Imaginary Friend - Stephen Chbosky Page 0,130

for a good ten minutes, but he just couldn’t get comfortable. The sticky sweat from the fever had already made a swamp of his clothes. He turned the pillow over and over again, but if there was a cool side, he couldn’t find the God damn thing. In desperation, he threw the pillow to the floor and put his head directly on the leather couch.

The sheriff forced himself to lie back and make his eyes heavy. But it was no use. He looked around his office, and he found himself staring at his bulletin board with the Missing poster of Emily Bertovich. He wondered if the police over in Erie had any new leads. Or maybe they were so distracted by flu and hospitals and bar fights and car accidents they couldn’t find her. Just like he was too distracted to figure out who buried…who buried…what was his name? That kid. The little brother of the older guy. It would come to him. He just needed to get some sleep. What was his name? He was a nice kid. Missing those two front teeth. Just like the girl with the painte…

Daddy.

When the phone rang, the sheriff didn’t know when he had fallen asleep. His fever was worse, and his head throbbed behind the eyes. He looked down at the caller ID, and his mood instantly picked up. It was Kate Reese.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hey,” she said. She sounded worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the hospital. Christopher has the flu.”

“Yes. It’s going around. I woke up with it,” he said.

“You, too?” She sounded alarmed.

“Don’t worry. I called around to all of the hospitals. It’s not fatal. It just feels like hell. That’s all.”

He expected that news to put her mind at ease, but he could tell there was something else going on. Her silence just lay there like the itch on his hand.

“Could you send a deputy to the ER?” she asked.

“Why?” he asked.

“The people here are too…” She paused, searching for the right word. “…angry.”

“Everyone hates hospitals,” the sheriff said.

“Are you going to patronize me, or are you going to listen?” she shot back.

“Listening,” he said, chastened.

“I’ve been to ERs. In much poorer places, too. This is different. We’ve almost had a few fights. People seem really off. Sometimes just seeing a police car on the side of the road is enough to make drivers slow down—you know what I mean?”

He nodded. Smart.

“Okay. I’ll send someone right away,” he said. “And I’ll come by the hospital as soon as I can leave work.”

“Thank you,” she said, finally sounding relieved. “I have to get back to my son. Good night, Bobby.”

His first name never sounded so good.

“Good night, Kate,” he said and hung up.

The sheriff really couldn’t spare a deputy, but he told dispatch to send one to the ER anyway. The sheriff felt such a primal desire to protect her that he couldn’t explain it. He just had to keep Kate Reese and her son safe.

He felt as if the world depended on it.

When the sheriff left his office, he noticed that the station was even busier than it had been that morning. There had been more fights and accidents and disputes between neighbors. The flu had spread even farther. The people in the holding cells were all feverish. They would have moved them, but hospitals were filled to capacity.

The sheriff walked past the holding cells to survey the day’s damage. He saw a few guys nursing wounds they got in a bar fight. A couple of others were arrested for refusing to get out of their cars or hand over a driver’s license when they got pulled over for speeding. Or reckless driving. Or a hit and run. All of them shouted things at the sheriff. Their anger was unsettling. But it was nothing compared to what he saw in the last holding cell.

The one with Mrs. Henderson.

The old woman had such a sweet face. It was impossible to believe that she’d stabbed her husband through the neck. Right now, the only thing standing between her and first-degree murder was her husband hanging on for dear life in the ICU.

Mrs. Henderson looked up at the sheriff and smiled pleasantly.

“Is my husband still alive?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s hanging in there,” he replied.

“Good,” she said. “I hope he lives.”

The sheriff nodded. The old woman smiled.

“Because I really want to stab him again.”

With that, Mrs. Henderson went back to reading the Bible.

The sheriff knew from experience that the holidays bring out the extreme sides

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