You don’t want to hit a deer with your car, do you?
When mass let out, people called relatives and checked on their kids away at college. Moms held their children a little tighter and made mental notes to include extra-special treats on Thanksgiving. Dads decided to limit their football games to one (instead of three) to spend more time with their families instead of their fantasy football leagues. And kids found themselves getting whatever candy they wanted all day. Some felt guilty that it was for all the wrong reasons, but hey…candy was candy.
The only person who didn’t seem rattled was Mrs. Collins.
Kathleen Collins had been sitting in the front pew with her son Brady during mass. Of course, she’d already heard the news. As landowner, her husband was the first person notified after the sheriff. He immediately left the house and went to the scene. He had too much money tied up in the Mission Street Woods project to leave its future in the hands of bureaucrats. Mrs. Collins found herself a lot more concerned about her family’s potential bankruptcy than she was about the family of the child in the woods. After all, these things happen for one reason.
Bad parenting.
Simple. If you are a good parent, you watch your children. You make sure they are safe. If you fail at your job, you do not blame some outside force. You look right in the mirror and take responsibility. That was the problem with the world. No one took responsibility. Someday, the police would catch the psychopath who committed this horrible crime. And when they did, she knew that the monster would cry his crocodile tears and say he was abused by his parents. Well, that is—excuse her French—bullshit. There is such a thing as insane. There is such a thing as evil.
Not one for chicken-and-egg arguments, Mrs. Collins wondered if somewhere in the world, there was a parent who abused his children who was not abused himself. She would bet a million dollars that there was. And if someone could find just one of these mothers or fathers to prove it once and for all, she would die a happy woman.
As for her husband, Mr. Collins spent Sunday arguing with the sheriff. The Mission Street Woods project was turning from his greatest dream into his worst nightmare. First that little Christopher Reese kid went missing in them. And now a skeleton? Fuck. Everywhere he put his foot in the Mission Street Woods, he either stepped in dog shit or a bear trap. Environmental groups bitched about the deer losing their natural habitat. Historical societies bitched about the town losing its “centerpiece.” Even preservation societies bitched to have him turn that shitty old tunnel into a coal mine museum. Yeah, that made sense. Everyone loves those. Fuck them all. He knew he had to start building by Christmas because the loans would come due. But did the sheriff (aka “government employee”) understand anything about that? Hell no. The sheriff was telling him that he had to close the woods down because it was a crime scene.
“When are you going to let me dig? When I’m buried under two feet of snow?! Well, fuck you very much, Sheriff. It’s like you and the rest of the universe don’t want me to finish the God damn thing!”
As for Mrs. Collins’ mother, she sat in the parlor of the old folks home. She couldn’t remember how she got there. Or who she was. Or who her daughter was. Or her rich son-in-law. She thought for a moment that the woman on the news was telling her that a child had died, but no other details were being released at this time. Then, a loud man named Ambrose came into the room and told her that it wasn’t her child. He said that her daughter was alive and well and waiting to torment teenage volunteers later that afternoon. Now shut up. He was trying to listen to the news.
Mrs. Collins’ mother didn’t like Ambrose. She didn’t care if he was losing his eyesight. Vulgar was vulgar. She turned back to the television and tried to remember something else. Something important. But she couldn’t. And then, right when the news ended, and the football game started, she remembered what it was.
They were all going to die soon.
Yeah. That was it.
They were all going to die.
Death was coming.
Death was here.
We’ll die on Christmas Day.
Chapter 28
The entire parking lot was filled with camera trucks and news vans when the boys arrived at the sheriff’s office. It had only been forty-five minutes since they ran to the Collins Construction security guard to call the police, but the skeleton was already big local news. Special Ed smiled when he saw the news vans.
“Wow. We’re going to be famous!”
Then he turned to the deputy driving.
“Can I see your shotgun?” he asked.
“No,” the deputy said.
“Did you know that the term ‘riding shotgun’ came from covered-wagon times when the man sitting next to the driver literally held a shotgun to protect the wagon?”
“No, I didn’t.” The deputy sighed as if wishing any of the other three boys had called shotgun.
“Can I use your radio then? My dad has a scanner in his Hummer. He uses it to know where the speed traps are. I know all of your codes. Ten-six means you’re going to the bathroom, right?”
The boys were ushered into the sheriff’s office without comment to the media. Well, except for Special Ed, who happily yelled out to the reporters, “We found a body!” A few of the local papers—most notably the Post-Gazette—were able to get a couple of snaps for the front page. The news vans took their B roll for the five o’clock news. Four boys find a skeleton in the woods. It was a great local story.
“If it bleeds, it leads,” Special Ed said thoughtfully. “That’s what my mom says.”
The boys entered the sheriff’s office and saw their parents waiting for them. From the looks on their faces, the boys knew that their sleepover cover story had been blown to smithereens. It probably took the grown-ups all of three seconds to realize that they’d been had by a series of texts, and their boys had run around unsupervised for an entire night.
