Loving Christopher
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The day Christopher left Leesville he shot Momma's dog, Checkers. I heard her holler, "You aren't my son!" as he gunned his car out of the driveway. I buried it quickly so she wouldn't have to see. She found me shoveling dirt over the dead mutt and swore she couldn't recognize Chris. "Amy, that was not my boy!"
“Momma, it was him.” I wasn't about to lie and say I didn't recognize my own little brother. I finished burying her dog and left Momma to cry over an unmarked heap of dirt behind the trailer. We didn't hear a thing from Chris till three months later when we saw his face on the evening news announcing his arrest.
Nobody would mistake his face, even in a mug shot. When Chris was little strangers would stop us in parking lots to get a look at the beautiful cooing baby. Momma would get all proud and say, “My boy is an angel straight from heaven.” I believed he was an angel too, something different and perfect. Momma still thought of her boy like that.
She couldn't believe it was little Chris that kidnapped those two girls, raped them, and left them to die in dumpsters. She held desperately to a hope that he had been framed, when everyone else knew it was him. The twelve-year-old girl who survived had picked his beautiful face out of a lineup. When DNA showed it was him Mom couldn't deny it any more. "Damn drugs!" she would mumble to herself in front of the television. Chris had told the jury during sentencing he was too high to know what he was doing. The jury didn't believe him. Neither did I. I had seen him shoot Checkers while sober as a preacher.
******
"Christopher Dunn, you are to be executed by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul,” the old judge read loud and stern. He had a firm, cold look—daring even God have mercy on Chris.
Mom made a scene. "Nooooo!!!! Pleeease, he's just a baaabyyy!!!!" She wailed and pulled at her hair.
"Shhh..." I had to pull her back into her seat. "Quiet Momma!" I caught the eye of Claire Ward's father across the isle. He looked so vicious, like he wished he could have Momma killed too, like the whole world wasn't big enough for how angry and sad he was. Momma was still squirming and whining. I tightened my grip on her arm. I felt ashamed to be who I am, but I wouldn't let Claire's dad see. I stared right back at him as hard as a stone―anything to keep from having to look at Chris.
That night I lay awake and thought about Claire. Everything from the trial began to replay. I saw her car broken down on the side the side of the road. She was on her way home from school. She must have had so many things on her mind, never suspecting she would be murdered today. I saw her walking up to his car. I wished she had run away, "Run away, Claire! Run away! He's luring you to kill you!" But how could she distrust Chris' boyish smile? By the time he dragged her into the warehouse it was too late...
*This story is still being submitted for publication, therefore only a short sample is offered here.
If you wish to continue reading contact me and I may be able to send you the full text.
If you wish to continue reading contact me and I may be able to send you the full text.