The 22 Murders of Madison May

by Max Barry

  “Pardon me,” said an elderly woman, squeezing by.

  She apologized. She was blocking traffic. Most likely, she was imagining problems. It was a city of eight million people; some of them would stop and look at you.

  Stop being a Blanche.

  She walked two blocks to the next subway. By the time she reached the platform, she’d almost forgotten about him.

  * * *

  —

  She arrived at Zar’s a little before three. Parked by the curb was a gleaming red Jeep, the kind of car that struck her as excitable and careless. The rear hatch was up. A muscular boy in a tank top was loading a case of beer. Someone was in the backseat. Before Maddie could decide whether to introduce herself, Zar emerged from the house with a bright orange carry bag and waved.

  “This is Jorge,” Zar said, like she was introducing a disobedient dog. “And this is the nicest girl I’ve ever met in my life, so you be nice to her.”

  “I’m Maddie,” she said, and stuck out her hand, smiling.

  Jorge gripped it, grinning. He wore a black Mets cap, a light silver chain, and baggy shorts with sneakers that struck her as the designer kind. He had good teeth and smelled faintly of wood. Or aftershave, she guessed. Wood-scented aftershave. “Hey.”

  “That’s Liam in the car,” Zar said, turning away before Maddie could react. When she glanced back, her expression was like: Oh, didn’t I mention that my other friend is a dude? Sorry, I totally didn’t realize that you never would have agreed to this trip.

  Zar climbed into the car. Jorge said, “Take your bag?”

  Maddie imagined Jorge and Zar canoodling in the cabin while she and—what was his name? Liam—sat an awkward two feet apart, trying to decide where to look. The same scene repeated on the lake, in the woods. How many bedrooms did this cabin have? Nightmare. It was a nightmare.

  The Jeep’s window slid down. Zar leaned out. “It’s all good, Maddie. Trust me.”

  Maddie looked at her. Zar hadn’t let her down before. She handed Jorge her bag.

  “Cool,” he said.

  She pulled open the rear door and slid inside. She could feel the presence of Liam but waited until she’d belted in and arranged herself before looking in his direction. He wore glasses. He had light, almost fluffy hair. His eyes darted, like those of a cornered animal, which was actually good, since it made Maddie think that Liam, like her, was learning about this situation right now.

  The rear hatch thumped down. Jorge climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled shut the door with a bang, like chopping wood. The engine kicked into life. She gripped the armrest against the sudden acceleration, and in the side window, a parked car slid by, a blue sedan, a man inside with his forearms folded over the steering wheel, bearded, wearing a collared shirt. Fear rose in her throat all at once, like it had been there all along.

  She jolted in surprise. “Is—” She twisted in her seat. The blue car was shrinking in the rear window.

  “You okay?” Zar said, looking back.

  “I thought . . .” She wasn’t sure what she’d seen. And she didn’t know if she wanted to voice this in front of Jorge and Liam. “I felt like I was being followed earlier.”

  Zar’s lips made an O of surprise. “By Trent?”

  She shook her head. “Older guy. Beard. Big. I thought I saw him in a parked car back there.”

  Zar turned to Jorge. “She’s gotten out of a bad relationship.”

  Not that bad, she wanted to say.

  Jorge’s eyes flicked to the rear mirror. “He’s stalking you?”

  “It’s not him. It’s probably nothing.”

  “What kind of car?”

  She tried to think. “A sedan. A wide one. Light blue.”

  Zar told Jorge, “You keep your eye on who’s behind. See if anyone’s following.”

  “No one’s following us to Carmel,” Jorge said. “I can guarantee that.”

  “How can you guarantee that?”

  “I drive too fast,” Jorge said. The Jeep jumped as if it had been kicked. Zar let out a squeal. Maddie clutched at the seat. She didn’t approve of this, the reckless driving, but it did make her feel better. He slung the car between lanes, throwing glances over his shoulder like he was a wide receiver preparing for a pass, and that was good, too, as if his confidence was contagious.

