life. It’s just too bad we aren’t packed already.”
And she would reply, “We are!”
Then, she would show him the little weekend bag. He would be proud of how perfectly packed it was. He would be moved by his thoughtful wife. He would realize that he couldn’t love her more when he saw what she packed for them.
1 change of clothes
2 pairs of fresh underwear
1 pair of hiking boots
And of course, a butcher knife, duct tape, rope, zippers, thread, a dozen sewing needles, and 300 yards of black yarn that she got on sale at Jo-Ann Fabric
Perfect for a weekend getaway.
The getaway never happened, of course. Fridays came and went, and Mr. Henderson never asked to whisk her away to a B&B for some red wine, birdwatching, and lovemaking. There was no ballet. No symphony. No Broadway musical at Heinz Hall. Not even a first-run movie. God, she wanted to stab him. Still, it was lucky that she packed away this little romantic bag because she needed these supplies for tonight.
Mrs. Henderson climbed off her old desk and said a proper goodbye to the library. She had spent fifty years in it, and she knew she would never see it again. At least with her own eyes. She walked past the bookshelves and grabbed one book as a souvenir. One book for eternity. The book was Frankenstein. The copy that Christopher had read.
Mrs. Henderson, Christopher is on the computer.
Mrs. Henderson, write to Christopher on the computer.
Mrs. Henderson, get the copy of Frankenstein.
Mrs. Henderson, underline these letters.
Mrs. Henderson, make them think David Olson is helping them.
The voice promised her something in return. This time, her husband would respect her. This time, her husband would appreciate her. This time, her husband would love her. And it could still happen if she did a good job tonight.
Mrs. Henderson brought the book and her weekend bag to the nurse’s office. She stripped off her bloody clothes and rinsed her body off in the sink. She cleaned and dressed the wound that the sheriff’s bullet left in her side. She cleaned up her sliced fingers. Then, she opened up the bag and put on the fresh clothes. Ahhhh. The soft cotton and sturdy boots felt good against her skin. She felt like herself again. That young girl of twenty-three who came to this school with all of her passion and education. The young girl who was going to change the world one student at a time. Starting with that first class. And that one special little boy. David Olson. And her last class. With that other special boy. Christopher Reese. She remembered when he first came to school. He couldn’t read a book for first graders. And now, he was more than a genius. Now, he was almost God. So much to ask of a little brain. So much to ask of a little body. It’s such a shame what would happen to him.
But they all had their jobs to do.
Mrs. Henderson put the copy of Frankenstein next to the rest of the supplies and went back to the broken window. She jumped out and looked up at the moon rising in the sky. It was full. Big and blue. Just like she knew it would be.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
There was a handsome man leaning on a truck parked behind the school. She didn’t know when the truck had pulled up.
“Yes?” Mrs. Henderson asked.
The man approached her. There was something very dangerous about him. Her body tensed.
“Do you work here?” the man asked.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
The man looked at the broken window and her bandaged hand. He put two with two and smiled.
“Because I need to know where this school keeps records,” he said.
“That’s confidential information,” she said.
“I can always beat it out of you,” he said with a shrug.
“In the principal’s office. Down the hall,” Mrs. Henderson told the man.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the man said.
“You’re welcome, Jerry,” Mrs. Henderson said.
“How did you know my name?” Jerry asked.
Mrs. Henderson smiled and left without an answer. She passed his truck with the Michigan plates and walked off the playground, but not before seeing the swing set one more time. For some reason, she pictured Christopher jumping from those swings. And then, a thought came to her. Quiet as a whisper.
Christopher was such a nice little boy. It was too bad that he was going to die now.
it’s tiMe.
Chapter 87
Christopher opened his eyes.
At first, he didn’t understand. The minute he closed the door to David’s tree house,