Holiday Greetings

by Kiernan Kelly

  Huddled against the brick façades were a number of people, all swathed in patched coats, some with knit caps. A few clutched thin, grimy blankets, or layers of newspaper, pitiful protection against the icy wind.

  "Where are we? Who are those people? Why did you bring me here?" Evan asked. "I don't know any of them. For that matter, how the hell did you get me out of the building?"

  "This was my home for the last three years, Evan. I wanted you to see it," Bill said, leading Evan further into the alley. "After you fired me, I couldn't get another job, not at my age. Times were hard. My lover left me. My house was foreclosed. I spent some time at various friends' homes, but eventually my welcome wore out. That's when I started drinking."

  Evan swallowed hard, watching the hopeless expressions on the people's faces. He realized with a start that two of them were children. "What can I do, Bill? I'll give you your job back. You can start right away. I'll put you up at a motel until you get back on your feet--"

  "Once again, too late for that, Evan," Bill said sadly.

  Evan turned toward him, but before he could ask why, the world danced away again.

  ***

  Pauper's Field was dismal and unkempt, the ground choked with dead weeds. Tiny iron markers dotted the landscape, the only indications that the field was a cemetery.

  Evan knew about the graveyard. Everyone did. It'd been around almost as long as the city -- a bleak, if necessary expense. It was where the city fathers buried unclaimed bodies.

  Bill squatted down next to a marker, his grimy fingers touching the numbers printed on it. "I didn't have any ID on me when they found me. Nobody was looking for me; nobody missed me when I was gone. They planted me here. This is me, number 7873-9-20-08."

  Evan felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature freeze the very marrow of his bones. "Y-you died? Oh, Bill. I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

  Bill looked up at him. "It wouldn't have mattered even if you did. That's part of your problem, Evan. You refuse to see how your actions might affect others. You only care about yourself and your job. Numbers are the only things that have meaning for you."

  "I have to earn a living--"

  "Yes, but not at the expense of everything else in life. The truth is, Evan, you're a coward. You've always been afraid of what other people might say, what others might do. If you don't wise up soon, you're going to wake up one day, old and alone, and let me tell you: in the end, numbers suck." His gnarled, dirty fingers touched the embossed digits on his marker again, drawing Evan's eyes to them.

  He was still staring at the marker when the world tipped on its axis once more.

  ***

  For the first time since his bizarre experience began, Evan found he wasn't alone when he returned to his office. There was someone sitting in his chair, waiting for him, a stranger he didn't recognize.

  She was young, perhaps five or six years old, with big blue eyes and rounded pink cheeks. There was a blue bow in her long, wavy blond hair, and Evan thought she looked like an oversized porcelain doll in her frilly dress and patent-leather shoes. Her feet didn't even touch the floor, he noticed.

  Oh, God, he thought, what have I done to this little girl? Please don't let me have fired her mother or father and killed her by accident! I swear, I'll change my ways. I'll be nicer, kinder. Just don't let her blood be on my hands!

  He swallowed hard, and forced his lips into a tremulous smile. "Hi, little lady. Who are you?"

  The little girl smiled, dimples winking in her cheeks, but she didn't speak.

  "Come on, honey. I won't hurt you. Tell me your name." He watched her swivel 'round and 'round in his chair, feeling frustrated when she wouldn't answer him. "My name is Evan. What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked again.

  She remained silent, but stopped twirling around in his chair. She slipped from the leather seat, skipping around the desk, and reached for Evan's hand.

  His hand swallowed hers, so tiny... and cold. He looked down into her blue eyes, fear fluttering against his breastbone, just as the room began to spin.

  ***

  They were in a nursery. Wallpaper dotted with flocked, pink hearts covered the walls. A white twin bed pressed against one side, cozy and soft, made over with a lacy, white eyelet comforter. A white rocking chair painted with tiny pink roses held a large, porcelain angel doll, one that reminded Evan of the little girl who still held his hand. Everything in the room looked new and unused. It almost felt like a museum to him, as if it were still waiting for a child to claim it.

  "Where are we? Is this your bedroom, honey?" he asked the girl.

  She didn't reply, but let go of his hand and walked to the rocking chair. Her fingers touched the doll's face, her eyes filling with tears.

  "Oh, don't cry, sweetheart," Evan said, as a lump formed in his throat. He was at a loss, didn't know what to say to her. He knelt down next to her, reaching up, tentatively petting her hair. "Is this your doll?"

  A small shake of her head was all the answer he got. Another cold chill raised gooseflesh on his arms. "Was she your doll?"

  Another shake of her head.

  Now Evan was confused. If the doll wasn't hers, then whose was it? Why was she crying over someone else's doll? He watched her walk to the bed, smoothing her tiny hand over the comforter, her tears tracing random patterns over her pink cheeks.

  "Honey, please talk to me. Whose doll is it?" he asked again. He sat down on the bed and gathered the little girl into his arms, rocking her. She felt so slight, as if she were insubstantial, and he held nothing but air.

  When she finally spoke, it came almost as a shock. She had an endearing lisp. "She was th'pposed to be mine."

