by Cat Connor
Tinsel, streamers, and emotional scars
All mix and mingle on Christmas day
The angels of death watch me play
Christmas time is here again
Pick up the knife and count to ten
Candy canes and mirrored balls
Blood drips down the painted walls
Santa Claus and reindeer shit
Elves, toys, and their little bits
Gather around the Yuletide log
I wish that I had become a frog
Christmas time is hear again
Pick up the knife and count to ten
Popcorn threaded on pieces of string
Stabbing people is my thing.
I looked at my hand. No knife.
Cassie noticed. “Problem?”
“Nope.”
“Good, figured you and I could have a drink while the men folk do the Santa/gift thing.” She led the way through a door into a smaller room with a bar that housed decidedly adult beverages. “Eggnog?”
“If it’s not the non-alcoholic one you have out there for the kids.” I nodded my head to the outer room. I could hear Caine’s gruff voice call out the first name.
“Pretty sure this stuff is made with Irish whiskey.”
“Then, yes please!”
I perched on a stool and took the offered cup.
“Merry Christmas,” Cassie said taking a sip.
I followed suit. It was hard to remember a time when I actually meant those words. All was quiet where we were, apart from the occasional squeal of delight as gifts were received and the wrapping subsequently torn to pieces. Sounds of life that filtered through the wall.
“The kids are having fun,” she commented.
“That is the point.” I took another hefty swig of eggnog. “How’d you get Caine to do the Santa thing?”
“That wasn’t me, he volunteered.”
Ah, there we have it, the Christmas miracle.
“Christmas makes people do weird things,” I replied.
“It brings out the best in people,” Cassie said.
Not necessarily. Christmas’s when we were growing up were interesting. Ones when dad was deployed off shore were horrible. At least when he was home we had Christmas. Mom didn’t always attend. Some years she was in hospital, others she was off her meds and gone both were preferable to the Christmas’s she came too.
“You’re such a Pollyanna.” My drink was gone.
“It’s not a bad thing to see rainbows, you know.” Cassie’s voice held promise and even joy.
She saw rainbows where ever she went and it astounded me.
A social worker who still believed in her ability to change the world one kid at a time, after everything she’d seen. She still believed people could change and she still believed in happy ever after.
“I see rainbows. I just don’t let them color my world.”
“And I do?”
“Oh yeah, you are fully rose tinted.” I smiled. “It’s what we love about you the most.”
“I see the good.” She started to defend herself then realized I wasn’t picking. I was just stating what I saw. “You see the bad… we’re two halves.”
I poured another drink for us both. Mine disappeared a little too fast.
“Two halves make a whole,” I replied. “Ying and Yang.”
She gave me a hug and refilled my drink. “You and I need to talk about Carla.”
“Is she all right?”
Cassie smiled. “She’s wonderful, as you know.” Her serious face replaced the smile. “I want to discuss her future. Your future.”
Oh here we go. The hard sell for Christmas. Maybe if I mentioned the butterflies that have become part of my life she’d re-think her plans to create a family of Carla and me. I watched as a silver butterfly floated near the ceiling. It soared effortlessly. One by one more joined in and as I watched enthralled, they spelled out, ‘What do you got?’ I got fuc’n nothing, that’s what I’ve got. Just like that, the magic butterflies filled my head with the name I’d been looking for all year. Unsure reality becomes a crazy glued dream.
“Ellie?”
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How much did you have to drink tonight?”
I grinned. “I’m not drunk, I was thinking about something.”
From the other room I heard music.
Recognizable.
I looked around for an exit.
Recognizable and familiar the music wrapped the past in a silvery glow. It pulled at me and made me want to stay but there was something I needed to do.
“How do I get out without going through there?” I asked pointing at the source of the music. I could barely believe I was going to walk away without so much as poking my nose in to see the talent.
“You can’t leave!” Cassie was horrified. “Carla was looking forward to spending time with you tonight.”
“She’ll be fine with Sam and Lee. I have to do something.”
She pointed to a long curtain. “There is a door behind that; it goes to a hallway that leads to either the stage or the front lobby.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back. You’ll see.”
I took off at a fast walk, as I hit the lobby I checked my hip.
Relief stormed me as I realized I was still wearing my gun. Always good to be prepared.
I left the building and ran to my car. The cold air and the eggnog combined to form a potent mixture. Probably the two wines I had at home didn’t help. I wasn’t driving anywhere.
Mac’s voice repeated some lines from an old poem in my head, “We sometimes start over, a new life begun. Nothing is permanent, everything changes, it’s the way that it is as life rearranges.”
It didn’t make a lot of sense. I slid into the passenger seat and made a call.
“Lee?”
“Chicky, problem? You don’t seem to be in here. Thought you liked this band?”
“I do, wanna stall them for me, so I get to use my badge to meet cool people for a change?”
