Yuletide Knights 3

by Johnny Miles

  A veil of silence fell over them once more.

  “What happened to her?”

  Overcome with guilt, Griffin swallowed hard and looked away, horrified by the memory Krampus had pulled from his mind. His vision blurred. He felt his mind going down that familiar path, the dark road that had become his constant companion and torment during his sorrows.

  What kind of a monster am I? Who kills his own mother?

  Startled out of his reverie, Griffin stared at his father. The man had laid a hand on Griffin’s shoulder. He looked at his father’s hand, wrinkled and misshapen with arthritis. He glanced up at the man, looked into his eyes.

  “I know I haven’t been there for you, Griffin. You or your mother. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, when we get out of here…I’d-I’d really love the chance to get to know you. That is, assuming you’ll accept me…as your father.”

  Not thinking, wanting, or even planning to, Griffin leaned his head to one side. His cheek brushed against his father’s hand, and he felt himself a little boy again. And if he allowed himself just a moment—a single minute in which he let the past slip away—Griffin saw himself as a boy of seven, when he used to dream and pray and wonder what it would be like to be consoled by his father. By a loving, caring, nurturing man who accepted Griffin for who and what he was. This, now, was what it would have felt like.

  Griffin sobbed. Gavin hugged and held him tight while the well of pent-up emotion exorcised the demon of loss and regret.

  Griffin didn’t know how long he sat there, holding Jackson while Gavin held him, rocking from time to time, feeling his dirt and his grime, his tears and love, comforting in a way that felt oddly spiritual and emotionally healing.

  * * * *

  Once they’d gotten past the first few inches of hardened, compact dirt, digging went faster. Kris was reminded of the day he’d wandered off on his own and found himself on the beach. He couldn’t have been more than four, maybe five. How big the world had seemed then. How vastly frightening and beautiful!

  The ocean, an immense wet blanket of blue, and a sky that went on forever with barely a whisper of cloud lulled him into an uncertain peace. In awe of the place, for he’d never seen the beach before, he lay down on the cool, damp sand at the water’s edge. There, while the surf ebbed and flowed around him and he ran his fingers through the coarse grit beneath him, Kris had fallen asleep.

  It was his last and only surviving memory of Africa, before he was captured and thrown into darkness, shackled with nearly a hundred of his villagers below deck of the ship that would take him to the New World.

  Painfully surprised at the sudden memory, Kris buried it where it belonged. In the past. Then he tossed the bone he’d been using aside, opting to use his hands instead. He dug faster. Deeper. He needed to get out. They all needed to get out. They couldn’t stay a moment longer!

  After a moment, Kris stopped and sat back. His heart still heavy with the memory from his distant past, even despite pushing it away, he listened. Aside from the sound of Nicolai digging—whisk, whisk, whisk!—Kris heard labored breathing. Snoring. Muttering. Farting. He could even feel the approaching insanity for those who hadn’t yet crossed that threshold, and he shuddered. He felt their bodies deteriorating, organs failing from lack of food, water, and movement.

  And the incredible weight of hopelessness.

  Kris wondered, even if he and Nicolai managed to escape, if they managed to free the others, how many would actually make it out alive? And if they were lucky enough to escape, where would they go? What would they do? Krampus would never let them out alive.

  An image came to Kris suddenly, accompanied by a sharp pain that pierced through his skull and pulsed in his brain.

  “Aaarrrgggh!” Kris clamped the heels of his palms to his temples and squeezed as if that might shut out the dull throbbing that remained, the horror surrounding him.

  As though he were physically there, Kris drank in the debauchery of creatures fucking—no, not fucking, Kris told himself. And definitely not making love, for there was no love in the room. Only the rush of adrenaline and the mental high of the strong preying on the weak, humiliating them into submission, aroused by their fear.

  Ogres had lit a bonfire in the center of the room to spit-roast a unicorn for a feast and satisfy their gluttony. One of them shoved the unicorn’s horn up the ass of another, and a wave of raucous laughter echoed through the hall.

  Still-winged fairies flapped frantically, crushing one of their own as they attempted to break free from the cage where they’d been imprisoned.

