Chapter 22: His Right Mind
Compacted against Brayden, my mind raced with another memory of Christopher Sunday’s insanity.
Christopher and I were sunbathing along Barefoot Beach, side by side. The scent of cocoa butter lotion wafted about our reclined bodies. We were both wearing sunglasses and trunks, but nothing more. The August day was perfect, I recalled—no wind, ninety degrees, no humidity. Our conversations were quite sane: politics, a chocolate pie recipe he wanted to try out, a shoe sale at a local department store in downtown Barefoot Beach.
And then something horrible transpired within the vaults of Christopher’s mind; a breakdown of sorts that I couldn’t even begin to understand. He clicked his teeth together and whispered my name three times, slowly. To his right, on the sand
