Psycho Girls

My philosophy of life is dead straight:

whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

If I didn't believe that

I would've passed the dice a long time ago.

And after some of the numbers I've played,

I must be a born again crap shooter.

I'm in pretty good shape for a guy who drinks too much

and smokes a couple of packs a day,

and I'm still a smooth stick man,

even if my wife is usually in the driver's seat.

But at my age, that's okay by me.

I'm a writer.

Detective fiction is my line.

You've probably spun a few dime store pulp racks

with my name buried away in the back. Richard Foster.

For a long time, that moniker barely paid the rent.

Then one day, my hero, Johnny Magnum,

clicked with John Q. Public

and I had a bestseller on my hands,

even an offer from Hollywood land.

But I don't want to tell you about my financial success.

What's money, anyway, except paper with germs on it?

I want to tell you about something else,

something that still haunts me like a nightmare.

Something so bizarre and bloodcurdling,

you'd want to pretend that it never really happened.

It began in the autumn of 1966.

I was a million miles from that place,

but the fate set in motion that morning was headed straight

on a collision course with me.

It was the home of Victor and Pearl Tusk,

a pair of factory sealed suburbanites.

They led a regular sort of life,

with lots of polyester and very little sex.

They had two daughters,

and Sarah, who was 10.

Victor was the kind of guy you'd call an endangered species.

All heart, but no chest cavity to put it in.

Pearl was a two-fisted housewife and a devoted mother.

On the morning of their 11th anniversary,

they thought they had a pretty good life.

Pearl.

Pearl.

Sweetheart.

Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.

It's Saturday.

You get to spend the whole day with the man you love.

Do I deserve such joy?

Oh, come on, dear,

don't you know what day this is?

This is my day to sleep in.

Ugh-My God...

is it really 11 years already?

Not a day less, dear.

Happy anniversary, dear.

That's my girl.

Happy anniversary, darling.

I couldn't have had 11 happier years

if I planned them myself.

The best laid plans, Victor...

Promise me something.

Promise me we'll have 50 more.

No, a hundred.

I can hardly wait.

Come in.

Happy anniversary, Mommy and Daddy.

- I made this just for you. - Oh.

- Oh. - Oh.

Look at this.

- Isn't that nice. - Thank you, sweetie.

Hope you like it.

Pancakes, that's nice.

Ooh, hot coffee.

- Mm. - Mm, yummy.

Read the card I made you.

To my mommy and daddy.

I love you more than God, your loving daughter.

Aw.

Aw, that's beautiful, sweetie.

Thank you.

Better eat your pancakes before they get cold.

Mmm mmm.

Mmm!

Good.

After breakfast, we'll all go up to grandma's

and get your sister, okay?

Aw, do we have to?

Now, sweetie, it's a very special day

and we want everyone from the family, everyone to be there.

So you have to come, okay?

Okay, okay.

- Daddy. - Mm-hmm.

When you die and go see God,

will you come back and tell me what he looks like?

Sure, I will.

Promise me?

- Mm-hmm. - Yes, we promise, dear.

So pumpkin, you come on up and snuggle up by dear old dad,

and tell me what you want to do today.

What is it?

I'm gonna kill you and mommy.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Well, what does he look like?

Can he see me?

Little Sarah Tusk became ward of the state

and spent the next 15 years

in a big, sprawling place by the lake.

She had a room with a view and the full treatment.

To call the Lakeview Asylum a snake pit

was like giving it five stars in the Michelin guide.

Sarah was now 25 years-old

and like most little girls of 25,

she was ready to leave home.

Her sister Victoria was now her legal guardian

and the only one authorized to sign Sarah's release papers.

But Victoria had some plans of her own.

No, I won't do it.

I don't care about medical conclusions, Doctor.

Vicky, try to be disinterested just for a while, okay?

Forget we're discussing your sister.

Try to remember that a human mind is just as susceptible

to a disease as is the body.

You can't punish someone for having a common cold, can you?

You're not making this very easy for me, you know?

You want one?

No, thank you.

Well, I'm listening.

Well, then, the courts ruled more than once

that your sister committed murder

under the influence of a highly diseased mind.

That's why she was sent here, Vicky, not to prison.

Here, to be cured.

Not to be punished.

People are released from Lakeview

when they're healthy again.

My sister's not healthy again, Doctor.

I didn't say she was completely cured.

I said she was well on the road to recovery.

She'll be ready for release within two years tops.

Dr. Hippocampus, I want you to understand something.

I hate my sister.

I know you've tried to help me overcome it,

but it's impossible.

I know she can't be put in prison for killing my parents,

but I can see to it

that she never gets outside these walls.

I want her to die here.

I want her to rot here.

I'm never going to sign those release papers, Doctor.

There's something you should know, in that case.

Lakeview is practically medieval by today's standards.

Oh, it's due to be closed in a year's time.

If you persist in keeping Sarah a prisoner of her own mind,

then she'll have to be transferred to another facility.

A much more expensive one.

Money is no concern.

I'll spend my last dime if I have to.

Just remember this:

Sarah's not the only one who'll suffer.

Thanks for the pep talk, Doc.

I always did enjoy a good bedside manner.

So if the asylum is to be closed,

I won't have to deal with you again.

Correct?

Victoria, you won't have to deal with me again.

Correct.

Good.

I like happy endings.

But you'll still have to deal with your sister again.

Goodbye... Doctor.

I didn't know her then,

who she was or what made her tick,

but in some strange way,

Victoria had already brought me closer to Lakeview.

A few years later, she came to work for me as a cook,

and it was my wife, Diane,

Who first noticed something odd about Victoria.

Nothing you could put your finger on,

but the sickly sense that death

tracked this girl like a bloodhound.

When she left the asylum that day,

Victoria never intended to see Sarah again,

but the past has a way of reaching out

to settle all bad debts.

I'm leaving now.

For Christ's sake, wake up.

Oh, God.

Shit.

Come back to bed, mama.

It's late and besides,

your session is over with for tonight

and I do charge a stiff overtime.

Oh, mama.

How am I progressing?

Noticeably.

Perhaps next week, we can actually try to get it up.

Aren't you gotta kiss me goodbye?

No, don't give into your transference.

It's a meaningless love.