Imaginary Friend (ARC) Read online

  The sheriff kicked at the dirt.

  Looking for trapdoors.

  Looking for hidden passages inside the coal mine.

  But there was nothing.

  Just a single tree and a whole lot of questions.

  Dr. Karen Shelton: I’m sorry your head hurts, Christopher. I only have one more question, then you can stop. Okay?

  Christopher: Okay.

  Dr. Karen Shelton: If you never saw his face…what makes you think he was a nice man?

  Christopher: Because he saved my life.

  The sheriff pressed STOP on the tape. He left the woods and drove back to the hospital. He parked in the space reserved for police right next to the ambulance. Then, he walked the familiar hallway to Christopher Reese’s room. He saw Christopher’s mother at her son’s side. But she did not look like the sleep-deprived woman he had known for close to a week. Her hair was no longer in a ponytail. Her sweatpants and hoodie were replaced by jeans and a blazer. If he weren’t so focused on his work, she might have taken his breath away.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Reese?” the sheriff asked after a soft knock on the door. “I just got back from the woods. Do you have a minute?”

  She sat up quietly and led him to the waiting room to let Christopher sleep.

  “What did you find, Sheriff?”

  “Nothing. Look, I’ll have my deputies comb the woods again, but I’m almost positive they’ll confirm what my gut is telling me.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Maybe it was a combination of malnourishment and dehydration. Whatever it was, ma’am, in my professional opinion, there was no nice man. Just a scared little boy who got lost and in his desperation, saw something that he turned into an imaginary friend of sorts. How else can you explain no footprints other than Christopher’s? On the bright side, Dr. Shelton said that imagination like his is a sign of extreme intelligence,” he said, trying to be nice.

  “Tell that to his teachers,” she joked.

  “Will do,” he joked back.

  “But you’ll keep your eyes open,” she said more than asked.

  “Of course. I’ll have those woods patrolled every day. If we find anything, you’ll be my first call.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. For everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  With that, Kate Reese smiled and went back to being Christopher’s mother. As the sheriff watched her return to her son’s room, he remembered her back in August. He was having lunch with his deputy when she brought Christopher to the little swing set in the park and asked them to watch her son. The thing that struck him was that she only asked after she quickly looked at their sandwiches with one bite each and concluded that she had at least thirty minutes of premium babysitting time by two policemen. Nothing safer than that. So, whether she was educated or not, the sheriff knew that she was smart. And he didn’t need her change of clothes to know she was beautiful. The sheriff promised himself he would give the case time to be closed properly, then he would ask Kate Reese to dinner. And he hoped she would wear that beautiful blazer. The one with the tear under the arm that she tried so desperately to hide.

  Chapter 10

  Christopher was staring out of the window when Kate entered the room. She had seen his father do the same thing many moons ago. And for a moment, she forgot about the hospital and thought about his future. He would look more like his father every day. And one day, his voice would change. And one day, he would be taller than her. It was unreal to think that Christopher would start shaving his face in six years. But he would. As all boys do. And it was her job to make sure he would be as good a man as he was a boy.

  That and to protect him.

  He turned and smiled at her. Her hand found his, and she whispered while she talked. Like a secret.

  “Hey, honey. I have a surprise for you.”

  As she reached into her purse, she saw his eyes light up. She knew her son well enough to sense his little prayer to Jesus and Mary that she was pulling out a box of Froot Loops. It had been two days of hospital food. Two days of his second-worst nemesis. Oatmeal.

  “It’s from the school,” she continued and watched his heart sink.

  Instead of Froot Loops, Christopher’s mother pulled out a big white envelope and handed it to him. They opened it together and saw Bad Cat eating the words “Get well soon” off the front of a huge greeting card.

  “Your whole class signed it. Isn’t that nice?”

  Christopher said nothing, but somewhere in his eyes, she knew that he understood that all the kids were forced to sign the greeting card like how they were forced to give Valentines to everyone so no one would feel left out. But still, he smiled.

  “Father Tom had the church say a prayer for you on Sunday. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  Her boy nodded.

  “Oh, and I almost forgot,” she said. “I got you a little something, too.”

  Then, she reached into her purse and pulled out a little box of Froot Loops.

  “Thanks, Mom!” he said.

  It was one of those little wax-lined boxes that didn’t need a bowl. He greedily broke it open while she took out a little plastic spoon and milk from the cafeteria. When he started eating it, she would have thought he was feasting on Maine lobster.

  “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 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 scratch. He waited, but there was no sound. Christopher gripped the door 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 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 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 hands 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!”

  His back hit the handicapped stall. The door opened like a rusty gate.

