baby spiders hatching. Christopher forced his aching fingers to climb. Branch after branch. Tree house after tree house. He saw one man through a peephole. The man stabbed himself over and over again. “Who’s laughing now, bitch?!” he screamed at himself. In the next house, he saw another man eat a large piece of cake. The man couldn’t stop. He just kept chewing and chewing until his jaw broke and there were no teeth left in his mouth. But the cake wouldn’t get smaller. “Make it stop! Please!”
Do you know where you are?
His mind raced. There was something familiar about all of this. What was this place? The hissing lady’s home? Her prison? Her zoo?
Christopher reached the tree house with the red door. The nice man was unconscious on the floor. Christopher tried to open the door, but it was locked. He scurried to the side window. Covered in prison bars.
“Sir! Wake up!”
The children were twenty-five branches below.
The nice man stirred. Christopher reached through the prison bars and touched the nice man’s hand. The heat began to warm up in his mind, and he gave the nice man all the energy he had in a single burst. The shock was electric.
The pain was instant.
It coursed through Christopher as he kept his hands on the nice man’s hand, trying to revive him.
Sir! Please wake up!
Christopher pushed his thoughts deep into the nice man’s mind. Trying to jump-start him like an old car.
We have to kill the hissing lady!
He felt the nice man’s heart. Slowly beating. Then, faster. And faster.
I can’t kill her alone! Please!
Suddenly the nice man’s eyelids stirred. He forced his eyes open and bolted upright.
“It’s a trap, Christopher. Run!”
“No! I’m not leaving you!”
“You have to! You have to kill her before midnight!”
Christopher looked down. The children were fifteen branches below.
“Can you get free?” Christopher whispered breathlessly.
The nice man rushed to the door. It was bolted shut.
“No. You have to kill her without me! Get the key!” the nice man said, pushing him away. “You can’t let them take you! Go!”
Christopher looked down. The children scurried up the tree like rats. He had no choice. He had to escape. He left the nice man and climbed. All the way to the top of the tree. Until there was nowhere left to go.
Except his own tree house.
It was there above the others. Right at the very top. Like the angel on a Christmas tree. How did it move? Did it move? What was this terrible place?
Do you know where you are?
The children clambered up. Pulling at his feet. He grabbed the doorknob to the tree house. He threw the door open and looked inside. But the tree house didn’t look like itself anymore.
It looked like Christopher’s old bathroom.
Slowly filling with steam.
A figure sat in the bathtub, lost in the cloud.
“Hi, Christopher,” the voice said.
It sounded just like his father.
Chapter 92
DEAR AMBROSE,
I HOPE YOU CAN SEE THIS. I HAVE TO HIDE THIS MESSAGE BECAUSE I AM BEING WATCHED ALL THE TIME. SO ARE YOU. SO IS EVERYONE. BUT IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS. IT’S SO MUCH WORSE. I CAN’T SAY WHAT WE FIGURED OUT IS HAPPENING HERE OR ELSE I WILL BE DISCOVERED AND YOU WILL BE TORTURED FOREVER. I TOLD YOU WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW IN THE ONLY PLACE I KNOW THAT’S NOT BEING WATCHED. ONLY YOU KNOW WHERE THAT IS. YOU USED TO HIDE MAGAZINES THERE. PLEASE GO TO IT NOW, AMBROSE. BECAUSE IF YOU ARE SEEING THIS, IT MEANS THE WORLD IS GOING TO END. AND IF THIS IS NOT AMBROSE OLSON, PLEASE TELL HIM YOU FOUND HIS LITTLE BROTHER DAVID. TELL AMBROSE IT’S A TRAP. BUT THE NEXT CHILD DOESN’T HAVE TO DIE. THE WHOLE WORLD DOESN’T HAVE TO END. SO RUN NOW. PLEASE. YOU DON’T HAVE ANY MORE TIME.
DAVID
Christopher’s mother held the deciphered diary in her shaking hand. She turned to Ambrose and lowered her voice to a desperate whisper.
“Mr. Olson, where did—”
But the old soldier was way ahead of her.
“I hid magazines under David’s bookshelf,” he said.
“Where is the bookshelf now?”
His brow furrowed. Thinking. She looked into the hallway. The orderlies were watching them with a suspicious eye. They moved into Christopher’s room to discuss something with the doctor.
106.6 degrees
beEp.
“Please, Mr. Olson. Where is the bookshelf?”
“I don’t know anymore. I sold it.”
“Where?!”
When the orderlies were finished speaking, the doctor turned to Christopher’s mother. He whispered something to the security guards. The lighting made them all look like ghosts. Pale sick and green. Staring