  “You idiot,” Zar said. “You’re going to get us killed.” But she was laughing. Jorge grinned. Within twenty minutes they were on the Bronx–Whitestone Bridge, pointed north. As far as Maddie could tell, the blue car had been left far behind. And so had Blanche, she decided: Blanche, who carried her fear. All that was behind her. It would wait until she came home.

  * * *

  —

  Somewhere around Baychester, Zar opened a cooler that must have been nestled by her feet. She passed Maddie a silver can that said o-gasm in big type, and, smaller: vodka + orange.

  “What’s this?” Maddie said.

  “I don’t know,” Zar said. “Try some and tell me.” She popped an identical can and took a swig.

  “Liam, you want a beer?” Jorge asked.

  “Uh,” said Liam. “I mean . . .”

  “Give him a beer,” Jorge told Zar, who passed a dark bottle that was beaded with moisture. Liam accepted it and held his bottle toward Maddie. She knocked it with her can. Then she popped the top and drank. It was cold, but less aggressive than she’d expected, sweeter, almost not like alcohol at all.

  “Good, yes?” Zar inquired.

  “Yes,” she said, although ridiculous was what it was. She felt as if she’d traveled back in time to circa 2018, when she was a teenager and could climb into a car with a friend and two boys she didn’t know and drink and scream and have the best time. Although had she ever actually done that? Not really.

  “Maddie, you smoke?” Jorge said. She realized he meant: weed. In the rearview mirror, his eyes were deep brown. He was an okay guy, she thought. At first glance, he came off a little brash, but he was genuinely asking, not pushing. “Maybe,” she said.

  “All right. Now we’ve got a party. Liam, you down?”

  “I’ll pass, thanks,” Liam said. “But you guys enjoy.”

  “Liam is responsible,” Zar said, turning in her seat. “Always thinking of his future. What are you studying again? Kids’ bikes?”

  “Macroeconomic trade cycles.”

  “That’s what I said.” Zar giggled.

  Maddie said, “How do you two know each other?”

  “He’s my cousin,” Zar said, and then, to Maddie’s expression: “We went to high school.”

  “Oh.” She drank. “What are macroeconomic trade cycles?”

  “Well,” Liam said, “you know how countries trade with each other?” There followed an explanation involving words Maddie had not encountered in her studies of the performing and social arts. “Anyway,” he said suddenly, as if realizing how long he’d been talking. “That’s the gist.” He gave a quick, embarrassed smile.

  “And you actually find this interesting?” Zar said. She looked at Maddie. “This is what the smart people sound like.”

  She was sure Liam was smart. And nice. And Zar did know people, so maybe he was even suited for her. Under different circumstances, something might happen. But not this weekend.

  She took another drink. The sun through the window was hot, the air on blast was frigid, and she was developing a pleasant buzz in her head and a tingle on her skin. Jorge put on music, something electronic, which Zar changed, and they began to argue in a friendly, teasing way. Liam asked how long she’d known Zar, which led to a series of anecdotes. Cans were passed, which Maddie accepted, and seemed to drink themselves. When the Jeep turned onto a narrow tree-lined road, she felt mildly astonished, because it was like they’d only just left the city.

  Stitched along both sides of the narrow ro
ad were driveways and mailboxes, but the houses themselves were all tucked away behind tall conifers. At a sign that read private property strictly no entry, Jorge turned onto a packed-earth driveway. They bumped along for thirty or forty yards, the trees pressing close, chopping the afternoon sunlight into thin slices. Then they rounded a bend and there it was, the lake house, a neat white clapboard house with a wide porch and shuttered windows. On the front door hung a wooden relief of a smiling sun.

  Jorge killed the engine, fell from the car, and whooped. Like a movie, Maddie thought, and that was a better description of the sensation she’d felt earlier, when she’d thought they’d turned into teenagers. They weren’t real teenagers, not themselves six years ago; they were idealized versions, carefully distinct characters who hit the road with booze and weed and unbridled excitement for a too-good-to-be-true getaway to the lake. And then? Was it a road-trip movie? Did they have a coming-of-age experience? She wasn’t sure.

