Chapter 20 end

The classic car was bumping on the highway, the engine was whistling, the brakes were screaming, and every time it turned a corner, the body would tremble for a long time.Still, it's at least "alive". "Just a few more miles," said Harold, wrestling with the steering wheel again as he turned a curve. Jacob didn't speak, just looked out the window. "Finally leaving that church," Harold said. "If I stay a little longer, I'm almost going to convert... convert, or I'll have to draw a gun." He laughed self-deprecatingly, "Maybe Those two things are inseparable.”

The child still didn't speak. They will be home soon.The truck moved slowly on the dirt road, spouting a cloud of blue exhaust from time to time.Harold had originally blamed the car's poor performance on the bullets it had taken, but that didn't make sense either.The car is just too old to run, ready to be picked at any moment.It was a long enough drive, and he wondered how Lucille had driven those months, and how Connie had driven that night.If given the chance, he must apologize to her.But Connie and the children were gone, and no one had seen them since the night Lucille died.The next day, Harold's truck was found on the side of the interstate, parked at an odd angle, as if the truck had stopped to rest on its own, as if no one had ever been behind the wheel.

The Wilson family seemed to disappear suddenly like this. During this period of time, this kind of news was actually heard endlessly. "It'll be fine." Harold said to himself as he parked the car in the yard.Where the house used to be, there is now only a wooden shelf.The foundation of the house was solid enough. After the insurance money came, Harold hired someone to rebuild the house, and the original foundation was finally preserved. "Let's build it as it is," Harold said to them.He parked the car at the end of the drive and switched off the ignition.Old Ford sighed.

Jacob walked down the dusty driveway with his father, still silent.It's already October, and the weather is no longer muggy and humid.Since Lucille's death, Jacob felt his father seemed extraordinarily old and tired, although he tried to hide it. Where the house used to be on the front porch was now Lucille's grave, under the old oak tree.Harold had planned to bury her in the churchyard, but he wanted to be near her.He hoped she would forgive him for doing so. The child and his father stopped in front of the cemetery. Harold knelt down and brushed the ground with his fingers. Then he said a few words to himself and left.

Jacob still didn't want to go. The house was well built, though Harold would not admit it.Although it is only a skeleton now, the kitchen, living room and bedroom above the stairs can already be seen.The wood is all new, but the foundation is as old as ever. Things will never be the same again, he told Jacob, but their meaning will never change. He left the child alone in front of Lucille's grave, and he came to the ruins behind the house.After the fire raged, all that remained was a stone foundation and a pile of debris.Someone from the construction crew once offered to help him remove the trash, but he stopped them.He came here almost every day, sifting through the ashes and debris.He didn't know what he was looking for, he just thought he would recognize it when he saw it.

It's been two months and he still hasn't found anything, but at least he doesn't smoke anymore. After searching for an hour, I still found nothing.Jacob was still at Lucille's grave, sitting on the grass with his legs curled up against his chest and his chin between his knees.He didn't move when Agent Bellamy drove up; he didn't respond when Bellamy came up to say hello.Bellamy didn't stop, just walked past Jacob - he knew the kid wouldn't respond.This was Jacob's reaction every time he came to see Harold. "Find what you're looking for?" said Bellamy.Harold stood up, shaking his head.

"Do you need help?" "I wonder what the hell I'm looking for," Harold muttered. "I know that feeling," Bellamy said. "I was looking for pictures, pictures of my childhood." Harold snorted. "They still haven't figured out what happened this time, and they can't find the reason." "Of course," said Harold, looking up at the sky.The sky is blue, vast, and clear. He wiped his dusty hands on his trouser legs. "Pneumonia, I hear," said Harold. "Yes," Bellamy replied, "same as the first time. She went away very peacefully at the end, just like the first time."

"Are they all the same?" "No," Bellamy replied, adjusting his tie.Harold was delighted that Bellamy's suit was as straight as ever.He still didn't understand how Bellamy could wear such a tight body and pass the summer as if nothing had happened.But he found that Bellamy also began to become disheveled later.Now, Bellamy's tie was tied tight around her neck again, and her crisp suit was spotless.This made Harold feel that everything had finally returned to the way it was before. "This time I was in a calmer mood," Bellamy said. "Oh." Harold murmured.

"How about the church?" Bellamy circled the ruins. "Not bad." Harold squatted down again, rummaging through the ashes carefully. "I hear the priest is back." "Yes, the couple seems to be planning to adopt a few children. It's going to take a long time, this is like a real home." Harold said with emotion.His legs were a little sore, so he just knelt on the ground, and he didn't care about getting his knees dirty, anyway, he always did this yesterday, the day before yesterday, and the day before yesterday. Bellamy looked back at Jacob in the distance, who was still sitting by his mother's grave. "I'm sorry this happened," he said.

