Antoinette van Heugten - Saving Max

She walks down a deserted hallway of the psychiatric hospital, her heels tapping a short staccato on the disinfected floor. She pauses; pushes open a door; and steps inside. The room is red, all red, with dark, sick spatters of blood. They stab and soar at the ceiling and walls, pool on the floor. She claps both hands to her mouth, trying to stifle the scream that tears at her throat. Her eyes are pulled to the body on the bed. The boy lies gaping at the ceiling, his eyes blue ice. Her fingers, slick with his blood, find no pulse. She scrambles for the nurses buttonand freezes.

There, on the floor next to the bed, lies a huddled forma boy not so different from the corpse above him. His face and hands are smeared with blackened blood, but this time her frantic search for a pulse is rewarded with a faint throb. It is then that she sees it.

Clutched in his hand is a long, spiked object, covered in the slime and blood that lacerates the room. Grasped in that hand, as tightly as a noose, is the murder weapon.

Danielle falls gratefully into the leather chair in Dr. Leonards waiting room. She has just raced from her law firms conference room, where she spent the entire morning with a priggish Brit who couldnt imagine that his business dealings across the pond could possibly have subjected him to the indignities of a New York lawsuit. Max, her son, sits in his customary place in the corner of the psychiatrists waiting roomas far away from her as possible. He is hunched over his new iPhone, thumbs punching furiously. Its as if hes grown a new appendage, so rarely does she see him without it. At his insistence, Danielle also has an identical one in her purse. The faintest shadow of a moustache stains his upper lip, his handsome face marred by a cruel, silver piercing on his eyebrow. His scowl is that of an adult, not a child. He seems to feel her stare. He looks up and then averts his lovely, tenebrous eyes.

She thinks of all the doctors, the myriad of medications, the countless dead ends, and the dark, seemingly irreversible changes in Max. Yet somehow the ghost of her boy wraps his thin, tanned arms around her neckhis mouth cinnamon-sweet with Red Hotsand plants a sticky kiss on her cheek. He rests there a moment, his small body breathing rapidly, his heart her metronome. She shakes her head. To her, there is still only one Max. And in the center of this boy lies the tenderest, sweetest middleher baby, the part she can never give up.

Her eyes return to the present Max. Hes a teenager, she tells herself. Even as the hopeful thought flits across her mind, she knows she is lying to herself. Max has Aspergers Syndrome, high-functioning autism. Although very bright, he is clueless about getting along with people. This has caused him anguish and heartache all his life.

When he was very young, Max discovered computers. His teachers were stunned at his aptitude. Now sixteen, Danielle still has no idea of the extent of Maxs abilities, but she knows that he is a virtual geniusa true savant. While this initially made him fascinating to his peers, none of them could possibly maintain interest in the minutiae Max droned on about. People with Aspergers often wax rhapsodic about their specific obsessionswhether or not the listener is even vaguely interested in the topic. Maxs quirky behavior and learning disabilities have made him the object of further ridicule. His response has been to act out or retaliate, although lately it seems that he has just withdrawn further into himself, cinching thicker and tighter coils around his heart.

Sonya, his first real girlfriend, broke up with him a few months ago. Max was devastated. He finally had a relationshiplike everybody elseand she dumped him in front of all his classmates. Max became so depressed that he refused to go to school; cut off contact with the few friends he had; and started using drugs. The latter she discovered when she walked into his room unannounced to find Max staring at her coollya joint in his hand; a blue, redolent cloud over his head; and a rainbow assortment of pills scattered carelessly on his desk. She didnt say a word, but waited until he took a shower a few hours later and then confiscated the bag of dope and every pill she could find. That afternoon she dragged himcursing and screamingto Dr. Leonards office. The visits seemed to help. At least he had gone back to school and, in an odd way, seemed happier. He was tender and loving toward Daniellea young Max, eager to please. As far as the drugs went, her secret forays into his room turned up nothing. That wasnt to say, of course, that he hadnt simply moved them to school or a friends house.

But, she thinks ruefully, recent events pale in comparison to what brings them here today. Yesterday after Max left for school and she performed her daily search-and-seizure reconnaissance, she discovered a soft, leather-bound journal stuffed under his bed. Guiltily, she pried open the metal clasp with a paring knife. The first page so frightened her that she fell into a chair, hands shaking. Twenty pages of his boyish scrawl detailed a plan so intricate, so terrifying, that she only noticed her ragged breathing and stifled sobs when she looked around the room and wondered where the sounds were coming from. Did the blame lie with her? Could she have done something differently? Better? The old shame and humiliation filled her.

The door opens and Georgia walks in. A tiny blonde, she sits next to Danielle and gives her a brief, strong hug. Danielle smiles. Georgia is not only her best friendshe is family. As an only child with both parents gone, Danielle has come to rely upon Georgias unflagging loyalty and support, not to mention her deep love for Max. Despite her sweet expression, Georgia has the quick mind of a tough lawyer. Their law firm is Blackwood & Price, a multinational firm with four hundred lawyers and offices in New York, Oslo and London. She is typically in her office by nowseated behind a perfectly ordered desk, a pile of finished work at her elbow. Danielle cant remember when she has been so glad to see someone. Georgia gives Max a wave and a smile. Hi, you.

Hey. The monosyllabic task accomplished, he closes his eyes and slouches lower into his chair.

How is he? asks Georgia.

Either glued to his laptop or on that damned phone of his, she whispers. He doesnt know I found hisjournal. Id never have gotten him here otherwise.

Georgia squeezes her shoulder. Itll be all right. Well get through this somehow.

Youre so wonderful to come. I cant tell you how much it means to me. She forces normality into her voice. So, how did it go this morning?

I barely got to court in time, but I think I did okay.

What happened?

She shrugs. Jonathan.

Danielle squeezes her hand. Her husband, Jonathan, although a brilliant plastic surgeon, has an unquenchable thirst that threatens to ruin not only his marriage, but his career. Georgia suspects that he is also addicted to cocaine, but has voiced that fear only to Danielle. No one at their law firm seems to know, despite his boorish behavior at the last Christmas party. The firm, an old-line Manhattan institution, does not look kindly upon spousal comportment that smacks of anything other than the rarified, blue-blooded professionals they believe themselves to be. With a two-year-old daughter, Georgia is reluctant to even consider divorce.

What was it this time? asks Danielle.

Her azure eyes are nubilous. Came in at four; passed out in the bathtub; pissed all over himself.