“We’re so dead,” Mike said.
But Special Ed proved to have more than media acumen. He immediately burst into tears and rushed over to his mother.
“Mommy, we found a skeleton! It was so scary!”
He cried and held her. Whatever anger she felt at him for lying melted as quickly as the chocolate in her purse.
“Where the hell were you, Eddie? We were worried sick,” she said.
“Yeah!” Big Eddie said, checking the scores on his phone.
“We heard there was treasure in the woods. We wanted to find gold rings to give to our moms for Christmas,” he said.
“Oh, baby,” she said and held him tightly. “You’re so thoughtful.”
Mike and Matt followed his lead and rushed to their two moms. The boys apologized for lying and said they really wanted to find the treasure as a surprise. The M&M’s moms weren’t as forgiving as Betty, but they still hugged their boys within an inch of their lives and said it was going to be okay.
Then there was Christopher’s mom.
Christopher waited for her to yell at him. Or hold him. Or be angry. Or sad. But she did the worst thing she could have possibly done.
Nothing.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said quietly.
She nodded and looked at him as something she didn’t quite recognize. Christopher wanted to hug her and make this horrible feeling of being in trouble go away. But it wouldn’t. Because she was more than mad. She was hurt. Her little boy was lying to her. When did that start? What did she do so wrong that he didn’t think he could tell her the truth anymore? When he saw that she was more disappointed in herself than him, the guilt he felt for deceiving her was almost unbearable.
“Boys, I need to ask you a few questions,” the sheriff said, mercifully ending the standoff.
They spent the next fifteen minutes “being given the third degree” as Special Ed told everyone in school that Monday. In reality, the sheriff just asked them a couple of questions each. He wasn’t interested in punishing seven-year-olds for trespassing or stealing a few scraps from the
woodpile. He left the discipline to their parents.
He only wanted to know about the skeleton.
About that, the boys had precious little information. The sheriff went back and forth between the boys to make sure they were all telling the same story. When he was satisfied they were, he concluded they were just a bunch of kids who went out to the woods to build a tree house and, instead, found a body. There was only one thing that puzzled him.
“Christopher,” he finally asked. “What made you dig in that spot?”
Christopher could feel all eyes in the room on him. Especially his mother’s.
“I don’t know. We were just digging for treasure. Mom, can we go now? I have a really bad headache.”
“Okay, son,” the sheriff said, patting his shoulder.
That’s when Christopher sensed it. The sheriff smelled just like Christopher’s mother when she was “going out.” There was the faintest hint of his mother’s perfume on the sheriff’s jacket. Maybe from a hug or a kiss. Either way, Christopher knew the sheriff was mom’s new “friend.” His mother would mention the sheriff by name soon. And then he would be over at the house. Probably not for Thanksgiving. But maybe for Christmas. He hoped the sheriff was a good guy, who would be nice to his mom. But this time, Christopher promised himself that if the sheriff got mean like Jerry, he would do something about it.
*
That night, Christopher’s friends were snuggled up with their families. Warm in their kitchens like cookies on a plate. Of course, they were still grounded. Appearances must be maintained. But there was too much relief that their boys were not the ones buried out in the woods for their mothers to be too mean to their sons.
Especially since their sons were being so nice.
The M&M’s two moms made their favorite lasagna and were shocked when their sons cleaned up their own dishes. Special Ed’s parents couldn’t remember the last time their son only had one helping of dessert—and this was Mom’s special chocolate delight.
All through dinners and bedtimes, the families chitchatted the way families chitchat. About a lot of nothing that somehow adds up to everything. The parents were all surprised when their sons wanted to read a book instead of watch TV. But the evenings ended up being lovely. And when the books were read, and their sons went off to bed, each of the parents had the same thought that they would never speak out loud…
My boy is growing up. It’s almost like he got smarter overnight.
That is, except for Christopher’s mother.
*
Of course, Kate felt proud the way other parents did. Ever since his perfect math test, she saw how happy he was. Christopher was never that good at sports. He was never that good at school. And he beat himself up for it. But she knew her son was a world-class person. If they gave gold medals for being a good human being (and they should), then Christopher would be singing the national anthem on the podium every four years. And now, he was the same little boy she had always known and always loved.
But he was different.
No, he wasn’t possessed or a pod person or a doppelgänger. She knew her son. And this was her son. But how many times did she see Christopher struggle with remedial reading books? How long did she coach him through math drills? How many years had she seen her son cry because he didn’t know why the letters switched on him? He felt like a failure. He felt like an idiot. Then, suddenly, almost overnight, he turned it all around. But it didn’t happen overnight.
It took six days.
She forgave herself for not noticing at first, because she was swept up in it. She was so happy to have him back. So happy to see him safe. So proud of his sudden academic improvement. The reading. The perfect math test. The lottery. The new house. The new clothes. The bookshelf with the duck wallpaper filled with books that Christopher suddenly couldn’t read fast enough. But deep in her heart, something always bothered her about it.
