Epilogue

Mexico..

"A bit lower." Christie Bankes said, her head cocked to the side.

The maid tucked the center rose down a little lower into the the vase. Two dozen red blossoms dappled a white cloud of baby's breath. One more day, and they would be at their peak. That is when Christie loved them most. A love she'd apparently inherited from her mother.

"Senorita?" Pam spun the arrangement around for her approval.

"That is fine." Christie said, straining for some memory of that mother. There wasn't one. Just the vague image of a sweet female voice, singing, always singing.

Pam sat the vase on a stand. "There." she said. "You like me to turn off the radio when I go?"

"No I think I will listen a little longer. I will see you in the morning."

Pam shut the door behind her. Christie picked up the remote and spun her wheel chair toward the radio punching up the volume. An American newscaster rolled through yet another agitated, long winded narrative about the end  of the man hunt for serial sexual predator Brandon James and the little sister whose bones had yet to be found. A few minutes later, the host opened the phone lines to take listeners calls.

Christie muted the voices and closed her eyes. Brandon was dead. She didn't know whether to feel relief or sadness. Relief, because a dangerous man was no longer striking terror across the nation. Sadness, because everything he had done, said special agents and psychiatrists and old neighbors , he had done for his little sister.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a folded piece of paper. It was thin, like rice paper, with a gold leaf on on three sides and a torn, yellowed edge where it had been ripped  from its binding. Years and years ago, she had found a stack of discards when she and Iris were going through old photographs. Iris waved it off like it wasn't nothing and told her to get rid of it, but something made Christie secret away. Somehow she had always known it was important. Just as she'd always known there was more to her adoption than the story Iris told. You were so sick, and your mother didn't know how to take care of you, and there was no one else.....

No one else. Yet all of Christie's life surrounded by Iris and the other foster kids, Christie had never quite believed it.

Now, she unfolded the fragile page and ran her finger down the names, touching the last three:

Robin James; b. March 18,1976-d. March 28,1976

Brandon Dylan James b. February 23,1978-

Christie Cathryn James b. June 18,1990-disap. oct 19,1991

She wheeled to the end table and pulled out a pen, testing the ink on the corner of the magazine. The backs of her eyes prickling, she filled the missing information for her brother.

Brandon Dylan James....d. April 26,2009.

Ok that is it.. If you are confused who Iris is that is the school counselor at Brandon's school. The one who called the police saying Christie wasn't takin care of...

Well I hope yall enjoyed send me some comments I think I am going to write another book not a sequal to this one but another one.. If yall think I should comment fan and vote for me...:)