Author’s Notes:This
story has been a year in the making – and fun to work on in the middle
of June,
btw.:-)I tried to keep as close to the
original The Christmas Carol as
I could, although, I did have to change quite a few things to make it
work.With apologies to Dickens, there
are some bits of dialog and description that are lifted wholesale from
the
original text.They, nor the idea, are
mine.I also have no real claim on Knight
Rider or its characters other than my love of them.
Huge hugs and a giant
thank you to
Moonbeam for the beta read.Thanks to
Nutty for the brainstorming.
Thank you to Vespurrs for
letting me do this, even though you talked
about trackling this
idea before I did.
Thank you too to Pheral and Moonbeam
for your comments on Devon’s
character.They made it possible for me to
give this
story some teeth.I honestly forgot how
pompous he could be at times.So thanks
for the help.;-)
A Knight’s
Carol
Devon Miles hurried
along a busy downtown street in Los Angeles, oblivious to
the fake snow in the windows and the red ribbons that wound up palm
trees like
stripes on candy canes.He was picking
up a suit that he had had altered in one of the nicer shops, but what
he expected
to be a short jaunt had turned into a harrowing journey.He didn’t know why he had forgone the driver
this morning.He could have been
chauffeured directly to the store with no hassles, but instead he had
chosen to
drive his BMW.He knew he had made a
mistake when he tried to find a place to park. He had rounded corner
after
corner in the parking structure to no avail.When he had finally spotted a pair of taillights and pulled near
the
departing car, a Jaguar had raced in and cut him off.He had honked, but the driver was
oblivious.Devon’s
blood was boiling even before he had taken to the sidewalks and been
jostled
and pushed by people with oversized packages.A dull ache in his back had flared up and he was afraid he was
going to
spend the afternoon in bed, twisting in agony.
Then he’d had the
misfortune of dealing with a rather
impertinent store clerk who had claimed that he couldn’t find Devon’s
suit.Devon
had tried to explain to the man that he had ordered the suit months ago
and had
been told it was ready.But the man had
pleaded ignorance and tried to justify his position by saying, ‘Well,
sir, it’s
the holidays, we’re very busy.”As if
that were a legitimate excuse for
incompetence.Devon
had
given the clerk a stiff dressing down, which had ended in him thanking
the man
for wasting his time.He’d left in a
huff, vowing that he would speak to a manager when he came back next
week.Having bought a rather expensive
suit, he
expected to receive customer service commensurate with the price.Devon did
have to admit that he had enjoyed the pallid look on the clerk’s face
when he made
a show of noting his name, but since he had left empty handed, it was a
hollow
victory.
“Sorry, sir,” a woman
said as she knocked him off balance
with a large, lighted reindeer decoration.She gave him a sympathetic smile which he brushed off with a
sniff.Why couldn’t people watch where
they were
going?Especially when they were
carrying large, frivolous Christmas items?
Devon
was not used to
having to deal with restrictions in his life.He’d always been blessed with good health – until this past
February.He had injured his back in a
scuffle during a case, and the pain had refused to go away, despite all
manner
of exercises and therapy.He’d had surgery
in July, but his back still wasn’t healed.He was starting to think he would never again walk without a
cane.Devon
hated
being weak.He hated being old.And there was no relief in sight.
“Merry Christmas,” a
man said, ringing a Salvation Army bell
and gesturing toward the red kettle next to him.
“Bah,” Devon said rudely as
he swung his cane and hurried past, cursing the nagging twinge in his
back that
was sure to spark into a roaring flame by the time he got home.
He should have used
the driver.
***
Later that afternoon Devon
was sitting at his desk fuming over the pile of papers in front of him.The board had again voted down his budget
proposal, there were problems with the hall he had rented for the
winter
fundraiser, and one of the criminals they had put away three years ago
had just
been granted parole.He was ready to
declare defeat and take his afternoon tea when Michael bounded into the
office.
“Yo,
Devon,
what’s up?” he said with his usual unbridled enthusiasm.
Devon
could barely
contain his irritation.Michael’s
optimism, his cavalier use of the English language, and his strapping
good
health all set Devon on edge.“A case,” he replied curtly, tossing the file
Michael’s direction.
“Devon, this is in Bakersfield.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Christmas is Friday,”
Michael said, looking at him oddly.
“Also
correct.My, you’re on a roll
today,” Devon said sarcastically, not
in the mood to dicker over
dates.
“Devon,
you never send us
out of town this close to Christmas.In
fact, you usually host the party.”
“Yes, well, not this
year,” Devon
said matter-of-factly.“This is a
personal request from one of the members of the board, Michael.And last I checked, you were not officially
guaranteed Christmas off.”
“Yeah, but Devon . . .”
Michael started.
“You have a job to do.I suggest you do it.” Devon was not in the mood to argue the point.
Michael started to
leave the room, but then he turned back,
much to Devon’s frustration.“Are you feeling okay?Ever
since your surgery, you’ve been. .
.Well, you’ve been rude.”
“I am perfectly fine.And if you have nothing better to do save grousing about my
demeanor,
I'm sure I could find something else to keep you busy,” Devon
snapped.
Shaking his head,
Michael opened the door to leave."If I'm
not back by Friday, Merry
Christmas," he said softly.
Devon
ignored him,
feigning distraction until he finally left.
"Humbug," Devon
muttered under his breath.
***
“Hey buddy,” Michael
said, pulling open Kitt’s door and
climbing inside.After talking with Devon he had taken a short walk to try to clear
his head,
but he was unable to shake his misgivings.
“So
where to?” Kitt asked.“I still
need to find a gift for Bonnie.I’d like
to get her something nice, but she
hasn’t said anything about what she’d like this year.”
Michael leaned back
and stared up through the T-tops.“I’m
afraid the shopping's going to have to
wait.Devon’s
given us a new case.”
“A
case?But Friday is Christmas.”
“I tried that argument
and didn’t get very far.”
“That seems rather
unlike him.He has had a difficult year.Perhaps he needs some cheering up,” Kitt
offered.
He certainly did seem
to need something, but Michael wasn’t
sure what it was, and he’d struck out with everything he had tried.“Be my guest, buddy.Anything
you could do to help would be
greatly appreciated.”
“I know he hasn’t been
very easy to deal with, but he is
still family, Michael.”
“Very
true.And you don’t get to pick
your family.”Michael put the car in gear.“Let’s see if we can wrap up this case in
time to get home for Christmas.”
***
By the time he decided
to call it a day, Devon
felt like someone had spent the afternoon swinging a croquet mallet
into his
kidneys.He could barely climb the
stairs, and the hallway to his quarters had never seemed so long.He paused outside his suite, wincing against
the pain, and had to look twice at the small knocker that hung in the
middle of
the door.Somehow the nondescript
ornament suddenly resembled a face.The
shock of it caused Devon to take a
hobbling
step backward.And it was not just any
face, but that of his old friend and mentor, Wilton Knight.Devon pinched
the bridge of his nose and was relieved that when he looked again, the
image had
cleared.It was just a knocker.
He must be over-tired.
The dark furniture and
wood-paneled walls inside Devon’s
suite enveloped him, giving him at least a small
measure of comfort.Here he didn’t have
to hide his pain, or pretend to anyone that he was fine.He could take his painkillers and be who he
was – a pitiful old man, with nothing but the aches in his back to keep
him
company.
It was all well and
good for Michael to complain that he
was being rude.Let Michael deal with
growing older and putting up with the constant indignities and
humiliations of
age.He didn’t think Michael would fair
any better than he had.
