The yellow rabbit watched all of this from a vent, though it meant little or nothing to him – it wasn't part of the dream.
The dream that had been stolen.
The dream where it was all good.
Simon said the dream could be rebuilt, that everything was all right. That he had one child left, his favorite.
The others could be replaced.
And that tonight the last two, the older ones, the boy who killed the children, would see reason and join him in rebuilding the dream.
And that the girl would help him.
The rabbit slithered backwards from the grille of the vent, deeper into the guts of the old theater. The remaining child would need to be told what to do. Simon told him this. Simon was always right.
Simon would show him how to bring the dream back.
And it would all be good.