Knock. Knock. Knock.
Ding dong.
“Kate, are you in there!?” a voice screamed outside. It was Special Ed’s mother.
“Betty! I’m here!” she yelled out.
Jerry took a step closer.
“Don’t open the door, Kate,” Jerry slurred. “Don’t run away again. I’m sorry. I was crazy. I’ve been sitting here for hours. I came here with all these thoughts in my head. But the balloons led me to the school. The principal’s office was trashed, but I found your address.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Ding dong.
“Open the door! Something’s wrong in the town!” Betty cried out.
Jerry reached out with the money in his hands.
“Please, Kate. I want to be a better man for you. Your son is so great. I can be his father. I can teach him things. And when he misbehaves, I can be a lot nicer to him than my dad was.”
Jerry had a hundred pounds on her. But she had one advantage. The woman Jerry knew back in Michigan was long gone.
Be a victim or be a fighter.
Her hands reached inside her pocket. Where was her pepper spray? It was in her purse. Where was her purse? The car. She had her car keys. The car keys.
The panic button.
He took another step. She hit the panic button in her pocket. The alarm roared to life. Jerry turned to look outside. She ran past him and threw open the front door.
The chain caught.
She couldn’t get out! She saw Special Ed’s mother through the three-inch gap. There were more people behind her. Special Ed’s father. Mike and Matt’s mothers.
“Where are our kids, Kate?” Betty asked.
“Yes. We woke up, and Eddie was gone.”
“Mike and Matt, too.”
“I don’t know. Help me!” she yelled out.
“Help you? Your son took our children. Where the fuck is he, Kate?”
“Yes. Hand Christopher over before he gets our boys killed,” Betty cried.
The parents moved to the door. Banging and screaming. Pushing against the chain. Kate pushed back to keep them out.
Jerry stood, staring at her.
The gun in his hand.
“I told you not to run away again, and you didn’t listen,” he said coldly, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Are you with someone new? Is that it? Is he better than me? Do you two laugh at me? Is that what you do when he fucks you? Are you laughing at me right now? Stop laughing at me.”
Kate Reese heard the glass of the sliding door in the backyard. She turned. The backyard was filled with people coming from the woods. The old woman from the attic stood there with a large butcher knife.
Tink. Tink. Tink. Her knife on the glass.
Jerry raised the gun.
“Get out of my head, Kate. Stop laughing at me. Who the hell do you think you are? I drove all the way from Michigan just to be with you, and you think you’re too good for me!? You want something to laugh at, bitch!?”
Jerry cocked the hammer back.
“You’re right, Jerry!” she yelled. “I was a bitch. I was testing you. I made it impossible to find me. But you did. Let’s go to Michigan right now.”
“What?”
“I didn’t think you cared, but you passed the test. You’re a real man, Jerry. I want you to take me back to Michigan, but we have to go right now. Where’s your truck?” she said.
Knock knock knock.
Tink tink tink.
“Truck’s outside,” he said, dumbfounded.
“Then let’s pick up Christopher and go back to Michigan.”
“You’re lying to me,” Jerry said.
“I’m not lying. I was just mad. You hit me. I had to make you pay.”
The chain began to splinter.
The sliding glass door began to crack.
“This is your last chance, Jerry. If you don’t take me away right now, you will never have me again.”
The mailbox people crashed through the sliding door. The glass slicing their hands. The old woman ran through the shattered glass with her butcher knife.
BANG!
Jerry shot the old woman in the leg.
The chain behind them gave. Betty fell into the entry hall, the other parents rushing in behind her. Kate grabbed Jerry by the hand and led him into the garage, locking the door behind them. She hit the garage door opener. Coiled. Ready to run.
The chain lifted the garage door with an aching groan. Kate saw legs in the driveway. Blood pounded her ears. Christopher was alone in this madness. Her survival was now Christopher’s survival. She had to get to her son.
“Jerry,” she said. “Take me home.”