Devon
loosened his tie
and slipped off his shoes.Having eaten
dinner alone in his office earlier, he wandered into the small kitchen
to
prepare himself some tea.As the pot was
warming, he filled a glass of water at the sink and swallowed his pills.Then he set about undressing and finding his
heating pad.He knew he wouldn't be able
to sleep until the heat and more importantly, the painkillers, kicked
in.
Devon
padded into the
bathroom and paused at the drawn, haggard face in the mirror.His mind was still on the fleeting image of Wilton he had
seen on the
knocker.Wilton had known pain and suffering
in the
end too.He had also become surly and
difficult under his burdens.It was just
the way life worked.Devon
opened the medicine cabinet and began counting out the remainder of his
various
medications.
The whistle from the
tea kettle cut an unnerving path
through Devon's quarters, lilting
like a
lonely wail.He quickly pulled it off
the stove, unsettled for no discernable reason.He poured himself a cup of tea and hoped it would quiet his
nerves.
He hobbled back into
the living room and arranged the
pillows on the couch the way he liked them.He set his tea on the end table within easy reach and settled
back
against the heating pad, waiting for the storm in his back to let up.
A soft whistling began
from the kitchen and Devon cursed
himself for forgetting to turn off the
burner under the tea kettle.That was
just what he needed, a little dementia to go with the rest of his ill
health.That would make his descent into
old age and infirmity complete.But as
he contemplated getting up from his semi-workable position on the
couch, the whistling
began to grow from a normal volume to a shrieking wail.It was almost human in timbre.It
grew louder and louder until it almost
seemed to rattle the whole building with its vibrato.
Then as quickly as it
began, it stopped.As Devon
started to relax back against the couch, a slow clanking took the
whistle’s
place.It was as though Bonnie or one of
the other technicians were hammering on sheet metal.But Bonnie was in Bakersfield
with the semi attending to Michael
and Kitt.The sound began to move, as
though it were climbing the stairs outside his quarters.It sent chills crawling down Devon's
spine.
As it drew nearer, the
clanking was joined by a heavy,
reverberant thudding that sounded like footsteps.Then
to Devon's
complete shock, a translucent specter emerged through his closed door.Devon’s eyes
went wide with disbelief as he stared at the apparition.It appeared to be the precise imagine of
Wilton Knight, down to a pair of cufflinks that he typically wore.
The specter carried
with it a chain that curled around its
bluish body and draped to the floor.Its
eyes were as cold as death, and Devon
couldn't
help the growing fear that coursed through him.The face was Wilton's,
but it was angry and menacing.
"Who are you?" Devon
asked, hearing the tremble in his own voice.
"Ask me who I was." The words were drawn out and solemn, the
specter’s voice low and booming.It
sounded like Wilton’s
voice, only more thunderous, like it was echoing through a giant cavern.
"Who were you then?"Devon’s fear
was replaced by exasperation as he realized that he was quibbling over
verb
tense with what had to be an artifact of his drug-addled brain.
"In life I was your
partner, Wilton Knight."
Devon
raised an eyebrow.
"You don't believe in
me," observed the ghost.
"I don't," Devon
said honestly.
"What evidence do you
have of my reality or lack
thereof, beyond your senses?"
"I don't know.”
"Then why do you doubt
your senses?"
"Because
it takes so little to
deceive them.You are probably a
hallucination brought on by my painkillers.You're nothing but an attempt by my neurons to make sense of the
chemicals coursing through them.And I
will therefore not believe this infernal rubbish."
At this the phantom
let out a wail that outdid Devon's
tea kettle, and began rattling and shaking its
chains.Bits of the apparition's flesh
moved on its body like tattered bits of cloth.Devon drew back in horror.
"Man of worldly mind,"
cried the ghost, "do
you believe in me or not?"
Devon
knew he was hallucinating,
but he didn't want to endure another outburst."I must.But why do you walk
the earth, and what do you want with me?"
"It is required of
every man," the ghost of Wilton
said, "that
his spirit walk the earth after his death, to see and understand his
own
failings.If he has not traveled as far
and as wide in life as he could have, he must do it after death."
"But Wilton, you were
a good man in life," Devon
interjected.Wilton had started the Foundation --
he had
helped others.
"Yes, I did good
works, but my motives were not
always pure.Even if they were, good men
have failings."He rattled the chains
that were wrapped around him."These shackles were forged throughout my life, but most of them
were added in the last few years, link after link in such a short time.It was my callousness towards my fellow man
that fashioned them.You remember.I became bitter and caustic.I tried the patience of even those who cared
about me -- pushed them away."
"That's understandable.You were sick, in pain, suffering."
"Nooooo,"
the spirit
wailed, shaking its chain."Excuses!You
only excuse me because you’ve been building your own chain of late."
Devon
couldn't help
glancing at the floor around him, half expecting to find giant iron
links circling
his feet.But of course he saw nothing
and this whole hallucination had become tiresome."I
have earned the right to grouse in my
infirmity.If that in itself
were cause for such horrible punishment, most of the world would be
walking as
aimless specters."
"It's not my place to
explain.That will come from other
quarters.Nor can I tell you all that I'd
like to.You were a good friend in life, Devon, and I’d love to stay, but alas, I cannot
rest.I cannot linger anywhere.I must be on my way shortly."
Devon wanted to tell
the ghost to be on its way then, but
he was stopped by the fact that it looked like Wilton.Against his better judgment, he did want to continue to talk
with this
ghost.He still grieved for his old
friend and it was comforting to think that Wilton might still think of him,
wherever he
was.
"I am here tonight to
advise you that you have a
chance to avoid my fate.You can stop
adding to your chain, shorten its length,” Wilton continued.
"And how would I do
that?"
"You must not slide
back into being that pompous,
superior man you used to be.You must
respect others in all stations of life.You must stop taking out your pain on those around you."
Devon
pursed his
lips."Oh
really?"
"You were always a
self-important fool, dear friend. Michael
Knight has been good for you.He's
loosened you up, taught you the value of
humility.I believe I chose well in him
– for many reasons."The apparition
appeared to gaze off, as if hearing a call from elsewhere.Then it snapped its attention back to Devon."Don't
abandon the gains of the last five years."
Devon
couldn't help
rolling his eyes."And how pray
tell would I stop from doing that?"
"It is not my place to
say.You will be visited by three spirits
who will
show you."
Devon
would just as soon
not, if it were up him.He was already
going to have to change his medication, he wasn't about to add a trip
to a
psychiatrist to his agenda.
"Expect the first
tomorrow, when the clock strikes
one."
"Couldn't I have them
visit all at once?Get this over with?"
The ghost of Wilton
gave him an exasperated glare and continued on, undaunted.“The second will appear on the next night at
the same hour.The third will follow the
night after that when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.Do not make light of these visitations.They may not be pleasant, but they will teach
you much -- if you let them.”
At least he had
creative delusions, Devon
thought.That had to be worth something.
He ventured to raise
his eyes again, and found his
supernatural visitor standing with its chain wound over its arm. The
apparition
walked backward away from him and toward the window.It raised its free hand, and with it, the
window opened.Then the ghost beckoned Devon to approach, which he did.When they were within two paces of each
other, Wilton's
ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no closer.Out the open window Devon
could hear incoherent sounds of regret -- wailing and mournful cries.He glanced out the window, over the ghost’s
shoulder and saw hundreds of similar apparitions swooping through the
darkness.The specter, after listening for
a moment,
joined in the monstrous symphony and floated out into the bleak night.
Devon
stared at the open
window, frozen in place until the mournful sounds finally faded away.
Unable to shake his
unease, Devon
went to the door that the ghost had materialized through.It was bolted securely.He thought
about trying to still his shaking
hands with a glass of scotch, but knew that if he was already
hallucinating,
mixing alcohol with his medication was not going to make things any
better.Instead, he quickly changed into
his nightclothes and carefully pulled his aching body into bed.