  “Swimsuits,” said Zar, lurching from the car.

  Maddie looked at Liam, who shrugged. She extracted herself from the vehicle, which took longer than she expected because her legs had quietly filled with O-gasm, apparently. Jorge had the hatch open and was already carrying gear up the front steps. He dumped it by the door, lifted the smiling sun to retrieve a key, and went inside.

  “There is a pier,” Zar said, articulating carefully, as if they were doing Shakespeare. “We shall leap from it.”

  “Is that a good idea?” She meant: When we’re this drunk.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Zar said noncommittally. Liam passed, carrying bags. He was significantly more sober than them, Maddie sensed. He had paced himself. Zar was right: Liam was thinking of the future. “Imagine,” Zar said. “Cool. Water.” She made a horizontal gesture, indicating a flat ocean, or a horizon, or something.

  Maddie followed Zar into the house. It was clean and minimalist, with broad white shelves and countertops graced by a few singular pieces: a twist of birchwood, a copper fish, a conch shell. Like an Airbnb. Not a lived-in place, with hair on the benches and bread crumbs on the floor. A model house.

  A set, she thought.

  Jorge emerged from a darkened doorway. His tank top had disappeared. His shorts had become a tiny, bright red pair of swim briefs. His torso was full of amazing bumps. He walked to the kitchen, retrieved a bottle of beer from the fridge, and banged the top open on the countertop. The lid dropped to the floor and rolled somewhere. He tipped the bottle back and began to drink in slow, authoritative gulps.

  Zar bounced into a bedroom. Maddie was looking for that bottle top (Keep the set clean, people!), but Jorge was drinking steadily, looking at her. She began to feel awkward. She collected her bag and explored the hallway until she found a free bedroom. Inside, alongside bunk beds, was a box of beach toys. Who are they for? she wondered. Jorge, when he was younger?

  Or no one, she thought. They’re just props.

  She fit herself into the bikini, which felt a little smaller than it had when she’d tried it on in her apartment, like her ass might be hanging out of her pants. The frill across her breasts, merely cute at home, felt as blatant as a half-raised stage curtain, commanding attention toward the main show. There was a small en suite with a tall mirror, and she used it to inspect herself, trying to put herself into the mind of Liam. Because that was the issue. The suit was fine for a swim with Zar. She wasn’t sure it was okay for a swim with a guy Zar wanted to set her up with, with whom Maddie didn’t want to be set up.

  She exhaled. This was the swimsuit she’d brought. She opened the door.

  Liam was passing. “Oh,” they said at the same time. Liam’s hands twitched up to his chest, then dropped. He was naked except for green shorts. Even in the dark hallway, his skin was so white it was almost luminescent. But he had nothing to be embarrassed about; he wasn’t muscular, like Jorge, but he was lean, which was fine. That was totally fine.

  He gestured for her to go first. She accepted before realizing this put Liam behind her as she paraded her ass to the front of the house. Averting his eyes, maybe. He seemed like the kind of guy who might do that. On the porch, Jorge and Zar were squeezed together into a hammock-chair contraption beside a bunch of towels, drinking and giggling. Zar was in a yellow one-piece, which sported a series of artful cuts that made her appear eight feet long. She saw Maddie and clambered out of the chair, momentarily threatening to tip Jorge onto the floor. “You’re beautiful!”

  “You look amazing,” Maddie said.

  “Everyone looks amazing,” Jorge said. “Let’s do this.”

  The path to the lake was steep and winding, the earth cool beneath her feet. After a minute, Zar raised her hand, and Maddie, trailing behind, stopped. “Listen,” Zar said.

  Wind in the leaves. Buzzing insects.

  “No people,” Zar said.

  The boys continued on, but Maddie and Zar stayed, listening. When was the last time her ears hadn’t been filled with noise? A year? “It’s like another world.”

