the fluorescent light. And that’s when she saw her son kneeling in front of the sofa. He wasn’t catatonic. He was wide awake.
And he was talking to himself.
“What have you been able to find out?” he whispered to the sofa.
Christopher’s mother couldn’t speak. She walked to her son. She looked down at the sofa and saw her husband’s old coat lying with an old pair of pants. A white plastic bag served as the head. A scarecrow, flat and terrifying.
“Christopher, who are you talking to?”
“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked the white plastic bag.
After a moment, Christopher turned around and smiled at her.
“This is my friend, Mom. The nice man,” he said.
Then, Christopher put a finger to his lips.
“Now, shhhh. Or the hissing lady will know he’s down here.”
Chapter 62
Christopher’s mother held the pill in her shaking hand. She watched as her little boy muttered to himself at the kitchen table. His nose had started to bleed again. His skin was so ghastly pale, it looked like his body didn’t have any blood left. She tried to take him out of the basement without the white plastic bag, but he screamed bloody murder and fought her with all of the fury of the “terrible twos,” “threenagers,” and “fucking fours” put together. She finally gave in and let him bring the bag. And now, she willed her mouth into the shape of a reassuring smile like a trophy fish with two hooks in its mouth.
“I’ll get you some milk, honey. You’ll feel better after the pill,” she said.
Christopher just whispered to the white plastic bag.
“Is she here yet, sir? Is she coming?”
Your son is crazy the way your husband was. You didn’t do anything wrong, Kate. It’s not your fault. You just need to deal with the problem.
You just need to love him.
Christopher’s mother grabbed the glass of milk. Trying to keep her hands steady.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said in a calm voice.
She put the pill in his mouth and raised the glass of milk. She waited for him to swallow the pill. He kept it in his mouth for ten seconds and exhaled with the last ounce of his strength.
Christopher spit the pill on the floor.
“Mom,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “The nice man says I can’t have those pills. Please don’t give them to me.”
He’s crazy, Kate. Just give him the pills. It’ll help.
“Christopher, it’s going to be okay. Trust Mom. I’m going to help you.”
Christopher’s mother picked up the pill bottle. She pushed down on the lid to unlock the childproof cap. It cracked a little under her weight. Christopher’s mother shook a fresh pill into her hand. She looked up at her son, who was whispering under his breath.
“Mom, please. You have to believe him. Don’t make me sleep.”
Do you want them to take him away, Kate? Put him in an asylum?
“Take the pill, honey,” she said.
“No!” he screamed.
Christopher pushed over the glass. Freezing-cold milk spilled down the table and all over her blue jeans. Fury ran through her.
“God dammit, Christopher! I’m trying to help you!” she hissed.
She hated herself for being angry. For yelling. For not seeing his illness earlier. She got up quickly and poured another glass of milk. She turned back and saw her little boy whispering to the white plastic bag. Blood poured out of his nose. He didn’t even bother to wipe it away.
“I know I can’t let her, but she thinks I’m crazy. What can I do?” he whispered.
Look at him, Kate. This is killing him.
Christopher’s mother approached her son. She would have to force the pill into his mouth and hold it closed until he swallowed and asked for milk. It was the only way. She lost her husband. She wouldn’t lose her son.
“Don’t make me take the pill, Mom,” he begged.
“Christopher, you have to take it. It’ll help you sleep.”
Christopher turned to the white plastic bag.
“Please, sir. Help me! Tell me what to say!”
He’s going to hurt himself. Give him the pill.
“Honey, there’s no one there! Just take the pill. It’s going to be okay.”
“No!” he cried to the white plastic bag. “She already thinks I’m crazy. If I tell her, she won’t love me.”
Christopher’s mother stopped.
“I’ll always love you, honey,” she said. “Tell me.”
“Mom…” he said. Christopher looked up at her. His voice was shaking with fear. Tears started to wet his eyes. They fell on his face like water on a hot skillet. “The nice man wants me to tell you something.”