She knew it sounded crazy, but the agreement instantly took away her fear. She promised to never speak of it to anyone. Not her mother. Not Mrs. Radcliffe. Not Father Tom. Not even Doug. This was a private understanding between her and her Maker.
“God, if I hit a deer, I will know that I have sinned against You so terribly that You have given up on me. This will give me time to make it up to You. I am sorry that I enjoyed him touching my sweater (he never touched my breast!). I am so sorry.”
11:57 p.m.
Over and over she said it. So much so that it became background noise. Like the baseball games her dad played on the radio in his study while he built his model ships or her mother’s vacuum keeping their rugs spotless. Whenever she saw a deer on the side of the road, she would slow down and pray it would stay where it was.
11:58 p.m.
She turned off the highway and headed onto McLaughlin Run Road. The moon was dull and dark. She kept her eyes wide open. There were a lot of deer nearby. Especially after Mr. Collins started to cut down part of the Mission Street Woods for his new housing development. So, she had to be extra careful.
11:59 p.m.
Her heart raced, and her belly tightened. She was two minutes from home. If she didn’t speed, she would be late. But if she did speed, a deer might dart in front of her car. The only other choice was to run that last stop sign at the crest of the hill. She could see deer fifty yards away there. The woods were far off the street. So, she could blow off the stop sign and still be okay.
12 midnight
This was it. She had to choose. Blow off the stop sign and be on time or follow the rules and be late and be punished.
“God, please tell me what to do,” she said in her most humble and earnest voice.
The feeling hit her at once.
She tapped the brakes.
And made a full and complete stop.
If she hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t have looked over the hill. And she wouldn’t have seen the little boy coming out of the woods. Covered in dirt and malnourished. The little face that was on the Missing posters all over town. If she had blown off the stop sign, she would not have seen him at all.
And she would have absolutely killed him with her car.
Chapter 8
Christopher?” a voice spoke. “Christopher?”
The boy was cold. There was a blanket on top of him. Hospital-thin and scratchy.
“Christopher? Can you hear us?” the voice continued.
The little boy opened his eyes. But his eyes hurt like leaving a movie in the afternoon. He squinted around the room and saw shapes of grown people. There was a doctor. Christopher couldn’t see his face, but his stethoscope felt like ice on his chest.
“His color is returning,” the doctor said. “Can you hear me, Christopher?”
The little boy squinted and found his mother. All hazy with light. He felt her smooth, warm hand on his forehead. Like the times he got sick.
“I’m here, honey,” his mother said, her voice breaking a little.
Christopher tried to speak, but the words got caught in his dry throat. Every swallow was sandpaper.
“Honey, if you can hear us, wiggle your toe,” his mother said.
Christopher didn’t know if he wiggled it or not. He couldn’t feel his toes much. He was still very cold. But he guessed it worked.
“Excellent,” the doctor said. “Can you move your hands?”
He did. They felt a little numb. Like a funny bone all over.
“Christopher,” another man’s voice said, “can you speak?”
Christopher squinted up and saw the sheriff. He remembered him from the day in the park when his mother got the job at Shady Pines. The sheriff was a strong man. As tall as the tetherball pole at school.
“Can you speak?” the sheriff repeated.
Christopher’s throat was so dry. He remembered when he had strep throat and the medicine tasted like a weird cherry. He took a swallow and tried to force out a word. But it hurt his throat too much.
Christopher shook his head no.
“That’s fine, son,” the sheriff said. “But I need to ask you a few questions. So, just nod your head yes or no, all right?”
Christopher nodded yes.
“Very good. You were found on the north end of the Mission Street Woods. Did someone take you there?”
All of the grown-ups were on pins and needles. Waiting for his answer. Christopher searched his mind for a memory, but there was nothing but empty space. He couldn’t remember anything. Still, he didn’t think anyone took him to the woods. He would have remembered something like that. After a moment, he shook his head. No. And he could feel breath return to the room.
“Did you get lost, then?” the sheriff asked.
Christopher thought really hard, like when he was practicing reading. If no one took him, then he must have gotten lost. That made sense.
He nodded. Yes, he got lost.
The doctor traded his cold stethoscope for rough, fleshy hands. He checked Christopher’s limbs and joints, then put blood pressure Velcro over his skinny arm. Christopher got scared that he would have to pee in a cup later. He always felt so ashamed when he had to do that.
“In the woods…did anyone hurt you?” the sheriff continued.
Christopher shook his head. No. The doctor hit the button and the blood pressure machine made a grinding noise, strangling his arm. When it was done, the doctor took the Velcro off with a r-r-r-ip and jotted down some notes. Christopher heard the pen.
Swish swish swish.
“Did you hear the cars? Is that how you found your way out of the woods?”
Christopher looked at the doctor’s notepad. He began to get an uneasy feeling. A pressure in his head. A dull little headache that usually went away when his mom gave him the aspirin that tasted like orange chalk. But this one was different somehow. Like he had enough headache for the both of them.
“In the woods…did you hear the cars? Is that how you found your way out of the woods?”
Christopher snapped out of it. He shook his head. No.
“So, you found the way out on your own?”
Christopher shook his head. No. The room got silent.
“You didn’t find the way out? Did someone help you out of the woods?”
Christopher nodded. Yes.
“Who helped you, Christopher?” the sheriff asked.
He gave Christopher a pad of paper and a pencil to write down the name. Christopher took a hard swallow. He whispered. Barely audible.
“The nice man.”
Chapter 9
Dr. Karen Shelton: Where did you see the nice man, Christopher?
Christopher: Down the trail from the clearing. He was far away.
Dr. Karen Shelton: When you saw him…what happened then?
Christopher: I screamed for help.
Dr. Karen Shelton: Did he hear you?
Christopher: Nuh-uh. He just kept walking.
Dr. Karen Shelton: And you followed him?
Christopher: Yes.
Dr. Karen Shelton: You said before you thought it was daylight?
Christopher: Yes. He was walking out of the woods. And the light was bright. So, I thought it was the day.
Dr. Karen Shelton: But it turned out to be the headlights of Mary Katherine’s car.
Christopher: Yes.