***
When Devon awoke, he was
surprised to find the room dark.Perhaps
it was before dawn?But he had gone
to
bed late and he felt well rested.His
back was no longer actively throbbing, having subsided to a vague
stiffness.Devon
carefully rolled over to glimpse the alarm clock and almost fell out of
bed.It was almost one in the
morning!But he had gone to bed after
midnight and there was no way he would be this awake if he had only
slept for
half an hour.Could he have slept all
day?It didn’t seem possible.He had had meetings and a report due.How
could he have missed an entire day?
The grandfather clock
in the hallway struck one and Devon
tried to laugh at the unease that was uncurling in
the pit of his stomach.The painkillers
had clearly done a number on his head.
But something wasn’t
right.He glanced around the small area
walled off
by the curtains surrounding his bed.As
he watched, a pale blue glow began to spill over the metal dowels
running along
the top of the bed.He peered over the
edge of the mattress at the floor and realized it was coming in under
the
curtains as well.Devon
felt a cold fear griping his chest.He
knew he hadn’t left any of the lights on.He reached out with a shaky hand and pulled open the curtains.
Devon
was startled to see
someone familiar standing in front of the bed."Bonnie?" he asked, completely confused.What
was she doing here?It took him a moment
to realize that she was
shimmering.As he watched, her form
seemed to alternate between being solid and vaporous.
“Not exactly,” the
specter said gently.
“But you look just
like her.”
The figure in front of
him smiled, not unlike Bonnie would.
“You see what you want to see.I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past, but you
perceive me in a way that will help you make sense of what I have to
show you.”
Devon
closed his eyes and
pinched the bridge of his nose.Either
someone had slipped something rather powerful into his painkillers or
he was
losing his mind all together.
"So you are the spirit
that Wilton
told me to expect?" he asked, figuring
he might as well humor his hallucinations.
"Yes."The ghost’s voice was softer than Bonnie's,
more ethereal.Its body and clothing
were translucent and radiating a rather beautiful pale blue light.If this was the sort of spirit he could
expect, and not the chain wielding Wilton Knight sort, then perhaps
these
visits wouldn’t be as bad as Wilton
had intimated.
“What should I call
you?” he asked, wondering why he was
so quick to accept this apparition.He
should be blaming Michael for some infernal practical joke.But he had sent Michael to Bakersfield.
“You can call me what
you will.I answer to many names.”
Devon
nodded dumbly.
“I have things to show
you.Come, we have places to go.”
Devon
quickly glanced around
for something appropriate to wear -- he was still in his nightclothes.
“You don’t need to
worry about that,” the ghost said.It held
out its hand and Devon
hesitated before taking hold of it, not sure what to expect.But it felt solid enough, warm and
human.The ghost smiled gently and slid
its hand along his arm until it was resting at his elbow, as though he
were
escorting it.
“Where are we going?”
he asked.
“Shhh,”
the ghost said softly,
leading him to the window.
Before Devon could protest,
he and the ghost passed through the window of his second story suite
and emerged
on the other side . . . in the middle of a winding road nestled in
between
rolling pastures.This had to be a
dream.The sun was now high in the sky
and Devon felt a rushing in his head,
a queasy
disorientation.
“Where are we?” he
asked, as the ghost led him down the
quaint country road.But before it could
answer, the road began to look familiar."Wait.It can't
be."Devon
turned to look at the ghost.Its
luminous imitation of Bonnie's hair was
flowing in
the breeze and its unearthliness suddenly made Devon
think that maybe anything was possible."This is where I grew up."
The ghost nodded and Devon
gazed down the road to see the cozy home of his youth. "But how can
this
be?"
The spirit smiled
gently in response.
They approached the
house and the ghost led them through
the door.Devon
gasped as he spied a figure sitting in front of a welcoming fire, her
blonde
hair graying, her bright eyes gazing down at a letter in her hand.
Devon
rushed to the
woman's side."Mum?"
"These are but shadows
of the things that have
been," the ghost said."She
can’t see you."
Devon
looked closer and
realized that his mother was crying.He
knelt at her side and wished he could take her hand to comfort her.The power of his grief and longing surprised
him -- she had died so many years ago.He
peered at her tear-streaked face and wondered at the piece of thick
paper she
was creasing in her hands.Then it
dawned on Devon that he was the cause
of her
tears.She was reading the letter he had
sent her when he was young and full of his own purpose.
He turned to the
ghost, needing to explain away his shame."She
didn't want me to join the OSS.She did everything in her power to dissuade
me."
"So you left."
"Yes, I left early.My tour of duty didn't officially start until January, but . . ."
"But you left on
Christmas Eve."The ghost’s voice was not
kind.
"Not my finest hour,” Devon
admitted.Things had gotten so strained
over his decision that he had tired of trying to explain and had simply
left.He had never regretted his decision
to become
a soldier, but he did regret the pain he had caused his family.Being the oldest child, and the first out of
the house, he knew that it had hit his mother particularly hard.
"She died a few years
later, didn’t she?"
"Yes.Cancer."Devon had not made it home before she died.Grief ripped through him and his cheeks
warmed in embarrassment.But it had
been so long ago.
"People suffer in all
kinds of ways," the ghost
said sadly."We have other places
to visit."
The specter began to
leave, but Devon
was having a hard time tearing himself away.He had always known that he had hurt his mother, but to actually
see her
tears seared him.There were so many
emotions
swirling through his head that he couldn't make sense of them all.
The ghost beckoned
him, and Devon
did again what he had done so long ago.He turned his back and left his mother alone and weeping.
They passed through
the door of the little house but
instead of the quiet English countryside, Devon was shocked to find
himself in
the middle of Paris.The questions of how and why died on his lips
as the ghost led him toward a cafe.It
was hidden along one of the quieter side streets, off the beaten path,
and
perfectly Parisian.
“Do you know this
place?” the ghost asked.
“I do, but . . .” Devon’s
voice trailed off.“Yes, yes.I remember.Lt. Fezziwig’s
party.France, 1944.Paris had been
liberated
a few months earlier, and Fezziwig rented
out this
very cafe.We had a party.But . . .”
Devon
stared, in awe, as
the man himself appeared before the window.“That’s him.That’s Lt. Fezziwig!And
there’s Benson and Kurtland, and . . ."
Devon
stopped.He spotted Stewart, a friend of
his who had died
shortly after Christmas that year.He
was dancing and reveling with the others, unaware that he had so very
little time
left.Devon
gazed through the windows, mesmerized at the young version of himself, fit and vibrant in his dress uniform.It seemed forever ago.
"You were having a
Christmas party?" the ghost
asked.
"Yes.Almost a
month too early, but we were back in Paris
and knew we were going to be shipped out again.Fezziwig wanted to celebrate while
we had the
opportunity.He managed to get us a real
goose and we rented out this cafe.”Devon was about to say something to the effect
that it
had been a wonderful evening, but stopped when he remembered the rest
of the
night -- the tearful goodbye.He glanced
around the small room, scanning the faces of all the revelers.
In a moment he saw
her, young and light on her feet, her
golden-trimmed dress shining in the light of the candles that decorated
the
tables.As Devon
watched, she spotted the younger version of him in the crowd and rushed
to his
side, beaming with that angelic smile of hers.Marie . . .
"Pretty girl," the
ghost said wistfully.It was a mournful
sound that made Devon turn to look at
the apparition.
"Yes," Devon
said.And tonight was the night that he
had broken her heart.He remembered the
bitter irony of the party -- on one hand a jubilant last hurrah, and on
the
other, a bittersweet goodbye.
"You left her behind
too," the ghost said.