Jerry smiled as the garage door opened. He led her through the crowd.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He shot one man in the hand. Two others in the chest. Kate saw Ambrose’s Cadillac in the driveway. The tires were slashed. The windshield shattered. She ran to Jerry’s truck parked down the street and threw open the door. Jerry slid into the driver’s seat.
“Start the truck, Jerry,” she said.
He took out his keys. They slipped in his hand.
“Start the God damn truck!”
Ms. Lasko ran from the woods. Her eyes insane with sobriety. The truck roared to life. Jerry threw it into first gear. He drove straight into the cul-de-sac. There was no time to reverse. Dozens of mailbox people rushed toward them, Ms. Lasko leading the way. Jerry whipped around the circle. The truck’s tires skidded, then found pavement, and he drove out of the cul-de-sac, leaving the madness behind them.
The adrenaline left their bodies, and the two ex-lovers looked at each other as Jerry laughed and laughed and laughed. Kate kept a smile plastered on her face as the pain returned to her side. Her eyes went to the gun in Jerry’s hand.
The hospital was ten minutes away.
Chapter 111
Christopher looked up from the autopsy table.
All the people in the morgue stared at him. Nurse Tammy. Mr. Henderson. The doctor with his scalpel. The security guards with their guns. All waiting in a deli line for Christopher’s death by a thousand cuts.
Christopher looked around for help. The tables to his left were covered with corpses. The deputies from the sheriff’s office. Some old people from Shady Pines. All of their eyes closed. All of them breathing. Still alive.
The old people began to sit up. Moaning.
Christopher turned to the slab next to him. He saw the faded eagle tattoo on leathery skin. The bandages over the eyes. It was Ambrose Olson. The old man looked as if he had been stabbed.
“Mr. Olson! Wake up!” Christopher cried.
He grabbed Ambrose’s hand. Blood poured from his nose as tried to heal the old man. But Ambrose was lost somewhere deep in sleep.
“Chrissstopppheerrrrr,” the voices whispered behind him.
The old people rose up on the tables. Their eyes mean with cancer. He saw them stand. One by one. Their withered feet hitting the cold tile floor. Their hips clicking like insects.
“Why won’t you let us die? We are in pain.”
The old people moved toward him. He could feel their bodies. All the throbbing in their joints. The black molasses in their lungs. He could feel their breath on his forehead. The sour smell of age. Old fingers pried his eyelids open while withered hands ripped him from Ambrose. They spun him around to face the room.
“How should proceed, Doctor?” Nurse Tammy asked.
“Let’s give Christopher to them,” he said.
“Yes! Give him to them!” the old people agreed.
The security guards moved to the wall lined with cold metal drawers for the dead bodies. They banged on the drawers with the butts of their guns.
“Wake up in there! Wake up!”
The old folks surrounded Christopher, lifting him off the table.
“NO!” he screamed.
Christopher fought back with all his strength. He grabbed the sheriff’s hand with his right. Ambrose with his
left. Desperate. Clinging. He threw his loudest whisper into both of their arms. The electricity hummed inside the fluorescent lights. The room filled with the smell of ozone. The smells of clouds bumping together.
Sheriff! You have to wake up!
Mr. Olson! We can still save your brother!
The old people pried his fingers off one by one until he was loose and kicking. The drawers began to open. Hands clawing at metal. The bodies were inside. Squirming. Screaming, “Let us die!” Christopher saw a body in the middle drawer. It was draped with a white sheet.
The group shoved him inside the drawer and locked it. The drawer went pitch black. Christopher’s cries echoed off the cold metal walls. He could see nothing, but he could feel the body inside the drawer. Was it moving? Was it breathing? Christopher reached back and felt the skin of the body’s hands peeking out of the sheets. They were cold and lifeless. No electricity. And that smell. He remembered that smell from his father’s funeral. It was like talcum death. Was it alive? Dead? Christopher focused his mind. He had to find a way out. He reached down and patted his own body.
The phone.
