I inch closer.

He's now about five feet away from me. He looks behind him, then glances back at me.

This is the first time I think I see fear on his face.

Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn't see fear in mine.

One more step.

The echoes of the falls smother all other sounds.

Hell is not dying, Chris. It's knowing and living.

Whoever said that was right.

I think whoever said that is standing before me right now.

"Do you want to know the truth?" he asks.

"I know the truth. The new church. I know where it is. I found the folders. The pictures. I have proof. Everybody is going to know about Solitary. Everybody is going to know what's really going on."

"Have you ever been surprised, Chris?"

"You're a sick man."

"Have you ever believed in something with all your heart, only to discover it was an ugly little lie?"

"Shut up."

"Everything you think you know about this town and about your mother and her family-all those things are pretty little lies covering up the ugly, awful truth."

"No."

"Oh, yes, Chris. Maybe this has all been some elaborate test."

I move closer.

"Maybe we never wanted Jocelyn. That sweet but dirty little thing you professed to love."

I curse at him.

"Maybe all we ever wanted was you."

My hand is steady and I know it's because I've used a weapon before and I'll do it again. Even though a gun's a lot different from a knife, it doesn't matter.

I'm not Chris Buckley because that boy died on New Year's Eve along with something far more precious.

Stop before it's too late.

"We're watching, but all you see is the scene before you," Pastor Marsh says. "You don't see anybody but a face you hate and fear and a boy you hate and fear even more."

"I'm going to kill you."

He smiles. "If you do, Chris, we will watch and applaud and await."

Then the pastor opens his arms as if giving the benediction at church.

And that's when I plunge the twelve-inch hunting blade deep into the place where I imagine his heart might have been at one time.

I see Jocelyn's face as I move the knife and feel the softness of skin and hear the gasping, choking breath as I thrust down.

I let go and see him looking surprised. Not in horror, but almost in utter delight.

"You want to know the truth, Chris?" a draining, coughing voice asks.

And then he tells me.

And suddenly I realize that he's right and I'm wrong.

I realize this just as he staggers over the falls and drops below.

107. Defy Somewhere in these woods I stagger. I know now it doesn't have to be night to see darkness all around you. I understand that you don't have to be drunk to be blind. I get that a single act and a single statement can leave you breathless and hopeless and reeling.

The trees watch me. Like those students in the hallways at Harrington. Like those walls in the cabin in Solitary. Like the unseen ghosts that are laughing at me. They watch as I stumble and hold on to them and walk in circles.

I still hold the bloody knife. I'm scared of what I just did. I'm scared of what I still might do.

There's no way you leave these woods. You can't run from this. You can't escape what you just did.

I hear his last words and try to will them away from my mind. But I can't. I can't.

"Where is God?" Pastor Marsh asked. "Where is your father? Tell me."

He just stood there, almost triumphant, with the blood gushing out of his chest, his face delirious and crazy.

"They call him God the Father for a reason. The reality, Chris, is that they both abandoned you. They both left you alone to live and die in this place. But I can show you-I can show you that you don't have to fear death. Look at me. What do you see, Chris? What do you see on my face? I've been waiting all this time for you to make a choice. To see what I see. To believe what I believe."

He spat out something dark and then said his final words. "We can live and die afraid, or we can live to defy, Chris. It is up to you."

Then he fell back and out of my life.

I crumble to the forest floor and lean against a big tree. I look at the knife.

For a long time I just stare at it, wondering what to do and where to go. I know it doesn't make sense, that it sounds crazy, that I should be running and sprinting and bolting out of here, but I can't.

I'm just so tired. I stay there under that tree and drift off. And sometime, maybe minutes or hours later, I don't really know-when I wake up, I find the knife that had been in my hand is gone.

Just like that.

Just like Pastor Marsh. Gone.

I'm not scared.

If someone had wanted to get me, he could have already done so.

If someone really wanted that knife, let him have it.

"I don't care!"

I hope whoever took it hears me. I hope he hears loud and clear.

108. Too Much I get back home. I always do. Somehow I just really can't seem to get far enough away from the cabin or the town.

It's afternoon, and I'm ready to sleep for twenty hours. Yet something is waiting for me in the driveway. It's not Mom's car. Of course not.

I pull up and see the silver-and-black motorcycle that was in the shed at the Crag's Inn.

Instantly I expect that Jared is somewhere around. He's dropping by to rub it in my face. Or to bring me to the cops after what I did to the pastor.

For a moment I think about taking the bike and riding away. But I'm exhausted and don't have the energy to get on it. I really just don't care.

There's a white envelope taped to the seat. I see my name on it.

I'm not going to like this.

I hold the card in my hands.

Just get rid of it, Chris. Even if it has your name on it. This isn't a birthday card.

The wind rustles. I wonder if school missed me today. Or if Mom did. Or if anybody really did.

I tear open the envelope and see the folded card inside. It's special stationary that has a picture of the Crag's Inn on it.

Iris ...

I swallow. How did it get here, and why, and who- Add them to the collection. The collection of HUH? stories that I'm starting to own.

I open the note.

Dear Chris, The bike belonged to your uncle and now belongs to you. Keep it and learn to ride it. Just be careful when you do.

You know more than you think you do. You understand more than you believe you do. But you are at a critical juncture and you have to make a choice.

Just remember that our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Remember those words even if you do not believe them.

Yes, it is dark.

But the Lord is a lamp.

And He can turn the darkness into light.

Iris I fold up the letter and look around.

The breeze still blows.

I wonder why. Why me. Why now. Why.

I take the steps up to the cabin.

I don't feel anything.

I'm too tired to feel. Too bewildered to understand.

It's all just a bit too much.

109. Sealed Shut I hear the sound of a jet nearby. It wakes me up.

And here I am, sitting in a seat on a plane.

I know I'm dreaming, because Jocelyn is sitting next to me.

"You can't stay here," she says.

I look at her and feel myself blushing. I feel like a kid next to her. I am a kid next to her.

"Where is here? They use planes and airports in my imaginary heaven?"

"This isn't imagined and this is not heaven. This is just a place in between. Otherwise it's too startling."

There's that expression again. But shouldn't it be space in between?.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?" she says.

"About the pastor. About my uncle. About Iris."

"I can't tell you those things, Chris. It doesn't work like that."

"Then how does it work? When is any of this going to make sense? And-and why do you look grown up?"

Jocelyn only smiles. "Does everything need to make sense in your world? Did everything make sense when you lived in Chicago?"

"A lot more than now."

"Like with your parents splitting up? Your father abandoning a career after finding faith? And all the countless little moments you chose to ignore on a daily basis?"