"I had no other choice.I was in a dangerous line of work.She was young and full of life.I couldn't imagine making her a widow."
"But you didn't die,"
the spirit said,
pointedly.
"I didn't want her to
wait for me.I loved her too much for
that."
The ghost looked at
him out of the corner of its eye,
looking exactly like Bonnie."You
turn away from those who love you in difficult times.Don't you trust them?"
Devon
scoffed."It was necessary.And the right thing to do."
Inside the cafe
Stewart separated himself from the crowd
and approached the young Devon,
holding mugs of
beer in each hand.Devon
watched with a smile as Stewart spilled on him, just as he remembered.
The ghost gazed
pointedly at Devon
again."What about him?Do you think he would take your back pain and
suffer it gladly in place of his own fate?"
Devon
felt more shame.Stewart had died so young
-- of course he
would have given anything for the opportunity to grow old.
"Enough of this," Devon
said, surprised at how many little tragedies in his life had happened
around
Christmas time."Take me
home."
"There's one more
thing to see," the ghost said,
as the scenery around them dissolved and Devon
found himself in a different cafe.A
slightly older and definitely more battle-weary version of himself
was sitting alone at one of the tables, looking anxious and hopeful at
the same
time.Oh no, Devon
thought.Not this.He
didn't want to see this."Please take me
home, ghost." he
pleaded.
The crowds seemed to
part and Marie moved through them
fluidly.Devon
immediately recognized the strained, solemn look in her eyes.He was immediately drawn to the sparkle on
her finger, the one that his younger self had missed until after he had
made a
fool of himself.
"Please take me home,"
Devon
said, starting to remember the pain in his back, eager to have this
night over
with.
"Why do you wish to go?She only did what you asked."
"Take me home now," Devon
demanded, desperate to avoid the scene that was about take place in
front of
him.
"You can't push people
away and expect them to come
back when you need them."
"I don't," he said
sharply."Now take me home."
The ghost smiled sadly
and the scene around them faded
into darkness.
***
Thankfully, Devon found
himself back in bed.He checked the
little clock on the nightstand and was relieved when the movement
didn't touch
off any spasms of pain.This time he
wasn’t surprised to see that it was almost one o’clock again.He had decided to stop questioning these
little hallucinations, and was beyond worrying about their source.Instead he prepared himself for the next
astonishing arrival.At this point,
nothing from a dancing baby to a rhinoceros would shock him.
The grandfather clock
sang out its lonesome chime.Devon waited
as the sound slipped away.Nothing.Being
prepared for some sort of arrival had set him on edge.He struggled to pull his weary frame upright
and sat along the side of the bed.Then
he heard a distant beating, a thumping of the air.He waited as the sound grew.It was
annoyingly familiar, and yet sounded
ephemeral and distant.It continued to
get louder and louder until it almost sounded like it was coming from his own living room.Finally he pushed back the curtains and fumbled for his cane,
determined
to investigate.
Peering around the
corner of the door he had carefully
opened, Devon was met by the
strangest of
sights.Reginald was sitting at his
dining room table surrounded by a veritable feast.There was a golden brown roast duck, fluffy potatoes
with gravy, a bowl heaped with steaming stuffing, luscious cranberry
sauce, and
at least four different pies swimming in whipped cream. The buffet was
large
enough to feed the guests of a small Foundation fundraiser.Devon’s
stomach growled as he breathed in deeply the delicious aroma.When had he last eaten?
The ghost that
resembled Reginald was no less
amazing.He was dressed in RC’s Street
Avenger duster, sunglasses, and hat, but where the ghost resembling
Bonnie had
been surrounded in a cool, blue glow, this ghost was bathed in a warm,
golden
yellow.It looked to Devon
like the flickering of a welcoming fire in a hearth.But the strangest detail of the incredible
feast in front of him was the ghost's perch.He was not sitting at a chair as a normal reveler would, but
instead was
resting on the source of the thumping.Trembling and growling from its spot behind the table, RC's
motorcycle
was a living inhabitant in the ghost's party.
"Hey, boss!" the
spirit exclaimed, clearly
enjoying its role as RC."Come on
in.Join the party."
Trust a ghost looking
like Reginald to be a slightly tardy,
Devon though.He tentatively stepped closer to the grinning spirit, still
trying to
take in the scene around him."And
you are?"
"Where have you been,
man? I'm the Ghost of Christmas
Present."
"I see," Devon
said.The spirit’s cavalier nature made
him
feel at ease in its presence."I
have learned, and will remember my travels from last night.Take me where you will."
"You got it, boss.Just touch my leather coat and we'll be going."
The ghost held out its
sleeve, which seemed to have
captured pure sunlight in the grain of the leather.Devon
touched the smooth fabric and the suite disappeared.
Devon
found himself
standing with the ghost in a suburban section of some desert city --
the
houses, small but neat ranches, clung to the curves of the scraggy
hills.Boys on bicycles raced down the
street, as
the rest of their families strolled the sidewalks.The adults laughed at the children’s antics
and pointed at the lights on houses that were just stating to wink on
in the quickly
approaching dusk.Devon
smiled, amazed as families walked together, in many cases three
generations,
talking and laughing brightly.
They passed by a
grocery store where people hurried out
with bags of last minute Christmas necessities, the anticipation of the
coming
feasts lighting their faces in smiles.As Devon watched, the ghost
approached
an arguing mother and boy.Devon was alarmed when the ghost produced
something that
looked like an M-16 from under its trench coat, until he remembered the
rubber
replica that RC had carried as the Street Avenger.The ghost lightly touched the gun’s barrel
to the mother's bag and something that shared the ghost's radiance
sprinkled
from the end.The mother smiled and
rumpled her son's hair, their bickering apparently forgotten.
As the ghost led him
down the street, the lights became
scarce, and the families disappeared.There were only a few half-hearted decorations in front of
large,
featureless buildings.Devon
realized they must be in an industrial park.He was trying to figure out where they were going when he
spotted a
bulky shape along the exit ramp of the highway.In the next instant, they were inside, and Devon
blinked against the bright florescent lighting.He felt a moment's disorientation as he saw RC, the real RC, on
a step
ladder hanging multicolored Christmas lights in the service bay.Devon
glanced around him, amazed at the decorating they had already done.There was an artificial tree in the office
area covered with sparkling ornaments and draped in white garland and
lights.Scattered around it lay
beautifully wrapped
presents.There were candles flickering
from the tool benches and the lights in the service bay reflected off
the
semi’s aluminum skin, giving the whole scene a festive glow.
"RC, did you find that
green canvas tarp?"
Bonnie called from the kitchen area.
"It's already on the
table," he answered,
finishing with the lights and stepping back to admire his work.Bonnie appeared, looking harried.She was carrying twin candlesticks which she
quickly arranged on the tarp-covered office table.They both turned at the sound of the back ramp
being lowered.
"They're here," RC
said as Kitt's prow rolled
into the bay and came to a smooth stop.
"How'd it go?" Bonnie
asked anxiously as she
approached them, clearly ready to attend to Kitt if necessary.
"We turned Vinci over
to the cops an hour ago,”
Michael said halfheartedly as he wearily climbed out of the car.
"So we could head
back?"
"Yeah, we could,"
Michael said, obviously not
very excited by the idea."But you
guys have everything set up and it's a long drive.Besides, there isn't even a party to get back
for this year."
"True," Bonnie said
glumly.Then she smiled as though
determined to have
a good time in spite of everything, and handed Michael a silver
ornament.
"Is he going to behave?"
"I always behave,"
Kitt said indignantly."And I will even
consent to a little
Christmas cheer.”