  Zar smiled and took her hand. They hurried after Jorge and Liam, and Maddie felt delighted, because although Zar was a close friend, they hadn’t been, you know, holding hands friends. She was glad she’d come. It was already better than she could have imagined. They were headed to the lake and Jorge seemed nice, and, by the way, wasn’t their group pleasantly racially diverse? Like, almost ideally so. Like an ad for a college.

  Or a movie, she thought. The white girl has a Black friend. And there’s a Hispanic guy, but mainstream audiences aren’t totally comfortable with interracial relationships, so the romantic interest is white, too.

  What kind of movie was she thinking of? Not an indie coming-of-age pic. Something more obvious.

  Ahead, Jorge whooped and began to run. The trees were thinning, the earth turning gritty beneath Maddie’s feet, and she emerged into sunshine and bright sand. On either side, the water curved to promontories of dark rocks. Here, at last, were people, but only a few: a middle-aged couple walking barefoot on the sand; a family with a dog; teenagers exploring the rocks. Jorge sprinted toward a sun-bleached pier that was spackled with ancient birdshit, leaped off the end, and disappeared. Water fountained.

  Zar let go of Maddie’s hand and ran, passing Liam, who was still on the sand. At the end of the pier, she jumped, her hair trailing in a long black streak.

  Maddie and Liam followed at a walk. A board creaked beneath her foot. At the end of the pier, they found Jorge and Zar treading water.

  “It’s so amazing,” Zar said.

  Liam glanced at her, then launched into a fairly impressive cannonball. He came up and shook his head, flinging droplets.

  Out of nowhere, the answer to the question that had been bugging Maddie popped into her head.

  Oh, she thought. It’s a horror movie.

  She’d been misled by the opening. Four happy young people; her brain had been searching for something upbeat. But the characters were always happy and overconfident as they headed off to their cabin in the woods, or their house on the lake. Only later did the tone change, when night fell.

  “Maddie!” Zar shrieked. “Jump, you coward!”

  Actually, it began even earlier than that, didn’t it? Before the road trip, there was a prologue to establish a sense of danger. Usually something creepy involving the lead. A close encounter, to establish the idea that she was marked.

  “Maddie!”

  Below her, the water sparkled like knives. She felt cold, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Blanche, she thought. Go away, Blanche. I left you in Queens. She pushed the whole package from her mind. She was not in a movie. She was not an imperious southern lady fallen on hard times. She was twenty-two, on a pier, in a cute bikini. She forced a smile and jumped.

  * * *

  —

  Afterward, they sat on the sand, wrapped in towels. As the sun eased toward the treetops, Jorg
e proposed an expedition to the rocks. But Maddie was warm and comfortable, and had the idea that Jorge and Zar were angling for some time together. She and Liam watched them walk along the sand. Zar attempted a cartwheel. Jorge turned in a full circle in the air, landing on his feet.

  “Whew,” Liam said, sounding vaguely defeated.

  “I bet you could do that if you wanted,” Maddie said.

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  “Thoughtful,” she said. “Modest.” Then, trying to think how to ask, Why are you here? without it being weird: “Do you and Zar hang out much?”

  He shook his head. “I’m friends with her brother. To be honest, I thought he was coming this weekend.”

  “Ah,” she said. So Zar had duped Liam into this trip. They were being set up.

  “It’s cool, though,” Liam said. “It’s a beautiful spot.”

  She raised a hand to shield her face from the low sun. The lake was almost deserted now. No more dogs or kids or empty nesters.

  “You look worried,” Liam said.

  She laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Are you thinking about the guy who’s been following you?” Then, reluctantly: “Your ex?”

  She shook her head. “No one’s following me. My brain is just going to weird places today.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a creepy idea. I’d be worried, too.”

  “No one’s following me,” she said again. “Hey, does this remind you of anything? This trip? Like . . . a movie? A type of movie?” He looked lost. She shook her head. “I need to stop seeing everything like it’s a scene.”

  “That’s what you and Zar do, right? I guess every now and again you need to stop and find your ground.”

  She quite liked that. Find your ground. That was indeed what she needed to do. Where is my ground? she wondered. “You’re pretty wise for a tricycle student,” she said.