When something seems too good to be true, it always is.
And that was it. It was more than the reading. More than the grades. It was the way he looked around. The way he saw people interact. It reminded her of the moment when adults start spelling to trick their toddlers. “Hey, honey, should we take her to the t-o-y-s-t-o-r-e?” “Hey, should we give him some i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m?” As soon as their children were old enough to spell, adults had to find other ways to hide the world under their noses. Sins and sweets and sex and violence tucked away with looks and gestures and sleights of hand like a magician’s misdirection.
Christopher never used to notice these things.
And now, he noticed them all.
Her son was suddenly bringing home straight A’s when there used to be C’s. Her son was speed-reading Treasure Island instead of stumbling through Dr. Seuss. Christopher studied the world with a knowing eye that simply hadn’t been there in Michigan. There was a manic quality to his intelligence now.
Just like with his father.
And now he was lying to her.
When they left the sheriff’s office, they fought their way through the reporters and cameras. Christopher’s mother finally got him in the car. She was quiet for a moment as she turned on the motor and let the defroster work its invisible magic erasing clouds from the windshield.
They drove home in half silence.
Christopher apologized all the way home. But she said nothing in return. Not to punish him. But to get back the higher ground. Her son was growing up too fast, and she needed to know why. She’d already lost a husband to an overactive mind. She was not about to lose a son. When they reached their garage and were finally alone, she stopped the car.
“Christopher,” she said softly. “I have to ask you something.”
“Sure,” he said, sounding relieved to have her talk again.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. It’s okay. Tell me.”
She saw his eyes twitch. She saw the response being measured.
“I, um…I knew you wouldn’t let me go out to the woods.”
“Why?”
“Because I could have gotten lost out there again. I could have frozen to death.”
“But you did it anyway. Why?”
“My head hurts.”
“Tell me why, Christopher.”
“To build a tree house.”
“Why? What’s so important about a tree house?”
“Nothing, I guess,” he said.
“So, you risked your life to build a tree house that meant nothing?”
He suddenly went silent. Then, he did the best impression of a smile she had ever seen.
“I guess it seems kind of silly now that you say it,” he said.
“I’m glad you feel that way. Because you’re never allowed in those woods again.”
“But, Mom—”
“You’re grounded until Christmas.”
“But Mom!”
“Christopher. Your friends can lie to their parents. Every kid on earth can lie to theirs, too. But you don’t lie to me. There is no debate. There is no time out. There is no big hug, and ‘I understand.’ I’m the fucking boss. And my only job is to keep you safe. SO, YOU ARE GROUNDED. YOU ARE NEVER TO STEP FOOT IN THOSE WOODS AGAIN. You got it?!”
“I’m sorry,” he said desperately.
“Sorry isn’t good enough. Not for me.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
Christopher went up to his bedroom, not knowing that once the door closed, his mother felt much worse than he did. She hated being that hard on him, but since she was unwilling to raise him with the leather belt she got growing up, it was the best discipline she had in her arsenal. She couldn’t let him lie. Her rules were still black and white. She couldn’t let him go grey. And she couldn’t let him out in the woods where they found the skeleton of a child.
She kept him in punishment all day. Other than a brief respite of a grilled cheese dinner and Children
’s Tylenol for his headache, he stayed in his room. No TV. No books. He just lay in bed, looking at the picture of his father in the silver frame. She wondered if he wished his father were here. Maybe his father could explain what was happening to him. Maybe he would tell his father the truth. Right before bed, she came into the room.
“Listen,” she said. “I’m still mad, but I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“No, it’s not. We don’t keep secrets from each other. And the only way that works is if we don’t yell at each other. Right?”
Christopher nodded.
“You can tell me anything, Christopher. Always know that. Okay?”
“I know,” he said.
She waited to see if he would. But Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“I love you,” he finally said.
“I love you, too.”
With that, she kissed his forehead, closed the door, and went down the hall. She turned on The Tonight Show to distract herself. The host told funny jokes, but Kate Reese didn’t laugh at any of them. She just looked at the screen, having a pretend fight with her son.
“You lied to me. You’re still not telling me everything. I know it. You know I know it. So, what the hell is going on inside that head of yours, Christopher?”
And as she closed her eyes for sleep, she could almost hear his answer.
That’s for me to know and you to find out.
Chapter 29
The sheriff entered the woods alone. It was Thursday night. The air didn’t feel like Thanksgiving. It was too warm, too dry, too perfectly wonderful. The only signs of autumn at all were the leaves. Yellow and red like blood. The trails were soft under his leather shoes. Quiet as a mouse.
Something was wrong.
It had been five days since the skeleton was discovered, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He thought about his old captain’s dog back in the Hill District. How every now and then, Shane would sit up and start barking for no reason. The captain would always say, “Quiet, boy. There’s nothing there.” But maybe there was something there. Dog whistles have a pitch that only dogs can hear.
Imaginary Friend Page 14