Michael slid back into
the driver’s seat and hooked the
ornament over Kitt's rearview mirror.His weariness seemed to ease as he withdrew from the car again
and eyed
the tree mischievously.“You’d look
great in colored lights, buddy.”
“We are not
going to relive the Turboman days," Kitt
said in
a warning tone.
“What’s a Turboman?”RC
looked back and forth between Michael and
Bonnie.
“You don’t want to
know,” Bonnie answered, laughing as she
disappeared back into the kitchen and started bringing out plastic
utensils and
dishes.
“Allow me, Madame,”
Michael said extravagantly, taking the
plates from her and setting them on the table with a flourish.
"Sorry, but this was
the best I could do with the
semi's microwave," she apologized as she began to bring out the food.
"It looks delicious to
me," Michael said
graciously.After making himself a plate
of ham, potatoes, and cranberry sauce, he took a seat on Kitt's hood,
leaning
against the windshield.
RC produced a bottle
of champaign
and popped the cork.It went flying and
ricocheted off Kitt's roof, nearly causing Michael to spill his plate."Watch it with that," he said
good-naturedly.
"Maybe you should have
a proper seat at the
table," Kitt groused.
"And here I just
wanted to be near my partner and he
doesn't even appreciate it," Michael shot back as RC poured him a glass.
"The abuse I put up
with in the name of friendship,”
Kitt scoffed before relenting.“But in
all seriousness, Merry Christmas, Michael.It’s wonderful to have you as a partner.”
"Thanks.You
too, buddy.And on that note, I think
it’s time for a toast. Here’s to a Merry
Christmas, good friends, and good health," Michael said with his glass
raised."And here’s to those who
can't be here."
"Hmph,"
Bonnie
muttered."If you mean Devon . . . "
"Oh come on, its
Christmas and he's had a bad year.”
"And taken it out on
us," Bonnie retorted."Don't forget, he's
the reason we're here
instead of enjoying a nice meal at home."
Devon
was surprised that
Kitt was the one who came to his defense."Bonnie, I know that he's been difficult lately, but he has been
in
a lot of pain.I can only imagine, but I
would think that could make anyone a little cranky."
Devon
turned to the ghost
with an air of smugness."Kitt
can’t even feel pain and he understands.He doesn't even have to worry about his mortality -- he could
live
forever with no aches or pains."
The ghost arched its
eyebrow."You think he’s going to live
forever?If these shadows aren’t changed,
I see boxes of parts in an empty warehouse, lonely and forgotten.Apparently, too many people looked at his
indestructible shell and didn’t know he needed protecting.Maybe they all thought like you, boss."The ghost emphasized the last word, in an
utterance sounding completely like RC, and making Devon
squirm.The ghost couldn't be right
about that, could he?
"Well, I'll drink to
his health, if that will bring
back his formerly genial nature," Bonnie said, lifting her glass."Merry
Christmas."
"Merry
Christmas," they all
toasted.
As Devon and the ghost
looked on, the group ate happily despite the meager meal.
After dinner, Michael
broke out a pitcher of eggnog and
Bonnie produced a plate of cookies decorated with green and red icing.
“Sorry, this is the
only part of the meal made from
scratch.”
"Hey, no need to
apologize," RC said."Christmas is about
friends and
family.I can't tell you how many
times
we didn't have anything but each other when I was growing up.Thanks for making us dinner, Bonnie."He lifted his glass in another toast.
"Here, here," Michael
joined in.
"Thank you for the
wonderful company, even though I couldn't
partake of the meal," Kitt said amiably.
Devon
wished he could
step out of the twilight space that he and the spirit inhabited and
join his
friends.Why had he sent them to Bakersfield?
“All right, so who’s
up for presents?” Michael asked,
glancing at the brightly wrapped packages under the tree.
Bonnie made a show of
checking her watch.“You’re worse than a
child.”
“I know.But I want
my presents.”
“Who says you have
any?” Bonnie asked, grinning.
“I already peaked.I would know what they are, but my esteemed partner here won’t
scan them
for me.”
“I wouldn’t want to
ruin the surprise,” Kitt said, a bit
too innocently.
“Well, I guess I’ll
have to do the honor of passing out
the gifts, since no one else has my sense of curiosity.”
“Oh, is that what you
call it?” Bonnie asked smugly.
Michael picked up the
nearest gift with her name on it and
tossed it at her.
“Hey, that’s fragile,”
Kitt complained.
“I wouldn’t know.You wanted me to be surprised, remember?”
Bonnie rolled her eyes
and then opened her present.It was a
group picture of all of them in a
delicate gold frame.“Thank you,
Kitt.It’s beautiful.”
“You’re welcome,
Bonnie.”
Michael picked out the
next gift and handed it to RC.As he
pulled the gift from its wrapping, he
shook his head and laughed.“All right,
who’s responsible for this?”Devon peered over RC’s shoulder and couldn’t
help
smirking himself.It was a motorcycle
repair manual and the gift hadn’t come with a tag.
Bonnie slyly shifted
her gaze toward Michael.“It was you,
wasn’t it?”
He tried to keep his
grin under wraps, but it proved to be
an impossible task.
“I’m going to run
rings around you and Kitt when I get my
bike back in shape,” RC threatened, grinning.
“Please leave me out
of it, RC.I had nothing to do with
Michael’s ‘gift’.”
“Some day, when you
least expect
it. . .” RC warned.
“Yeah,
yeah.Promises,
promises.”Michael picked up
another gift.“I’ll open this one for you,
buddy.”
Obviously using his
scanners, Kitt said, “RC, thank you
for the customized pedals.”
Michael looked at him
strangely but finished opening the
gift.Inside were brake and accelerator
pedals, but they were all-metal, not the usual rubber-covered variety.There was a non-slip, diamond pattern
covering their upper surfaces.“Oh, very
fashionable, buddy,” Michael observed.
“Yes, I have to say
they do look rather unique.I love them,
RC.Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Kitt.I gotta keep you looking fly,
you know?”
“Not exactly, but I’ll
take your word for it.”
Michael picked out a
gift for himself
next and ripped through the silver wrapping paper to find a soft
leather travel
bag.
“The canvas duffle bag
you keep in Kitt’s trunk has seen
better days, so I thought you could use something a bit nicer,” Bonnie
said as
Michael held up his gift.
“Thank you, Bonnie.Now Kitt won’t be embarrassed to be seen
with me.”
“I wouldn’t go that
far,” Kitt sniped.
After the piles of
discarded paper and ribbons grew, and
the stack of unopened gifts under the tree dwindled to nothing, Bonnie
poured
another round of eggnog.Each casually
sipping from their mugs, they settled back in amiable conversation.RC told them tall tales about how cold it got
on the South Side of Chicago and they each took turns relaying stories
of their
favorite childhood Christmases.
"You know, this just
doesn't seem right without Devon
here," Michael said during a quiet moment.
"Yeah, that would be
great.He could order us around like
servants and
spend the whole time complaining," Bonnie said, her face flush.Devon didn't
know if it was anger or the alcohol.
"The only person he's
hurting by acting like that is
himself," Michael said.
"I beg to differ on
that point," Bonnie said
crossly.
"I'm serious.He's probably sitting in his quarters alone right now.Alone on Christmas.”
"And we're in Bakersfield,"
RC pointed out."I get what you’re sayin’, Michael, but it's easier for you.We have to put up with Mr. Doom and Gloom a
lot more than you do."
"He's right, Michael.You come home between assignments or when you need something for
Kitt.We have to spend at lot more of
our time with him," Bonnie added.
"I know.It's
just that things haven’t been easy for him.I think we should cut him as much slack
as we
can."