He almost forgot. Mrs. Collins’ phone. It was still in his pocket, right next to the hissing lady’s key. Christopher turned on the phone. The light reflected off the metal drawer, making it glow. He looked to his sides. He saw old, withered hands. And no bars on the phone.
The light went dark.
Christopher turned the phone on again. He looked back down. The hands were palm-side up now. The body had moved in the darkness.
The phone went black. Christopher turned it back on. The hands were moving.
Twitching. The fingers reached up. Brushing against the back of Christopher’s neck.
“Chrisssstopher,” the voice whispered.
Christopher screamed. The corpse sat up.
“What’s my name? Give me back my name, Christopher.”
Mrs. Keizer’s hands went around Christopher’s neck. Christopher fought back against the old woman, but her grip was inhuman. He felt the air leave his body until a voice boomed through the morgue.
“NO! HE’S MINE!”
The morgue fell silent. Christopher felt Mrs. Keizer’s hands leave his neck. The drawer opened with a click and slowly slid back into the room. Christopher looked up and saw the eyes staring at him from the center of the morgue. Bloodshot and black. The face was pure evil.
It was the sheriff.
“Why did you kill her, Christopher?”
Christopher was stunned. The sheriff looked so hateful. His skin pale and waxy. The whisper scratched his hand. He had already broken the skin. He was going to scratch his way to the bone.
“She was only a little girl. Why did you kill her?”
“I didn’t, sir. Please.”
“Why did you kill him? He was just a little boy,” a voice said.
Christopher turned. He saw Ambrose Olson rise off the gurney. His eyes black with rage.
“I didn’t kill David, sir. We can still save him!” Christopher pleaded.
The sheriff and Ambrose reached down with powerful arms and lifted Christopher out of the drawer. Struggling for their sanity.
“You kill her every time I go to sleep. I can’t watch her die again. I have to stop you before you kill her again!” the sheriff yelled.
“You kill David every time I go to sleep. I can’t watch my brother die again. We have to stop you before you kill him again!” Ambrose hissed.
The sheriff held out his hand to the group.
“Somebody give me a gun,” he said.
The security guard handed his gun to the sheriff. Mr. Henderson took Christopher’s right hand. The doctor and Nurse Tammy took the left. Mrs. Keizer rose out of the drawer, the vertebrae of her spine curving like a vulture. Ambrose backed through the crowd and joined the sheriff. They stood with their backs to the exit door. The rest of the morgue stood behind Christopher. The sheriff raised his gun.
“You brought this on yourself,” the sheriff said. “This has to end now.”
With those words, the sheriff pulled back the hammer and shot four times. Christopher felt the bullets whiz past his ears on their way to hitting the doctor, Nurse Tammy, Mr. Henderson, and Mrs. Keizer. The four fell back into the mob, blocking their way. The sheriff grabbed Christopher and brought him through the exit doors. Ambrose quickly locked the mob inside the morgue and turned to Christopher with a gentle hand on the shoulder.
“Come on. We need to get you out of here.”
Chapter 112
Mary Katherine sat in the backseat of her father’s Mercedes, looking out the window. It was quiet outside. The roads were empty. The Christmas lights twinkled on every house and storefront. But it didn’t feel like Christmas. It felt eerie. Not a soul in sight. Just the smell of those fires far away. She would have said so, but her parents hadn’t spoken a word since they took her out of the hospital, and she wasn’t going to say the wrong thing to make them turn around now.
“We’re here,” her father said calmly.
The Mercedes turned into the church parking lot.
Mary Katherine looked up at the church. It was especially beautiful tonight. An oasis in the middle of the eerie night sky. Christmas was always such a special time for the family. For one day every year, her mother and father relaxed. Mom would have her red wine. Dad would have his eggnog, and he would get drunk enough to give her a hug.
The Mercedes parked in the family’s usual spot.
“Let’s go,” her father said.
“But—” Mary Katherine said.
“But what?” her father said curtly.