  "What do you mean, honey?"

  "My daddy was th'pposed to buy her for me, but he didn't."

  "Where is your daddy, sweetheart?" he asked, dreading the answer. Dead, he thought. This is where I find out her family is dead, and it's somehow my fault. His heart cracked under the weight of his assumed guilt.

  To his shock, the little girl looked up at him, blinking her enormous, wet blue eyes. A tiny hand reached to cup his cheek. "Why didn't you want me, Daddy?" she asked in a voice as small as she was.

  Evan's mouth went dry as his chest tightened. Who was this child? Why did she think he was her father? He'd never slept with a woman. He couldn't have sired her.

  Unless…

  Oh, my God.

  "Honey, was I supposed to be your father?" he asked in a whisper. Was he supposed to adopt her, or have her through a surrogate? Was she another example of what he'd lost out on in life? What he'd screwed up by closing himself off from everyone, by refusing to take chances? By being a coward?

  Her small nod tore at his heart.

  It was the worst yet, by far. Her innocence, her grief, so strong for one so small, nearly destroyed him, and opened his eyes to his faults like neither of his previous two visitors had done. For the first time, he saw clearly how much his callous and selfish behavior had hurt other people, and how very much he, himself, had lost.

  By the time the room stopped spinning, and he found himself alone in his office again, his face was wet with tears.

  ***

  Evan blinked awake. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, his head cushioned by a pile of reports. Outside the office window, snow fell in a steady, brilliantly white curtain.

  It's Christmas, he remembered, and knew what he needed to do.

  His watch told him it was nearly noon. Scrounging through his desk, he pulled out the items he'd need and got to work.

  ***

  He found Carter in the Art Department, bent over his drawing desk, his pencil moving in flowing strokes across a large sheet of paper. Evan stood in the doorway for a few minutes, unnoticed, watching him.

  Carter had his shirtsleeves rolled up, the muscles in his forearms moving fluidly under his skin as he sketched. Evan could only see his profile, but knew a small frown would be puckering the skin between his eyes as it always did
when Carter was concentrating hard on something. A long, slender finger pushed Carter's glasses back up to the bridge of his nose from the tip, where they'd slid.

  Evan smiled wryly. Had he ever noticed how handsome Carter was? Sexy, yes. Carter's hard body had caught Evan's attention at the holiday party last year. He'd fantasized about Carter's muscular physique, firm ass, and heavy cock many times since, but had Evan ever really looked at him before now?

  Carter had beautiful eyes, bright blue, clear, sparkling with intelligence. His thick, chestnut brown hair curled over his ears and forehead, his strong jaw dusted with dark scruff. Small diamond studs pierced his ears, and there was a tattoo of Japanese symbols on the nape of his neck.

  Evan was suddenly struck by the desire to run his tongue over the symbols, to remove Carter's glasses and gaze into his eyes, to kiss his full lips until their bodies were both hard and they were breathless.

  He contented himself by quietly creeping up behind Carter and slipping a card onto the drawing table.

  Carter jumped, nearly falling out of his chair. "Whoa! You scared the crap out of me, boss."

  Evan grinned. "Sorry," he said, not meaning it. Carter was adorable when he was startled. "Just bringing you your holiday card."

  "Oh, thanks," Carter said, sliding the envelope to one side. "I'll have these drawings done by five, don't worry."

  "I'm not concerned about the drawings. Open the card, Carter."

  "Huh?"

  "The card," he repeated, gesturing toward the envelope. "Open it."

  Carter frowned, but picked up the envelope and slid his thumb under the flap. He pulled the card free.

  Christmas trees decorated the front of the card, crudely drawn in green marker, along with the hand-printed words, "Holiday Greetings." Evan bit back a grin as he watched Carter's frown deepen as he opened it and read the inscription.

  Carter,

  There's only one thing I want for Christmas this year --

  the chance to start over with you.

  Please tell me I'm not too late.

  Evan

  "Sorry it doesn't rhyme," Evan said, finally letting the smile take over his lips. "The artwork is crappy, too, but I did my best."

  "You made this... for me?" Carter asked, blinking up at him.

  Evan nodded. "You were right, Carter. About us, about everything. Am I too late? Can you forgive me, and let me have another chance?"

  Carter looked down at the card he held, and for a moment Evan's heart clenched, thinking the answer was going to be no. Then Carter looked back at him and grinned, his blue eyes sparkling, and Evan knew everything was going to be all right.

  I'm not too late, he thought, as their lips met in a sweet, tender kiss. He would get his second chance with Carter, and finally let himself love, his first brave step as a changed man

  He'd make amends to the people he'd wronged. He was too late to help Johnny and Bill, but he could get the company involved with mentor programs for kids, see Bill's name engraved on a proper stone, and donate his time and money to the charities Bill had supported.

  And maybe, if he and Carter were very lucky, somewhere down the line there would be a white rocking chair painted with tiny roses, and a little angel with big blue eyes and long, blond hair.

  Holiday Greetings

  Copyright © 2008 by Kiernan Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / December 2008

  Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680