“It is
Christmas.We should at least try to be
charitable.” Kitt's voice was quiet and Devon
felt a little ill.He hadn’t realized
just how upset they were with him, and he felt ashamed that Kitt had to
defend
his behavior.Had he really been that
churlish?Had he
really complained
that much?
The spirit motioned to
him that it was time to go.Devon
followed, reluctant to leave the warm coziness of the semi.As they stepped outside, the scenery shifted
again.Devon
was surprised to find himself in a brightly decorated, although
strangely
sterile, hallway.The lights were off,
but the childishly-bright cartoon characters that festooned the walls
were
visible even in the darkness.At the end
of the hallway, Devon could hear
children's
voices.
"Do you recognize this
place?" asked the ghost.
"No.Should
I?"
The ghost raised its
iridescent black eyebrow."Your Foundation
supports it."
"The Foundation
supports a lot of causes.I can't be
expected to remember them
all."
They continued down
the hall which opened into a large
common area filled with chairs and an overstuffed couch.A group of children was sitting under a
beautifully decorated tree, whispering too loudly and giggling.Their smiles were mischievous, but Devon's heart sank.The children were wrapped in colorful robes but several were
bald, and
one had dragged an IV stand behind her.Most of them had deep-set, haunted eyes.
The
Santa Clara
Children's Hospice.
"So you think you've
earned the right to complain
about your lot in life?"
Devon
looked at the
spirit, ashamed.He didn't have the
right, how could he when so many others suffered more than he had?
As he watched, one of
the children pulled a handful of
cookies out of his pocket and set them on the table.A little girl produced an individual carton
of milk and set it lovingly next to the cookies.
"Now we have to
pretend to be sleeping or he won't
come," the little bringer of cookies said.There was a scramble as they all picked spots around the tree
and curled
up to feign sleep.But within minutes
the silence was broken by the uncontainable giggles of children up past
their
bedtime.
Devon
turned back to the
ghost, surprised by the depth of feeling in its face.Over the course of their journey it had grown
older -- lines creased its face and gray touched its temples.Devon’s
attention was drawn to a strange rippling in its duster."Ghost, what is that you have under your
coat?"
The ghost drew back
the edges and Devon
was surprised to see two small children huddled against the ghost's
pant
leg.They were barely clothed and very
dirty.They had the most sickly, pale-gray
coloring.Devon
could see in their faces that they might have been beautiful children,
but
there was a wolfishness to them, a sort of
desperation
that was etched into their scrawny features.
"Are they yours?" Devon
asked, shocked.
"They belong to
mankind.Bitterness and Pride," he said,
pointing
to the girl first and then the boy."Beware the boy especially.He enters in disguise and can do damage well beyond his fragile
appearance."
As the ghost let his
coat fall back, covering the
children, Devon heard a clock
beginning to
toll midnight.He looked to find the
source of the sound, but saw nothing.When he turned back, the ghost was in the final stages of fading
away, going
out like the last embers of a fire.
***
Devon
found himself
outside, although he could still hear the chiming clock bell.It finally struck twelve and he lifted his
eyes to see a solemn phantom, draped and hooded, moving towards him
like mist
along the ground.This ghost didn't look
like anyone he knew, at least as far as he could tell -- its face was
completely shrouded.
The spirit floated
toward him, its long cloak flowing
around its tall form.Nothing of the
spirit was visible except for its robes and an almost skeletal hand
that
emerged from under the shrouds.Devon was filled with dread as the figure
silently
towered over him.He bent down on one
knee, despite his fears that he might not be able to get up again.Something in this mysterious specter's manner
seemed to demand it.
"Am I in the presence
of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" Devon asked.
The spirit did not
answer, but pointed downward with its
hand.
"And you are here to
show me the shadows of things
that will be?"
The specter nodded its
head almost imperceptibly.
Devon
had gotten used to
the other ghosts and had been comforted by their appearances, but this
specter actually
frightened him.
"Ghost," he said, "you
are by far the most intimidating
of all the spirits, but since I know your purpose is to help me, I will
go with
you.But won’t you at least speak to
me?"
It didn’t answer him,
but simply pointed straight ahead.
The phantom moved away
as it had come, leaving Devon to
follow in its wake, as though drawn by an
invisible thread.They moved into the
city, or maybe the city appeared around them, Devon
wasn’t sure.Then suddenly he found
himself on a well-manicured lawn decorated with plastic snowmen and
colorful
Christmas adornments that seemed out of place in the warm climate.There was a knot of men on the lawn, drinking
beer and apparently enjoying the day.The spirit led him in their direction.
“I don’t know the
details, just that he’s dead.”
“When?” asked another.
“Last night, I guess.”
“What did he die of?Was he sick?”
“I have no idea. I
only know that he died and that there’ll be someone else in charge.”
“You
going to the funeral?”
“Yeah,
right.I haven’t seen my family in
weeks so I think
I’ll ‘mourn’ his passing by taking the day off.”
There was a chuckle
that rippled through the group.
“You know I’ve never
actually met him,” said one man.“I can’t
say that I feel like I’ve missed
much.I hear all he did was bark orders
and look down his nose at you.”
One of the men nodded.“He wasn’t always like that.I
met him many years ago and he was pleasant enough.Not the type I’d hang out with though.”
Another chuckle ripped
through the group.Devon
didn’t
know who these men were, although at least a couple of them seemed
vaguely
familiar.
The spirit pointed
again and they left the group of men
behind. The city that sprung up around them this time was of a less
desirable
nature.It was seedy and they were
surrounded by the kind of places that were sure to draw a less than
savory
element.Devon
would have been afraid for his safety if he hadn't known that he was
invisible
to the inhabitants.There were people
lying
in dirty alleyways, resting against pieces of garbage, and covering
their faces
with old newspapers.Devon
felt himself straighten involuntarily, his discomfort transforming into
a desire
to appear above it all.
As he watched, the
phantom led him into a ramshackle pawn
shop, where he saw a woman in worn clothes heave a bag onto the counter.“I’ve got some more stuff for you, Joe.”
The man behind the
counter was slimy in Devon’s
estimation.He was high strung, his face
twitchy.His hair was slicked back and
as he reached out to open the bag, Devon
noticed faded green tattoos on his fingers.
“More from the guy
you’re supposed to be nursing?”
“I ain’t a nurse.Just the nurse's aid.”She
shrugged.“He’s dead.He won’t need it
anymore.”
“So the old coot
finally kicked the bucket, ay?”
“Bout
time.They didn’t pay me enough to
put up with him,
so the least he could do was give me some of his things for the
trouble.”
“It ain’tgonna
to be reported as stolen, is it?”
“Nah.Only a couple of people came to see him in
the end and they didn’t stay long.He
scared everyone away, except us who were paid to be around him, and
even the
nurse stayed as far away as she could.He took his last gasp with no one but me in the room with him.Besides, I didn’t take anything that would be
recognizable if someone did come for it.He had more heirlooms than anybody has a right to clutter their
house
with, but I didn’t take none of them.”
Devon
recoiled at the
woman’s callousness.He made a mental
note to stay out of nursing homes if this was the kind of ‘care’
provided.
The man smirked as he
drew out the contents of the
bag.There were very nice shirts and silk
ties in the mix.The man held up a pair
of wingtips that looked like they had only been worn a few times.There were several very nice leather belts,
and an expensive set of cufflinks.
“He won’t be needing all this
stuff where he is,” the woman said and the pawnshop owner smirked again.
Devon
was about to leave
the pawn shop in disgust when the scene changed yet again and he found
himself
in a lushly decorated room.It only took
him a minute to realize that it was a funeral parlor.There was an expensive-looking casket at the
front of the room and flowers everywhere, but there was no one near the
casket.There were a few funeral home
employees standing around, but no mourners.He heard one of them saying to another, “The flowers are all
from
companies, and only a few people have been through here today.”