  To his left beside Krampus and Black Pete, the minotaurs writhed and undulated like football players in a tackle. Beneath them, Bucket cried. Kris had never heard such a sound, and it wrenched his heart.

  “Kris? What is it?” Nicolai whispered.

  Kris tried to focus. He saw Nicolai half in, half out of the hole they’d started. At the same time, Kris felt himself somewhere else, looking through another’s eyes.

  “Kris!” Nicolai now stood before him, yet Kris remained in the Great Hall, unable to return, much to his dismay.

  Another stab of pain made Kris wince, and tears made his vision double, then triple. Connected with Krampus somehow, Kris saw through Krampus’s eyes. He rose from his throne and clambered toward the birdcage, where the fairies began flapping their wings in earnest. In unison, they cried out in fear as Krampus opened the cage and reached in to grab one of the creatures.

  A lucky few escaped, fluttering high and away, toward the dark ceiling. But Krampus didn’t care. He had a plump and juicy fairy in his fingers. Krampus slammed the cage shut, squashing another like a bug before shoving the one in hand into his mouth. The fairies who dared to watch screamed.

  But Krampus’s pain lessened ever so slightly. And that was when Kris knew why Magicals had been disappearing.

  Nicolai shook Kris, and although Kris looked into the former Santa’s eyes, he was still in the Great Hall, seeing through Krampus’s eyes as Black Pete spoke.

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “It’s time,” Krampus rumbled in reply. Except Kris didn’t hear the words as much as he felt them. “Send for…send for that black abomination.”

  Nicolai slapped Kris, and the connection to Krampus was lost. Kris scrambled away. On all fours, he leaned over the edge of the hole and dug with a frenzied panic.

  “Kris! What did you see?” Nicolai placed a hand on Kris’s shoulder.

  Kris stopped. He looked up at Nicolai. He swallowed.

  “Krampus.” Kris sucked air sharply into his lungs and let it out in a rush.

  “What about him?” Nicolai pressed.

  “He’s…he’s coming for me.”

  In the silence that followed, Kris thought he heard someone approach.

  “Then there’s no time left,” Nicolai whispered. “If you saw through Krampus’s eyes, he no doubt saw through yours. He knows what you’re doing.”

  Nicolai scanned the cell, clearly looking for something. When he found it, he stepped away and stooped to pick it up. He drew near and handed the halved femur to Kris.

  “Yes. Good idea. A weapon,” Kris muttered and took the femur in hand.

  “It’s not for them.” Nicolai clasped his fingers around Kris’s knuckles and gave a sad smile. Kris furrowed his brow. When he realized what Nicolai was suggesting, he pulled away.

  “No!” Kris shook his head, his mind racing, heart pounding.

  “Yes!” Nicolai hissed as he grabbed the femur tightly and explained. “Now listen to me. Listen well. Krampus might have stripped us of our powers, of the essence that makes us the Magical beings we are, but the one thing he hasn’t been able to take…the one thing he doesn’t realize some of us still possess, even in the darkest moments of our capture…is hope and love.”

  “Yes, I know but—” Kris tried to pull back, but Nicolai remained firm.

  “Use this last bit of Magic, Kris. Use it and get out
of here. Free your people. Our people. Don’t let them die here.”

  “But Nicolai. I can’t… There must be another way!”

  Nicolai stepped back, in a huff Kris thought, then threw himself onto Kris. Startled, he let out a scream, but his throat refused to work. Nicolai slowly withdrew from the broken femur he’d impaled himself on. In horror, unable to look away, Kris watched Nicolai reach into the gash in his own chest and yanked out his heart.

  “Take it!” Nicolai whispered, fading. Already the glow of his life force was ebbing.

  “Nicolai…why’d you… I can’t—”

  “Don’t be a pussy!” Nicolai thrust his heart at Kris.

  A scurry of footsteps removed thought and doubt from Kris’s mind. He reacted without hesitation, reaching for the offered heart a split second before Nicolai collapsed to the ground. Kris did his best to ignore the body, focusing on his own impending doom.