  “You can’t hide from her! Little boys need to get clean for her! Death is coming! Death is here! We’ll die on Christmas Day!” she said.

  Christopher backed into the wall. He had nowhere to go. He could feel her smoky breath on his face. Christopher started to cry. The words wanted to come out. Help! Stop! Anyone! But they were frozen in his throat. Like those nightmares he had after his dad died when he couldn’t get up.

  “DEATH IS COMING! DEATH IS HERE! WE’LL DIE ON CHRISTMAS DAY!”

  Finally, his voice unclenched, and he screamed, “HELP ME!”

  Within seconds, the overhead light flickered on. Christopher saw an old man with coke-bottle glasses open the bathroom stall and walk into the light.

  “Mrs. Keizer, what the fuck are you doing? Stop sneaking cigarettes and scaring this poor boy and get your old ass to bed,” he said.

  The old woman glared back at the old man.

  “This is none of your business. Go away!” she said.

  “It is my business when you are scaring the shit out of little kids right across the hall when I’m trying to watch The Tonight Show,” he barked.

  He grabbed the cigarette out of her arthritic hand and tossed it into the toilet. It hit the water with an angry hiss.

  “Now stop being crazy and go back to your room.” He pointed to the door.

  The old woman looked at the water turning cloudy with cigarette ash. She turned back to Christopher. Her eyes were coal black and angry.

  “There is no such thing as a crazy person, little boy. It’s just a person who is watching you.”

  For a moment, her eyes seemed to flicker. Like a candle when someone opens the door.

  “Oh, go fuck yourself, you scary old bat,” the old man said as he ushered the old woman out of the bathroom.

  Christopher stood still for a moment, feeling his heart find its way back into his chest. Once he was convinced no one was coming back, he walked over to the sink and somehow got the water going. He quickly rinsed off his hands and left the bathroom.

  He looked down the long, dark hallway. The only light came from a single room across the hall. The only sound was the television playing The Tonight Show. The host made a joke about the president’s slow response to the crisis in the Middle East. And the grown-ups in the audience laughed and cheered.

  “Damn right,” the old man laughed from his hospital bed. “Throw the bum out.”

  “Turn that down, Ambrose,” a man’s voice said behind the curtain next to him. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  “No. Some of you are trying to die. So, why don’t you go f…”

  Suddenly, the old man’s eyes snapped to Christopher standing in the doorway.

  “…screw yourself.”

  The old man did not wait for his neighbor’s response.

  “How you doin’, son?” he asked. “Old Lady Keizer scare the piss outta you?”

  Christopher nodded.

  “She’s got Alzheimer’s. That’s all. She lives down the hall from me at the old folks home. Good times. But she’s harmless. It’s best not to be too scared. Okay?”

  “Okay, sir.”

  “Stop calling me sir and start calling me Ambrose. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Good. Then, have a seat or go to your room. Eit
her way, shut up. I’m missing the monologue,” the old man said.

  Christopher never got to stay up late to watch The Tonight Show. He smiled and climbed up onto the visitor’s chair. He looked at the old man’s tray. He still had his dessert on it. A big fat chocolate chip cookie.

  “You like chocolate chip cookies?” the old man asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Christopher said.

  “Well, so do I. And that one is mine. So keep your paws off,” he barked.

  Christopher nodded and watched the old man take the cookie. Without a word, Ambrose broke it in half and gave Christopher the bigger half. Christopher smiled and ate the cookie and watched television with the old man. Most of the time, Christopher didn’t know what was so funny, but he wanted to fit in, so he laughed anyway. At one point, he looked over at the old man and saw his leathery skin and a faded tattoo of an eagle.

  “Where did you get that tattoo, sir?” Christopher asked.

  “Army. Now shut up. I gave you that cookie so you would stop talking.”

  “Were you ever in a war?” Christopher asked, undaunted.

  “A couple,” the old man grunted.

  “Which ones?”

  “The good ones.”

  The Tonight Show host said something about the crumbling economy and Mr. Ambrose laughed so much he started coughing. Christopher looked at his face.

  “Sir, what’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked.

  “Cataracts,” the old man said. “I have cataracts.”

  “Do those come from a cat?” he asked.

  The old man grumbled. “A cat? For Christ’s sake. Cataracts. I don’t see too well. It’s like my eyes are full of clouds.”

  Christopher froze.

  “What do you mean, clouds?” he asked.

  “I see shapes. But they’re covered over with clouds. That’s why I’m here. I hit a deer with my car. I didn’t even see the God damn thing. Banged my head on the dash. They’re going to take my license this time. I know it. I won’t even be able to get away from that home for five minutes now. Fuckers.”