The phantom pointed
toward the casket, but Devon couldn’t
bring himself to go see the person
inside.He was filled with unaccustomed
dread at the very idea of looking at the poor man.And he was starting to feel queasy at the
callous, cavalier attitude of everyone he had encountered on this
spirit’s
journey.“Can you show me no tenderness
connected with a death?” he pleaded with the spirit. He
had contemplated his own mortality and
wasn’t afraid to die, but all this ugliness was getting to him.
The specter pulled its
arms in across its chest.The hood that
covered its face slowly moved
up and down in a graceful, but ominous bob.Devon had been getting used to
the
scene changes, but this time he was not expecting to be somewhere
familiar.He was surprised to find both
himself and the
specter in the semi.Bonnie was sitting
at her customary place in front of the computer, but Devon
was shocked to see tears in her eyes.He
immediately started to worry that maybe the body in the casket . . .But no, that couldn’t be.
As Devon watched the
scene in front of him, there was a sallow knock at the semi’s door, and
Michael
slowly entered.Devon
was stunned at his appearance.He was
hunched over and his eyes were red as though he had been crying too.Bonnie looked up when he entered and quickly
crossed the room to slide her arm around his waist.
“I turned in my
resignation,” he said quietly.
“So did I.”She dropped her
head and leaned into him,
resting against his chest.“I wish there
were some other way.”
Devon
was stunned.Why would Michael and Bonnie
leave the
Foundation?And what had happened to
upset them so much?
“There wasn’t.There’s
no way I can stay here.Not after what
they did.”
Bonnie nodded mutely.
“I know this sounds
crazy, but I went for a drive along
the beach, thinking it would help clear my mind.”
“I’m sorry,” she said
quietly, hugging him tighter.
“All I could think
about was how he used to complain about
the sand.”Michael’s voice cracked and Devon looked away from the quaver in his chin.
“You know he loved to
go driving with you.”
Michael sighed deeply
and rested his cheek on Bonnie’s head.“Yeah, I know,” he said.“I miss
him already.”
“So do I,” she said, sounding
just as miserable.
“I wish there was more
we could have done.”
“Michael, you know we
did everything we could.There weren’t any
options left.”
“I know, I just. . . I
just can’t believe he’s gone.”
The semi was gaily
decorated for Christmas, but the
service bay was empty.Devon
assumed that Michael was talking about Kitt, but why wasn’t he there?What could possibly have happened to him?
“I keep thinking we
didn’t do enough.We should have stolen
him, taken him across
the border or something.”
“You know he didn’t
want that.He didn’t want you to live the
life of a
fugitive.He never would have gone.”She looked up at him and paused a minute
before continuing.“Besides, we wouldn’t
have been able to keep him operating long without the Foundation.It just would have been slow and painful for
all of us.”
“But we should have tried!We just let them take
him away from us!”Devon
winced
at the bitterness in Michael’s voice.He
saw that Bonnie reacted to it as well.
“It was out of our
hands, Michael.”
He pushed away from
her, and began to stalk around the
semi, obviously getting more and more agitated with each step."They tossed him away like he was some
outdated piece of junk!I just can’t . .
.I just can’t wrap my head around that!Why couldn’t they see how special he
was?”Michael paused in his rant and Devon recognized the look in his eyes.It was that flinty determination that was so
uniquely Michael.“I’m done.I gave my life for Wilton’s
dream, but this is not that
dream.The Foundation is dead.And if I ever have the chance to take down
this mockery of it, you can bet I will.I can’t stay here for another minute.I’m sorry, Bonnie.I’ll talk to
you later."He heaved in a last
breath and stormed out of the semi, leaving her to stare after him,
looking
lost and broken.
In the next instant, Devon
found himself and the spirit out on the Foundation’s grounds.Devon was
boiling over with rage at what he had just seen.What
could have possibly happened to the
Foundation to make Michael despise it so thoroughly?He was going to go to his office to find out
what the devil was going on here.But
the spirit was moving the opposite direction.
“Spirit,
stop.I need to see what changes
have occurred in
this future.”
The spirit just
pointed its pale finger in the direction
it was walking.
“But the estate is
this way,” Devon
beseeched.Still the spirit's hand
pointed, unchanged.
Devon
hurried away from
the specter to look through the French doors into his office.But something wasn’t right.The furniture and decorations were not the
same.The figure in the chair wasn’t
him.He turned to the phantom
questioningly but the spirit just pointed and continued on its way.
Confused and angry, Devon
hurried after it, intending to give this taciturn companion
a piece of his mind, but almost instantly they were at a foreboding
wrought
iron gate.Devon’s
words died in his throat as he realized they were entering a cemetery. The spirit stood among the graves and pointed
down to one.Devon
advanced toward it slowly, filled with a deep dread.
“Spirit, before I read
the inscription on this stone,
please answer me one question.Are these
the shadows of what will be, or are they only the shadows of what may be?”
The ghost simply
pointed to the headstone.
“Men’s actions
foreshadow certain ends, but if the actions
are changed will the ends then change as well?Why else would you show me all this?”
The spirit was as
immovable as ever.
Devon
crept towards the
grave and, following the pale finger, read the name on the headstone.
Devon
Miles
“I am the man who died
so pitifully?” he asked, lowering
himself to the ground in a state of shock.
The spirit pointed
from the grave to him and back again.
“Oh no,” he said
drawing his hands up to his face.“Spirit,”
he said, clutching at its
robe.“I am not the man I was.I have learned the lessons you all have
offered.Why show me this if I am past
all hope?”
For the first time the
hand appeared to shake.
“Good spirit, please
tell me that I can still make changes
to these things you’ve shown me!I will
honor Christmas in my heart and keep it all year.I
will bestow kindness and respect on my
fellow man.I will not forget the
lessons taught by the spirits of the Past, the Present, and the Future.Please tell me that I may yet wipe away the
writing on this stone!”
Devon
reached out to try
to take the apparition’s outstretched hand, but the spirit pulled it
away.It moved off a few paces and then Devon observed an alteration in the phantom’s
hood and
robe.The spirit began to shrink, and
collapse
until it was nothing more than a thin wraith.Then it disappeared entirely.
***
Devon
lurched forward, trembling
and disoriented.It took a moment before
he could make sense of his surroundings.The bedpost was his own.The bed was his own.He was safe in his own room!Devon was
infused with the happiness of a man given new life.He had time to make amends, to live these lessons
to their fullest.
He scrambled out of
bed, his sore back forgotten entirely.“Oh Wilton,
thank you!Thank you for showing me
the way.Thank you for bringing these
spirits to me.I will not forget them!”
Whisking himself out
of the bedroom, he hurried into the
main room of his suite.He spotted the
tea kettle that had wailed and the door by which Wilton’s ghost had entered.It all seemed so real to him.He was giddy with the possibilities.But
what day was it, he wondered suddenly?How
long had he been in the company of the spirits?He
heard the peal of church bells out his
window and was filled with a lighthearted glee.Maybe he wasn’t too late.Maybe
he could start mending his ways right now, with this very Christmas.
He quickly struggled
into his casual clothes – pressed
pants, a button down shirt, and a silk neckerchief.He rushed out of his suite and down the
stairs, his cane clicking furiously against the marble floor.The common rooms of the estate were empty,
but he needed to know what day it was.
The lab -- there was
always someone there.Hurrying down the
hallway, Devon
almost collided with the lab door as it flew open, nearly knocking him
off his
feet.The young tech who
emerged from the lab froze, her eyes wide with fear.
"Oh! I'm
sorry, sir, I didn't realize . . ."
