her of Christmas morning for some reason. Christopher asking if the word “sunlight” came from son’s light? And if so, what is a mother’s light?
Christopher’s mother held the envelope up to the sunlight and looked at the shadow inside it like a child looking for a check inside a Christmas card. She remembered writing it. She remembered Jerry saying that it wasn’t worth the price of a stamp right before he gave her a black eye in their last argument.
Not argument! Fight, Mom! Wake up!
She remembered she had put a one-page letter into the envelope.
But there were two pages inside.
Then, Christopher’s mother did the one thing she had never thought to do in all those years of disappointment.
She opened the envelope.
She pulled out her original letter. Then, she pulled out the second and began to weep when she saw her son’s handwriting. The way it used to be. Back when he was a child. Struggling to read. Back when he needed her. Back when she was still her little boy’s hero.
Mom. I love you. Now, open them all. Everything you need to know is inside.
Chapter 125
Christopher stood in the middle of the cul-de-sac, the key in his pocket, looking at the nice man. So calm. So gentle. So patient and polite. There was no terrifying face. There was only his reassuring smile with rows of perfectly white, perfectly straight baby teeth.
“All you have to do is kill the hissing lady, and I promise you, everything will be okay,” he said.
Christopher looked down the street. The man in the Girl Scout uniform was happy and innocent.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Christopher,” the nice man said. “I just want my freedom. It’s all I want.”
The man in the Girl Scout uniform pulled himself into the bushes.
“I just want out of this prison, so I can do some good. You see that man in the bushes? Do you know what he did to a little girl?”
“Make it stop!” the man in the Girl Scout uniform screamed.
“It was terrible. And he knows it now. I just want bad people to stop hurting good people. That’s all I’m trying to do.”
The mailbox people moaned and pulled at their stitches. The street was so loud, Christopher couldn’t hear anyone in the woods, but he knew they were there. He felt Mrs. Henderson on the real side. She saw her husband sitting in the kitchen. She cried tears of joy. He was home! Her husband finally came home! She ran across the kitchen to hold him in her arms. Then, for some reason, she couldn’t stop herself from picking up a knife and stabbing him.
“NO! I don’t want him to die now! He’s finally home!”
Christopher looked up. The street went silent as the nice man’s eyes changed to a beautiful green color. He smelled like pipe tobacco. This was the man Christopher remembered. The man who got Christopher’s mother a house.
“What about the people in the town?” Christopher asked.
“You want to save the people who hurt you and your mother?” the nice man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Christopher said.
“There will never be another like you.” The nice man smiled. Then, he looked at the little boy and nodded.
“Once you free me, you can free them.”
Christopher looked into the nice man’s eyes, pained and wise.
“How can I trust you?” Christopher asked.
“You don’t have to trust me. You are all powerful. All knowing. You are God here. You can save anyone you want. But someone has to die for the rest to live. It’s either the hissing lady or your mother. There is no other choice. I’m sorry.”
He spoke the words, then went silent. His face remaining still and solemn. But Christopher could feel the thoughts playing hide-and-seek. He would not let Christopher kill himself like David did. The choice was set.
The hissing lady or his mother.
Christopher looked at the nice man, then over to the hissing lady bound in a heap in his yard just off the street. She panted like a deer that had been hit by a car.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her.
Christopher began to walk toward the hissing lady. She screamed in her restraints. Terrified. Writhing in pain.
“NO! DON’T! STOP!” she begged.
Christopher walked to the lawn and grabbed the hissing lady.
“YOU’RE OFF THE STREET!” she cried.
Christopher felt the fate of the world as he held her, and she struggled. He felt her torment. The world’s torment. All the moments the hissing lady tried to scare him away. She had been here forever. She was exhausted. Tortured