"it's not your fault." "But I'm still sorry." "If you say that, I should apologize too." "why?" "Whatever." Bellamy nodded. "He's leaving soon." "I know," Harold said. "They will all become more and more indifferent like that, at least according to the investigation results. Of course, there are exceptions. Sometimes, they will disappear suddenly. But in most cases, they have signs before disappearing, and they will change Get out of the way and be silent." "That's what it said on TV."

Harold stuck his whole hand up to his elbow in the debris, his forearm covered in soot. "There's one comforting thing, though," Bellamy added, "and you'll find them back in the grave, whatever that means." Harold said nothing, his hands still Rummaging non-stop, it seems that he is very close to the goal of his frantic search.Nails and splinters of wood from the rubble punctured his hands, but he carried on, Bellamy watching him. This scene lasted for a long time. Finally, Bellamy took off her suit jacket and knelt down, reaching into the rubble too.Neither of them spoke, they just kept digging, searching for something they didn't even know what it was. As soon as Harold saw it, he understood why he had been looking for it all the time.It was a small metal box, blackened by the flames and covered with ashes from the remains of the house.His hands were shaking uncontrollably. The sun has already set in the west, and there is a little coolness in the air. I am afraid that this year's winter will come very early. Harold opened the box, reached in and took out a letter from Lucille, and at the same time a small silver cross fell into the dust.Harold sighed, tried to steady his hands, and opened the letter.The letter had been partially destroyed by the fire, but most of it was still there, in Lucille's long, elegant handwriting. ...the world is going crazy?What should a mother do?How should father face it?Harold, I know all this is too heavy for you.Sometimes, even I can't bear it, and I even think about throwing him out, and sending him back to the river that took our children. A long time ago, I was always afraid of forgetting everything, and then I wished I could forget everything.But whether it is remembering or forgetting, it is better than feeling alone.God forgive me for saying this, I know the Lord has His way, the Lord is in control.I know, it hurts so much for me, Harold, and I know it hurts for you too. You feel worse, I actually understand.This cross, you keep lying around, this time I found it on the front porch floor, next to your chair.Maybe you just fell asleep holding it in your hand, and you've been doing it all the time, maybe without realizing it.I think you're afraid of it, but you don't have to be. It's not your fault, Harold. You've always had a problem with this cross, but no matter why you feel that way, it's not your fault.You have carried this cross since Jacob came back to the bosom of the Lord, just as Jesus carried his cross.But in the end, even Jesus put down the cross. Put it down, Harold.let him go. He is not our son, I know it.Our son drowned in that river looking for something like this cross.It was a game his dad taught him, and it stuck with you.One day you went out to the river with him and you came back with this, it was amazing, you guys had such a blast.You sat on the front porch with him, and you told him that the world was full of mysteries, like this cross;I remember all this clearly. Harold, you were in your twenties then.He is your first child, so you must have never imagined that he took everything you said seriously.You would never expect that he went to the river by himself again, hoping to find a miracle, but he never came up again. I don't know where this kid, this second Jacob, came from.But honestly, I don't care.There are some things that we thought were lost forever, but he brought us back again: he gave us a chance to find love again, let us forgive ourselves, and let us reflect on whether we still have the original heart—— —We were a pair of young parents at that time, sincerely praying that our baby will be safe forever.He tells us to love without fear and to forgive ourselves. Put it down, Harold.Love him and let him go. There was a blur in front of my eyes.Harold clutched the little silver cross tightly in his palm, and laughed. "Are you all right?" Bellamy asked. Harold laughed even harder. He put the crumpled letter on his chest and turned to look at Lucille's grave.Jacob was gone.Harold stood up and looked at the distant yard again, but the child was not there.He wasn't over there with the flip house, and he wasn't over there with the truck. Harold wiped his eyes, and turned to the south, which was the direction of the forest, and walked straight down there, and he came to the river.Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was a predestined fate.For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the child in the afterglow of the setting sun. Harold had told his wife many months ago, when the Risen had begun to be banned, that there would be more and more sad days.He was right then.Now, he knew that he still wouldn't feel well.From the beginning to the end, Lucille did not believe that Jacob was her son, but from the beginning to the end, Harold firmly believed that he was his son.Perhaps this is true for everyone: when we lose a loved one, some of us lock the doors of our hearts forever; others not only open the doors, but open the windows, and let all love and memories go free access.Maybe this is the way the world should be, Harold thought. In every corner of the world, such stories are being staged.