fumbled around in her enormous purse for her card case and a pen, scribbled her home and cell numbers on the back of one of her business cards, and handed it to Lily. “Here, take this,” she said. “I’m no farther than the telephone. You can call me anytime you like, even if it’s just to talk, and if you really need me, just say the word and I’ll come running.”
    A tear plopped onto the card; carefully, so as not to smear the ink, Lily brushed it away with her sleeve. “Is that a promise?” she said, slipping the card into the tight back pocket of her jeans.
    “Cross my heart,” said the psychiatrist. They hugged for a few seconds, then Irene pressed the intercom button. Lily flinched when the door slid open, then lay back and turned her face to the wall; when she turned around again, she was alone.
    Welcome to the snake pit, Lily told herself. She knew why they used to call mental hospitals snake pits: because—no lie!—doctors once thought the best way to cure people of certain disorders was to hang them upside down over a pit filled with poisonous snakes!
    Of course, there were no snakes here at the Reed-Chase Institute—or if there were, they were very expensive, exclusive snakes, she thought wryly.
    But no amount of pampering could pad the shock of finding yourself living out the single worst fear of your life. Ever since she could remember, Lily had been terrified of being locked up in an asylum—and now here she was. Talk about the other shoe dropping, she