“Sure I’ll get Sam to sit on that lead singer.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Now – the problem.”
“What do you need?”
“You to drive for me, I’ve had a few drinks. I’m in my car – out on the street.”
“On my way.”
We hung up. Twenty seconds later Lee climbed behind the wheel and shoved the seat right back.
“Where we going?”
“Work, we’re going to work. I need to use the computer.”
“Now? Christmas party. Caine doing his Santa thing. One of your favorite bands playing, and you wanna go to work. This isn’t meshing. What’s up?”
“I got a name. I think I can find Carla’s uncle. I’m looking for Jonathon Francis Torres.”
“You pulled his name out of thin air?”
“Yeah – I did.”
It was a quiet drive.
Lee didn’t pursue how I came by the name. He was well used to me pulling answers out of the air.
I sat behind my desk and started running every known search program hoping to locate Jonathon Francis Torres.
Carla never knew her father’s family.
There was no record of any relatives but I had a feeling there was at least one. I’d been looking ever since that night that changed our lives. With all the resources I had at my disposal I still came up empty on a relative until the music, the talent, and another butterfly visit. Ironic or just weird?
Lee perched on the edge of my desk. We were both watching the screen as numbers, faces and names flashed by at a rapid rate.
“You sure it’s him?”
“Yep.”
With that something flashed and beeped on the screen. I clicked on the image. A photograph opened. A picture of a young man. Possibly in his late twenties. He looked like Carla. Same eyes and mouth. Information began to fill the screen. A death certificate. Jonathon Francis Torres was decease
d. He died fifteen years ago. Two years before Carla was born.
“He’s dead?” Lee muttered pointing to the screen in front of us.
“I don’t think so.” We sometimes start over, a new life begun.
“He doesn’t want to be found?” Lee asked.
“Feels that way.”
I started opening files from a list at the bottom of the page.
They lead to a rabbit warren of more files. Every alias I touched was fascinating.
Several had long rap sheets. His choice of employment swung from CEO to nightclub bouncer. This guy was clever.
None of the aliases overlapped.
Some of them were active for years, indicating he lived for extended periods as certain people. There were gaps between ‘lives’. In some cases there were months between them. Months of nothingness. I am an enigma that doesn’t exist. A name in the realm of swirling mist. There’s nothing to say I was even here.
None of the aliases matched up in any way, even the identity photos were different. He changed his appearance. The name that popped into my head at the party. That was the key. His life was like a Chinese puzzle box. No wonder none of the reports led to his real name, he was well protected. He even had multiple social security numbers to match his multiple identities.
“He’s been a busy boy for a dead man,” Lee commented.
“How did finger prints fail to link him? He can’t change those, surely.” I skimmed police reports.
The screen went blank. A white square popped up. One word.
Classified.
“Shit!” Lee said, leaning closer. “You’ve been locked out.”
We stared at the white square for a few beats and then each other. My desk phone rang.
“This should be good,” I said, my eyes rolled as I picked up the receiver. “SSA Conway.”
“SSA, stay on the line for another party.”
Interesting.
I shrugged at Lee and waited.
A few moments later, I heard a quiet click and a male voice spoke, “This is Jonathon Torres. You were looking for me?”
Hells bells that was unexpected.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You have a niece that is orphaned. Thought she could do with some family.”
Silence filled the air space between us.
“I don’t exist. I’ve been deep so many years I can’t even tell you if I ever met her.”
That explained why finger prints didn’t lead to anyone other identities. Classified.
“You haven’t, not as you anyway and she has no memory of an uncle. Can we meet?”
“No.”
“Which agency?”
“Doesn’t matter.” His voice softened, “It’s above your pay grade.”
“You’re her only relative.”
“I don’t know how to take care of a kid.”
“You’re in the mist?”
“I am the mist and this never happened.”
“Now what?”
“Take care of her. You obviously care a great deal to track me down. No one has ever managed that.”
I care.
“I’ll see she’s happy and well taken care of.”
“How’d you find me?”
“A Christmas miracle.” I can’t explain my mind to a stranger any more than I can to myself.
“Look after the kid.”
He hung up. The line went dead. I called the switchboard and asked them to give the last number that called my line. No number registered. I asked them to re-check and list all numbers that had called my line over the last four hours.
None.
I hung up. My computer was back to normal.
“I just received a call, how can there be no number registered?” I leaned back in my chair and tapped the keys. “Check this out! There is no record of any computer activity.”
“You’ve been wiped,” Lee muttered.
I smiled. Was hard not to. This kinda spooky shit was usually confined to movies and books.
“Yeah, I was wiped. Guess that means he’s a spook.” I had what I needed. If Jonathon wasn’t going to step up and he was the only relative, then someone had too. Maybe Cassie was right. I needed to think. Best place to think was in a room full of happy kids and awesome music.