  He raised the heart to his mouth, and although he made a face, devoured it whole. Still chewing on the fibrous, almost gristly muscle, Kris felt a sudden rush of emotion and memory. Nicolai’s life absorbed into his own like photos in an album: his first love, his first kiss, scrapes and bruises from the many fights he’d been in, the surge of power!

  Kris stood. He listened. He had but seconds left.

  Placing the tip of his finger to the back of the lock in the gate, Kris popped it open. He pushed the squealing door aside. In the corridor, he stopped and listened once more. He turned left, his back to whatever was coming. He snatched a torch from its sconce on the sandstone wall.

  Already there was more life in the corridor than there had been mere seconds before. Prisoners stood looking out, aware, as if they were coming back to life.

  A sudden rush of wind filled the narrow, rounded corridor, nearly extinguishing his torch. Kris held his breath and gasped a second later when the face of a demon appeared before him. Without thinking, he reacted. He drove the broken femur still in hand up into the creature’s jaw and through its brain. The broken end splintered inside the demon’s head. In that unholy moment of death, Kris saw its life force, his energy mist into the atmosphere.

  Do I dare?

  But he didn’t wait for his conscious to reply. More demons approached. Kris inhaled deeply. His body convulsed, and something fired in his brain, ancient and primal, as he absorbed the demon’s magic. All shred of humanity left Kris as he continued on sheer instinct alone, to punch, kick, and stab at the demons and ghouls who dared run toward him.

  He fought his way along the corridor, releasing all those he could while leaving a trail of dead bodies behind him. He was tempted for a brief moment to chase after the creatures he’d set free, but something held him back. Something vague, yet familiar. Something that sounded like a name. A name that sounded like…

  “Kris? Kris!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, backs to the wall. As they listened to Jackson’s steady breathing, Griffin sat up, suddenly alert.

  “Did you hear that?” Griffin cocked his head.

  “Heard what?” Gavin replied.

  “I dunno. It was like…bone snapping.”

  Gavin shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Griffin listened a moment longer. He thought he heard a soft brushing, like a cat covering his business in a litter box, but couldn’t be sure. He sighed and relaxed again, mellow in the presence of his father despite their surroundings, the snoring, the farting, and disquieting murmurs of emotional pain and scars that came from the other cells.

  “So, this really doesn’t bother you, then?” Griffin asked. All these years of wishing his father would appear, and he never once stopped to think that maybe his father, Santa Claus or not, might have rejected him for being gay.

  “What? That you love another man?”

  Griffin remained silent as his father chortled.

  “I appreciate you might’ve been concerned, but…that’s not how Magicals operate. That fear and worry about being outed or discriminated against? That’s a human thing. Those types of labels don’t apply to us.”

  “But…aren’t we human?”

  “Yes, but we’re also Magicals. Which gives us the knowledge, the power to transcend the weak and narrow-minded, those small of heart who think they’re better than anyone else because they pass laws to prohibit what they know in their hearts can never be altered. It doesn’t matter if you’re black or white, rich or poor, human or animal, straight or gay, because Magical or not, love has been and always will be love. And that’s all there is to it. The only differences that set us apart are the ones on the surface. Below the surface we’re all the same. A heart. Bones. Lungs. Organs. Blood.”

  Griffin sighed with a quiet satisfaction. Silence fell upon them once more before Gavin spoke again. “How did you two meet?”

  “Believe it or not, at a bar. In Fort Lauderdale. I was at the Elbo Room, and he walked in.”

  “That brings back memories. Had a few drinks there once. My Elf and I, we took a little holiday. Jackson came with us. I’d promised his father I’d take care of him. Jackson didn’t know that bit though. It wasn’t long after a grueling Christmas run. I remember looking out at that amazing Fort Lauderdale blue sky, the clear, blue-green water. Then your mother ran through the protective bubble we’d created to help mask us while protecting Jackson from the heat.”

  “Yeah. So he mentioned.”

  “She shouldn’t have been able to though.” Gavin scratched his head and furrowed his brow, lost in thought. “She should’ve just run right past us. Even if she was running straight toward us, for the small patch of sand we’d staked out, any other person would have dodged off to the side and kept on running. That’s how the bubble works.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is that?”

