Christopher’s mother turned the corner. Following the signs for the exit. She made a hard right, running through the emergency room. Christopher saw Mary Katherine being wheeled into the ER from the parking lot on the real side. She was covered in blood.
“Where is the nice man?” his mother repeated.
“I don’t know. He escaped.”
Christopher looked at the next gurney being brought into the ER. He saw himself lying unconscious. He had a terrible gash on his arm. A bruise on his temple.
“Where are you supposed to meet him?!” she asked.
“I don’t know!” he said.
“CHRISTOPHER! WHERE CAN WE FIND THE NICE MAN?!”
Christopher watched an EMT driver push the last gurney into the hospital. What he saw confused him. His mother was on the gurney. She wore the same clothes she wore while driving. She had a cut on her forehead. She had pieces of windshield in her hair. The memory of the car crash came rushing back. The shattering glass. The buckling metal. His mother’s screams as he slipped away into unconsciousness.
That’s how I got here, isn’t it?
Christopher had refused to take the pill and sleep. He wouldn’t go into the tree house. So, the hissing lady used a third way to get him back to the imaginary side. And this time, she brought his mother with him. They were both in the car. They were both in the accident. They were both unconscious in the hospital. But if that was true…
Why is my mother awake on the real side?
He saw her. Weak. Bloody. She was reaching out to Christopher, trying to will her broken body to get to him. Then, as she finally collapsed against the pain, a terrible question turned his blood to ice. If his mother was awake on the real side, then who was behind him on the imaginary?
“Mom?” he said, his skin suddenly crawling with fear. “How did you get here?”
Christopher craned his neck back and saw her.
The hissing lady. Smiling.
“I guess we’ll have to cut out your tongue after all,” she said.
Chapter 66
Christopher’s mother opened her eyes. At first, she couldn’t see anything clearly. There was a bright light above her head. Her vision was blurry. She blinked a couple of times until she realized she was in a hospital bed. There was a life monitor clipped to her index finger. She had an IV spike in her arm. She felt a little groggy from the painkillers they had given her.
Slowly, she sat up. Waves of nausea forced her stomach to her throat. She felt faint, but she didn’t have time for that. She had to get to Christopher. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood on wobbly legs. She could instantly feel the cold air on her backside from the open hospital gown. She reached out to steady herself. That’s when she felt the pain.
The memories came back to her in puzzle pieces. Her body slamming against the driver’s-side door. Her ribs cracking. The jaws of life ripping them out of the car. Her son unconscious in the ambulance as it screamed its way to the hospital.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Reese. You were in a terrible accident,” a voice said.
“My son. Where’s my son?!” she said to the nurse.
“He’s in the ICU. But you need to rest.”
“Where’s the ICU?!”
“Second floor, but Mrs. Reese, you need to—”
Without a word, Christopher’s mother pulled the IV out of her arm, swallowed the pain in her side, and walked into the hallway.
“Mrs. Reese!” the nurse called after her.
Christopher’s mother found the elevator and made her way to the second floor. When the elevator doors opened, she was shocked. The ICU was beyond packed. The waiting room alone had enough seating for ten. There might have been forty-five people in there.
“Christopher Reese,” she said to the admissions nurse. “I’m his mother.”
“Room 217,” the nurse said while scratching her arm.
The security door buzzed like an angry wasp. Christopher’s mother opened the door and moved down the hall. She saw that all of the beds were taken. Stabbing victims. Shooting victims. The madness or anger or whatever this was had been busy while she was asleep. She dragged herself to room 217 at the end of the long hallway. She opened the door without knocking.
And that’s when she saw him.
Her little boy was lying on the hospital bed. He had a terrible gash up