Mary Katherine wanted to say that she was still in her hospital gown. She wanted to ask for a pair of shoes or a coat. But she was so afraid of rocking the boat that she didn’t utter another word except…
“Nothing.”
The three got out of the car. Mary Katherine walked behind her parents. The parking lot was chilly. The pavement and dirty snow freezing under her bare feet.
Mary Katherine knew something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t want to go back to the hospital. She just wanted her parents to love her again. So, she focused on the church. It was silent inside even though the parking lot was filled with cars. The decorations were beautiful. She remembered being a little girl and making up stories about the people inside the stained-glass windows. They were her imaginary friends.
They arrived at the church.
They opened the door.
Mary Katherine looked inside. The church glowed with soft, warm candlelight. She saw the entire congregation gathered as if for midnight mass. But they weren’t talking among themselves. They weren’t singing with the choir. They weren’t even kneeling in prayer.
They were just staring at her.
Mary Katherine searched the room for a friendly face. She recognized old classmates from youth group. Kids she’d known since CCD with their parents. The only person she still talked with was Doug, sitting there next to Debbie Dunham. Doug held Debbie’s hand. His face looked wrong. As if there were needle marks around his mouth. This was all wrong. Mary Katherine instinctively backed away toward the door.
Until she ran into someone behind her.
“Mary Katherine,” the voice said.
She turned to see her CCD teacher, Mrs. Radcliffe, smiling pleasantly.
“Don’t be afraid. We’re here to help you. We even saved you a seat,” Mrs. Radcliffe said, gesturing.
Mary Katherine nodded and forced a smile. She didn’t know what to do. So, she walked toward her family’s usual spot in the second row.
“No. Not in the pews, dear,” Mrs. Radcliffe corrected. “At the altar.”
Mary Katherine turned to her father and mother for guidance. Her father looked stern. Her mother looked away nervously. Mrs. Radcliffe grabbed Mary Katherine’s hand and gently led her to the altar. Mrs. Radcliffe’s skin was blistering hot with fever.
“Get on your knees, dear,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
Mary Katherine turned to her mother, who couldn’t bear to look back.
“Please get on your knees, Mary Katherine,” her mother pleaded.
Mary Katherine knelt down. The pit inside her stomach fell lower. An itch broke out on her skin.
“Thank you, Mary Katherine. Now…confess,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
Mary Katherine began to stand. Mrs. Radcliffe put a feverish hand on her shoulder keeping her on her knees.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“The confession booth,” Mary Katherine replied.
“No. You will do it here,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
“Um…okay, Mrs. Radcliffe…but where is…where is Father Tom? He needs to hear my confession.”
“Don’t worry about Father Tom. You can confess to us.”
Mary Katherine nodded. She was in terrible danger. She looked up at the beautiful statue of Jesus on the cross just as she had every Sunday she had ever known.
“Confess,” Mrs. Radcliffe said gently.
Mary Katherine swallowed. The pit in her stomach grew. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Radcliffe walk to the side entrance of the church. She opened the door. Mary Katherine saw Father Tom lying on the sidewalk outside in the cold. He had been stabbed repeatedly. Heat rose from each cut like steam from a sewer grate.
“Who is the father, Mary Katherine?” Mrs. Radcliffe asked calmly.
Mrs. Radcliffe ripped the collection basket from Father Tom’s hands. She began walking back into the church, passing around the collection basket.
“I don’t know who the father is,” Mary Katherine said.
Mary Katherine turned to her mother. Her mother looked terrified.
“Please, tell them, Mary Katherine,” she begged.
“I can’t tell them what I don’t know.”
“Please! Just tell them who the father is!”
“I don’t know. I’m a virgin.”
Mary Katherine turned back as the collection basket was passed around the room. But this time, the congregation wasn’t putting money into the basket.
This time, they were taking out stones.
“TELL THEM! PLEASE!” Mary Katherine’s mother screamed.
Imaginary Friend (ARC) Page 57