“Now what?” Lee asked. “And you’re smiling.”
My eye brows rose. “Let’s go back to the party.”
Glittering Ice.
It became and so it was
All that was known now lost
Time ticking slowly away
A silent cry rings out for you
Heart breaking
Mind wandering, recreating.
Past frozen in an icy tomb
Your image dissolving
Voice fading into the dark
Taking with it my heart
Looking back at you
Time distorting my view.
Sparkling diamond on my finger
Glittering ice in shining moonlight
Time ticking slowly away
A silent cry rings out for you
You were mine, you were true.
Heart breaking
Mind wandering, recreating
All we were and all we had
It became and so it was
All that was known now lost.
7 INTO THE DAYLIGHT
Sleep waxed and waned, consciousness drifted from level to level. Exhaustion mixed with more exhaustion.
“I want him back.”
Even though they were audible, I saw the words tumble to the pillow. They lay heaving under the weight of ultimate truth. Green glowing words pulsating with power. I tried picking them up and swallowing them but they wouldn’t let me. I pulled the blanket higher trying in vain to smother them before the emanating light woke NCIS Special Agent Noel Gerrard.
They glowed brighter and brighter, sending neon green waves bouncing off the ceiling and skywriting across the room, I want him back.
Slowly the words dissolved, green trickled from them, streaking in the rain.
Rain?
I ran a hand across my face.
Rain.
There was movement next to me. For a fleeting minute, my heart halted its beating.
“Mac?”
“Noel,” the voice said.
“Oh.”
I rolled onto my back with my hands clasped across my stomach. My eyes closed to stop the rain but it eased out the corners and dripped onto the pillow.
“Talk to me,” he said.
I opened my eyes. When they grew used to the dark, I saw that he was propped up on one elbow watching me.
“I can’t.”
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“We should sleep, it’ll be morning soon, and then we’re back on the hunt.”
“It’s not even midnight yet. Plenty of sleep time left in the night. Tell me…,” he insisted.
“No.”
“El, neither of us is going to get any sleep until you start talking,” he said. “I’ve got your back – we’re working close, this is… for the good of the investigation.”
We were working close. So close we were sharing a bed in a crummy motel (because there was only one bed and the couch was more revolting than the crappy bed), while trying to apprehend a fugitive. That may or may not have been involved in the death of the wife of a Naval Commander. The only reason I went along was that the fugitive was also a suspect in the rape case that landed on my desk.
An over lapping case.
But not a turf war.
We can work together like grown-ups and both agencies would prosecute the little prick.
I used my free hand to brush away the tears. It wasn’t rain, the motel was crummy, but it didn’t leak.
“There is nothing you need to know. Dead is dead.”
“And yet this is eating at you now…”
I was powerless to stop the water fall of crazy that slipped off my tongue, “Because how ca
n he be dead? I talk to him – I see him.”
Noel took it in his stride. It wasn’t exactly old news. He knew I had some odd Messenger conversations and he caught up quickly. “You’ve had forensics examine your laptops?”
“Yep. They reckon there was nothing on there, no spyware at all.”
“How many times have you talked to him in the last year, El?” Noel flipped the lamp on and sat up. “How many?”
“Ten
“Ten? That’s a lot of nothing going on.”
“I’m not that nuts.” A small smile crossed my lips. “Kurt says I’m cerebrally entertaining.”
Noel laughed, “Sounds about right. I wouldn’t be out here with you if I thought you were nuts? I would’ve cuffed you to your desk and taken Sam or Lee.” He rubbed his face. “We need coffee and you need to finish telling me why you think it is Mac you’re having conversations with.”
“It’s him. We turn the webcam’s on. I’ve heard his voice and I’ve seen him. He’s a little thinner in the face now, but it’s him.”
“Do these appearances coincide with anything in particular?”
“I don’t know.” They coincide with me being stressed and hard cases.
“Yes you do.”
Okay, so I don’t want to say.
I sat up a little, shoving the pillow into a ball behind my back. I’d considered something else.
“It’s possible someone has hacked his account and is using someone very similar to him to shit with me but there is no proof,” I said.
“That would be a fairly elaborate scheme – and take someone with a lot of patience to be carrying it on over the course of a year.”
“It’s been my experience that some people have an endless amount of patience when it comes to torturing others and playing out their crazed evil schemes.”
“That is one of the truths of our world,” Noel replied. He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Of course it could be something else…”
“That he’s not dead?”
“Let’s not go that far. You knew when he was online,” Noel said quietly. “When he was alive I mean. Like when people know the phone’s going to ring?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“I’m not pretending that I know anything about psychic whatever but maybe you two have such a strong connection it can’t be broken. Or maybe there is some kind of residual memory in the laptop.”