  “Magicals can divert attention,” Gavin explained. “Some through spells. Others are born with that ability. Human nature takes care of the rest. We see what we want to see. We hear what we want to hear. Even when the most obvious of things stands before us. Except for some reason, and this is extremely rare, like with your mother, non-Magicals sometimes see us the way we truly are.”

  “So, what you’re saying is…one person might see me as…”

  “A skinny Asian Santa,” Gavin offered when words failed Griffin. “But another person will see you as the old, fat, and jolly Santa that Madison Avenue started pimping to the masses during the 1940s.”

  Griffin thought a moment.

  “What about Kris? When people look at him, do they see a black man?”

  “They might.” Gavin shrugged. “They might not. Though I’m inclined to believe that for the most part, people don’t see him for who he is since the fat, old, and jolly thing started while he was in his post. Before me. He told me the story once. He’d been delivering presents to an Atlanta family and was seen by the child of a soft drink executive. The following Christmas they’d plastered pictures of a new Santa image drinking bottled soda. And that’s what the majority of the world knows today.”

  Gavin grew silent. Griffin saw the distant look on the man’s face and knew his father had once again lost himself in his haunted past. Jackson whimpered and shifted, as though haunted by his own past. Suddenly, Griffin had an uncomfortable thought.

  “I probably shouldn’t ask, but…” Griffin started with some trepidation. “You and Jackson… You weren’t…?”

  “What? Griffin! No, of course not.” Gavin seemed appalled.

  “Thanks goodness. That would have been too weird.”

  “Besides. I prefer women. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been with other men. I did go to college, you know. I had a couple of encounters with tipsy frat boys in my day.”

  “Okay, okay!” Griffin threw his hands in the air and made a face. “I don’t need to hear the details. Magical or not.”

  “What? You don’t want to hear your old man experimented with other men?” Gavin laughed. “Guys do that, you know. Ever
y once in a blue, even if they don’t talk about it. Buddies just gotta help a buddy out and—”

  “Eeewww! Stop. Nobody wants to imagine their parents doing anything sexual. Especially for fun.”

  Gavin shrugged. This time it was Griffin who became silent, his mind distant.

  “What was that?” Griffin asked when he realized his father had made a comment.

  “I said, I think he did it to piss his father off. Jackson. There’s always been a strange current between those two. A love/hate thing.”

  “I don’t understand. Did what?”

  “Ran off to Fort Lauderdale with me. Why else would a child of winter, one who wouldn’t do well for a long period of time in such a climate, go there, if not to piss off a parent?”

  Griffin mulled over his father’s words.

  “No. I don’t think it was that. I mean, maybe he was there with you to piss his father off, but…it wasn’t just that. I think he was running away.” Griffin felt his father watching him, but he wouldn’t look the man in the eye.

  “What makes you say that?” Gavin asked.

  Griffin shrugged and gazed at Jackson, who stirred.

  Griffin dropped his voice down to a whisper. “Let’s just say I recognize now what I see so clearly.”

  “And that is?”

  “I’ve been running away. My whole life. I’d begun to think Mom was crazy. It was one thing for her to tell me Santa Claus was my father. I was a kid then. Then I grew up. When she still insisted, I started to think she’d lost her mind. I didn’t know how to cope.”

  “But you now see she was telling the truth.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t just the Santa Claus thing. There were other things. She started forgetting things. Names. Places. The word for an item. Once, when she was clipping coupons, she asked me to pass her ‘that thing you cut paper with.’ ‘You mean the scissors?’ I asked her.

  “She’d hide things. Or at least, put them away for safekeeping. Then she couldn’t remember where she’d put them. I’d always be able to find it, whatever it was. It was weird. Like I was in her head or something. Her keys, her purse. Her wallet. Once she misplaced the money for the mortgage and utilities. Four hundred dollars cash. She was frantic. She accused one of our neighbors of breaking in to steal the money, along with a brand-new pair of cheap house slippers she’d bought.