“The doctors said you can go home tomorrow,” she said. “What is tomorrow? I can’t remember. Is it Wednesday or Thursday?”
“It’s Movie Friday,” he said.
The look on his face nearly broke her. He was so happy. He would never know about the $45,000 hospital bill. The health insurance that denied coverage because she hadn’t worked at Shady Pines long enough. The lost wages from the week of work she missed to look for him. And the fact that they were now financially ruined.
“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” she asked.
“Get movies from the library,” he said.
“That sounds boring,” she said. “Don’t you want to do something different?”
“Like what?”
“I heard that Bad Cat 3D is opening tomorrow,” she said.
Silence. He stopped eating and looked at her. They never went to first-run movies. Not ever.
“I spoke to Eddie’s mom. We’re going tomorrow night.”
He hugged her so tightly she felt it in her spine. The doctors told her that there was no sign of trauma. No sign of sexual or any other abuse. Physically, he was fine. So what if her son needed some father figure or imaginary friend to make him feel safe? Considering that people sometimes saw Jesus’ face in a grilled cheese sandwich, her seven-year-old boy could believe anything he needed to believe. Her son was alive. That’s all that mattered.
“Christopher,” she said. “The rain was terrible. There were accidents. And this deer jumped in front of the truck ahead of me. I would never leave you in front of that school. I would never do that. You know that.”
“I know,” he said.
“Christopher, this is you and me now. No doctors. Did anything happen to you? Anyone hurt you?” she said.
“No, Mom. No one. I swear,” he said.
“I should have been there. I’m sorry,” she said.
And then, she held him so tightly, he couldn’t breathe.
*
Later that night, Christopher and his mother lay side by side like they used to before she told him he was big enough to beat up the monsters by himself. As she fell asleep, he listened to the breath that she had given him. And he noticed that even here in the hospital room, she smelled like home.
Christopher turned back to the window, waiting for his own eyelids to get sleepy. He looked at the cloudless sky and wondered what had happened to him for six days. Christopher knew that the grown-ups didn’t believe the nice man was real. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was a “fig newton of his imagination” like Special Ed said.
Or maybe not.
All he knew was that he woke up in the middle of the woods. In a giant clearing. With one tree. He had no idea how he got there or how to get out. That’s when he saw what he thought was the nice man in the distance and followed him out of the woods.
The sun became the nice girl’s headlights.
And she screamed, “Thank you, God!”
And she rushed him to the hospital.
Right before Christopher’s eyelids drooped closed, he looked out of the window and saw the clouds drift by, blocking out the moon. There was something familiar about the clouds, but he couldn’t quite remember what. In the quiet, he noticed that he had a little headache. And drifted into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter 11
No!” he shouted and bolted up from a dream.
It took his eyes a tick to adjust to the darkness. He saw the little carton of milk with the picture of Emily Bertovich. He saw the old fuzzy TV bolted high above the room. And his mom asleep in the big chair right next to him. And he remembered.
He was in the hospital.
It was quiet. The only light came from the clock. It glowed green and hummed 11:25 p.m. Christopher almost never woke up in the middle of the night.
But the dream was terrifying.
His heart pounded against his breastbone. He could hear it like a drummer hitting sticks inside his body. He tried to remember the nightmare, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall a single detail. The only proof was a slight headache that felt like bony fingers pushing on his temples. He crawled under the covers to feel safe, but the minute his body relaxed under the thin, scratchy blanket, he could feel a familiar pressure under the drafty hospital robe.
Christopher had to pee.
The balls of his feet hit the cold tiles beside his bed, and he tiptoed to the bathroom. He was about to open the door when he got this strange feeling. For a second, he thought that if he opened his bathroom door, there would be someone there. He put his head against the wood of the door and listened.
Drip drip drip went the faucet.
He would have called out, but he didn’t want to wake his mother. So, he gave the door a slight tap. He waited, but there was no sound. Christopher gripped the handle and started to open the door. Then, he stopped. Something was wrong. It felt like there was a monster in there. Or something else. Something that hissed. The hiss reminded him of a baby rattle. But not from a baby. From a rattlesnake.
He went into the hallway instead.
Christopher walked through the darkness and the quiet hum of machines. He peeked up at the night desk where two nurses were sitting. One of them was on the phone. It was Nurse Tammy, who was always so nice and brought him extra desserts.
“Yes, Dad. I’ll get the wine at the state store for Mum’s birthday. MerLOT it is. Good night,” Nurse Tammy said and hung up.
“Does your father know it’s pronounced mer-LOW?” the other nurse asked.
“No, but he put me through nursing school,” she said with a smile. “So, I’ll never correct him.”
Christopher swung the door open for the men’s room.
The room was dark and empty. Christopher went to the urinal. The short one. It took him a while to navigate the hospital gown. As he peed, he remembered how Special Ed always went to the bathroom right after remedial reading class. He would stand about four feet from the urinal and try to sink his “long shots.” Christopher missed Special Ed. He couldn’t wait to see him for Bad Cat 3D tomorrow!
Christopher was so excited daydreaming about the movie, he didn’t hear the door open behind him.
He went to the sink to wash his hands. He couldn’t exactly reach, so he strained to stand up tall enough to get the soap. The automatic soap made a groaning sound and threw a small dollop on his wrist. He got his hands coated in the soapy goo and reached up to trigger the automatic sink. But he wasn’t tall enough. He reached and he strained but nothing worked.
And then, the withered hand came from behind him to turn on the water.
“She’s coming,” the voice said.
Christopher screamed and spun around.
He saw an old woman. Her face was wrinkled, her back crooked as a question mark.
“I can see her. She’s coming for us,” she said.
She lit a cigarette, and in the flicker of light, he saw her stained dentures. Perfectly straight and yellow. A cane in one hand. The cigarette shaking with age and arthritis in the other. Her hand moving her cane. Tap tap tap.
“Little boys need to wash their hands for her,” she said.
Christopher backed away from her as she puffed like a dragon.
“Where is the little boy going?” she said and walked toward him. “Little boys need to wash their hands clean!”