The Fire That Raged Beneath

Chapter 4: Beth Anderson

As the years went by, Christopher became more and more curious about Harry. He asked questions more frequently, and answering them became more difficult. He was about ten when he told me he wanted desperately to find the person who'd committed such a terrible crime.

Since that day, Christopher had become obsessed with finding Harry's killer. Ideas developed in his confused mind, ideas that once he would have never believed or taken notice of. They grew a solid foundation in his head, refusing to go away, and began to make sense, a maze of entangled vines that had grown so fast he didn't know which way would lead him toward the exit. Their thick, dense trunks distorted his sanity, making it unfeasible for him to distinguish reality from the fantasy that was happening inside his head. He drifted further and further away from the Christopher I knew and loved, until he vanished completely. He had a glow in his eyes that wasn't there before, a frenzied need for justice, a gnawing hunger overtaking his soul. He gradually became less detached from the real world, and eventually disconnected himself completely. There came a point where he stopped caring about anything else.

Harry's death was all that mattered to him now. It became a disease, it took over his life. He was paranoid, suspecting everyone. I'd wake up in the night to find him hunched over the wooden kitchen table, chewing frantically on a pen and staring at the scattered papers around him. Occasionally, he would slam the papers onto the floor. I did nothing. It was
pointless. Reprimanding him wouldn't make him feel, nothing would. His soul was empty, deprived of hope and happiness for too long, and he was beyond my reach. Nothing would bring back my Christopher, but I never stopped trying. I never stopped trying.