"That's quite all
right," Devon
said, too giddy with holiday cheer to stop and think about how a fall
could have
further harmed his condition.He was too
happy to have found someone."What
day is it?" he asked.
The tech stared at him
a moment, dumbfounded."Sir?"
He paused to read the
surname stitched into the pocket of
her coveralls."What day is it
today, Ms. Knightshade?"
"Sir, it's Christmas
Eve."
"Then I'm not too
late!" he crowed.His mind was racing to
formulate a plan.He was already making a
mental list of tasks
he needed to accomplish when a question popped into his mind and
interrupted
him."What are you doing here on
Christmas Eve?" he asked the tech.
"You said it was
mandatory that there be at least two
technicians covering every shift over the holidays, sir," she stuttered
uncertainly.
"Forget what I said.Go home.Go home."He made shooing motions with his hand."Spend
Christmas with your family."
An uncertain smile
spread across her face."Thank you, sir."The tech quickly turned to leave, obviously
not wanting to give him a chance to change his mind.
"Wait," Devon
called after her.
She stopped and turned
around slowly, a look of dread on
her face.
"Call the others. Tell them not to come in -- today or
tomorrow.It’s Christmas!"
Her face could barely
contain the smile that burst across
her features."Yes, sir!" she
said brightly, and raced down the hallway.
Devon
went back to his
suite to collect a few things.He had
errands to run.
***
Devon
hurried along the
street, weighed down with brightly colored shopping bags.Despite the load, he managed to tip his head
to everyone he passed, saying “Good morning,” and “Merry Christmas to
you.” He couldn’t remember having been
this happy in
a long time.As he passed the Salvation
Army bell ringer, he took out a hundred, rolled it up and stuffed it
into the
pot.He had not taken the limo today,
having sent the driver home to be with his family.As a result, he had had to make several trips
to his car in order to pack in all his last minute gifts.But even the nagging in his back couldn’t
slow him down today.No time.He had places to go and one more errand to
run.Now where was that caterer
located?He just hoped he would be able
to get what he needed in time.
***
"Michael, Devon's
car is approaching," Kitt said with a hint of trepidation.
Michael let out a
frustrated sigh and glanced around the
semi's service bay.They had just
finished decorating, and Bonnie was heating up the plates of ham in the
semi’s
small kitchen.There was no way to hide
the fact that they were having a Christmas party.
“Maybe he came to wish
us merry Christmas,” RC said,
without much conviction.
“I doubt it.” Bonnie had obviously made the same mental
calculations that Michael had.
“It’s Christmas, I
don’t care if he wants to sit and do
paperwork at the table and scowl, but I’m not going to let him ruin
it,”
Michael said, defiantly lighting the green and red candles that Bonnie
had put on
the table.
They waited nervously
until finally they heard Devon’s
convertible approaching.The engine slowed
to an idle and then shut
off entirely.They heard the crunches of
his footsteps before the door at the front of the truck opened, and Devon appeared.He
was the picture of seriousness and decorum with one hand held behind
his back,
and the other resting on his cane as he surveyed the semi.Michael waited as Devon
eyed the garland that was hung in broad sweeps of green along the sides
of the
truck.He bristled as Devon
raised an eyebrow at the small Christmas tree they had set up in the
corner.
“I see you’ve been
busy,” he said eyeing the paper plates
of food that had been set out on the table.
“Devon,
we finished the
case, it’s Christmas, let’s at least have a nice dinner together.”Michael took a step closer to him, hoping
that Devon would get the idea that he
wasn’t
going to stand for anything less.
“Hmmm.I assume you haven’t finished your report?”
“Boss, it’s Christmas, who’s
going to look at the report?” RC tried.
Devon
raised an
eyebrow.“Indeed.Indeed,
you’re right, Reginald.”
RC stared back at Devon, obviously
not quite sure what to make of what he had just said.He looked like he was waiting for the other
shoe to drop.
“I was simply making
sure that you weren’t allowing
something like superfluous paperwork to get in the way of a Christmas
party,”
he said, suddenly breaking into a smile.
They all stared at him
dumbfounded.
“Besides, you still
have some more decorating to do,” he
said, producing a beautiful star from behind his back.“My dear boy, would you mind adding this to
your tree?” he asked Michael.“You are a
bit taller than I am.”
Michael studied his
friend and mentor, still not quite
sure if he was joking.He carefully took
the star from Devon’s outstretched
hand and
went to put it on the tree.He glanced
at Kitt, giving him a look that he hoped
said ‘scan
him.’
“Ahh,
that looks lovely,
wouldn’t you say?” Devon asked as
Michael
plugged the star into the lights.As
they all continued to stare at him, Devon
gestured to RC with his cane.“Reginald,
I have a few other things out in the car, if you wouldn’t mind helping
me.”
“Uh, sure, boss,” he
said, glancing back and forth between
Michael and Bonnie uncertainly before following Devon
outside.
“That is
him,
right?” Michael asked the minute Devon
was out
the door.
“Yes, of course,
Michael.And I see nothing wrong with him -- medically speaking, anyway.”
A minute later the
door opened again and RC bounded into
the semi carrying a giant turkey in a large metal tray.He was beaming from ear to ear.“You
are notgonna believe all the stuff he’s got
crammed into
that car!”
Michael and Bonnie
gaped at the enormous bird and then
turned to look at each other.Devon followed RC carrying a stand and butane
lantern.“Bonnie if you wouldn’t mind
clearing a spot.This will need to heat
up again, I’m afraid – it was a bit of a drive to get here.”
Bonnie quickly moved
her tools off the bench in the service
bay as Devon and RC set up the
caterer’s
stand.
“Well don’t just stand
there,” Devon
said to Michael.“There’s plenty more to
bring in.”
RC and Michael went
back out to the car as Bonnie lit the
lantern under the turkey.
“I hope you don’t
mind, my dear.I’m sure the meal you made
would have been
wonderful.I don’t mean to circumvent
your cooking.”
“Devon,
it’s deli ham heated in the microwave.This is . . .” she glanced down at the
lavish, golden-brown bird.“This is
wonderful.”
“Merry Christmas,” he
said, touching her elbow.“I hope you
don’t mind an old man intruding
on your celebration.”
“You’re not
intruding,” she said, impulsively giving him a
hug.“You’re always welcomed, Devon.”
Michael and RC
returned shortly, Michael carrying two more
caterer’s trays and RC balancing a tower of wrapped gifts.
"So boss, what
happened?" RC asked.
"Whatever do you mean,
Reginald?"Devon
couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have a little fun at the mechanic’s
expense.
"Ahhh. . ."
"He means your
newfound good cheer," Michael
said coming to RC’s rescue.
Devon
looked around at
the people who had truly become his family and had to bite the inside
of his
cheek to keep his emotions in check.They had put up with so much from him, how could he possibly
make
amends?"I was reminded of what's
truly important, Reginald.And I'm sorry
for the way I've been treating you all.I hope that you can forgive me."
"Of course, Devon,"
Michael said and reached out to clap the older man on the shoulder.“We know things haven’t been easy for you.”
“Thank you for your
understanding, but I’ve behaved
terribly.All I can do is promise you
that I will do better in the future.”
In the moment of
silence that followed, Devon
vowed that no matter how bad his health got, he would never again push
away the
people he loved.He also vowed that he
would always keep Christmas in his heart.It truly was a wonderful time of the year.
RC popped open a bottle of champaign,
and poured everyone a glass.
"I may not have a
glass to raise,
but I would like to at least make a toast,” Kitt said.“Merry Christmas to all of
us, each and every one."
The service bay of the
semi was filled with smiles, the
warm chiming of touched glasses, and the beauty of heart-filled voices
as they
echoed Kitt’s toast.