Sentinel Christmas Carol - Clarence P. Browne, Jr

Part One: Seasons Cretins

Jim and Blair assessed the situation sullenly. Some scumbag had bushwhacked a streetcorner Santa and caved his head in with a brick for what amounted to a few dollars in loose change. Nobody had lifted a finger to help him in all the milling throng of shoppers. The only real witness they had was some wino, and he gave his report with a rancid stink of cheap whiskey and body-odor.

"Isha durn ssshame, swutitis," he stated blearily. "Shum fella come up an' sez, 'Lesh have da loot', an' Shanta sez 'Here, take it'... Ya know, cuz Shanta'sh a givin' type fella... But den the guy getsh all mad... Sez Shanta ain't got no real money like he'sh shuposeta... Shanta sez he jush got out dere, and hashn't had a lotta akshun, y'know...?"

"Un huh," grimaced Jim, fighting the urge to retch as the drunk's pungence all but overwhelmed him. "Then what happened?"

"Welp, the guy went off, y'know? Knocked Shaint Nick on his ash, an' then grabbed a brick an' clocked 'im while he wuz tryin' to get up. Shanta went down wit' his head split, an' the guy hit 'im a few more times until he didn't move no more... I sheen it, an' I sez 'Hey! Leave off Shanta, man!' an' the guy flips me the bird an' runs for it..." Then the old vagrant started crying.

"What's the matter, man?" asked Blair.

"Aw, man, the guy killed Shanta... We ain't gonna have no Chrishmish now. All thoshe l'il kidsh're gonna be sho shad... An' lookit me... Old Timmy shaw it. But I couldn't do nuthin' man... I couldn't help him. I couldn't reshcue Shanta!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, oldtimer," Jim said. "There wasn't anything you could do..."

"No, man!" insisted Timmy through his tears. "I wuz a Marine! In NAM. I coulda done PLENTY! I jush couldn't... Couldn't get there in time... I jus' wasn't... fasht enuff..."

"It's okay, Tim," Blair offered. "The real Santa's still hard at work at the North Pole, right? That poor guy was just... helping him out. Right, Big Guy?"

James Ellison stared blankly at his partner.

"Izzie right, buddy?" Timmy asked, scrubbing his tears away with a stained mitten. "Shanta'sh shtill okay? Chrishmish shtill on?"

Blair nudged Jim in the ribs. "Uh, right..." Jim stumbled. "That guy was... just helping out... Uh... Santa's fine."

Strangely, the old souse brightened. "Thank God," he said with a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

"Okay, uh, Timmy," Ellison continued. "We'll need you to go down to the station and look at some pictures."

"Great!" exclaimed the drunk. "It's cold as hell out here."

Blair smiled, "I know, man. Now let's square you up, get that officer to give you a ride and we'll see you downtown. You take care, huh?"

"You just get the dirty bastid that killed Shanta's buddy, awright? I'll do my part."

Timmy was driven down to the station, and as they drove back into town (after buying a new air freshener) Jim glared at his partner and demanded, "What the fuck was all THAT?"

"What?" Blair asked.

"What kind of bullshit are you passing here? I thought you were JEWISH, and you're shovelling that Santa crap out. If that wasn't bad enough, you're getting ME to go along with you..."

"Calm down, man," Blair replied. "It might have just been my mom's insistance that I had a multi-cultural childhood, but I kinda thought every kid knows the Santa routine. I was just trying to keep him from getting hysterical. If he believed what he did, that's cool. It doesn't hurt anyone..."

"Yeah? What happens if he fingers a guy in the mugbook?"

"Uh, we go get the guy?"

"And after that? When it goes to trial? When we have to bring a fucked up old lush to the stand that believes in fucking SANTA? The public defender's office could send someone that walked PAST a law school and still get the guy off. And THAT's assuming our SOLE witness isn't dead in the gutter by the time we get to trial."

"Geeze, Jim, relax a little, huh?" Blair stated nervously. "It's the holidays."

"Fuck that. The holidays are a sham. We're supposed to march like lemmings to the mall every year because of some bullshit that MAY have happened a couple thousand years ago? Not me."

"Come on, Big Guy, this season is more than just some semi-religous rituals and shopping."

"True," replied Jim. "There's also all the suicides and robberies."

"Geeze, what happened to your holiday spirit? Your good will toward men?"

"Hey, I give to Good Will. But the rest of this shit is just a con. What, it gets a little cold and all of a sudden the world's supposed to stop being a bunch of bastards and buy stuff? I can't swallow that."

"Oh, come ON. This is the time of year that it's not considered a bad thing to still have a sense of wonder, or a belief in the inherent goodness of people. It's okay to let down your defenses and enjoy the warmth of good cheer."

"You keep forgetting you're talking to a COP, Sandburg. If that shit was so, even on the surface, I'd spend alot of my time standing around. But we both know it's not, the only difference is I accept it."

"Aw, man," Blair sighed. "I can't believe you were worked over that bad as a kid that you're afraid to give a damn about anything."

Jim seized Blair by the shoulders and spun him around to face him. "First off," he growled, "what I went through as a kid is none of your fucking BUSINESS. Second, I am not afraid of a GOD DAMNED THING. And third, you are the LAST person on EARTH that has any right to judge me about not getting into something YOU don't even believe in. If Christ wasn't the Messiah, then why get all bubbly about his fucking BIRTHDAY? At least I have the COURAGE to STAND by what -I- believe in, even if it's NOT what everybody else is doing. Try it sometime, huh?"

"That's not fair," Blair said softly. "This season is used as a giving time by nearly every faith! Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Wicca, and others all converge at this time of year - and each with their own customs and gift rituals. I can get into the season and not betray my beliefs, man. And you know something, at least I HAVE belief in something that's beyond what I can touch or see. You're so wrapped up in your cynicism and misery over the past that you can't even handle the POSSIBILITY of there being something more - and that's just pitiful."

"You think I want YOUR pity? YOU? Think -I'M- pitiful because I don't light a few candles or chop down a tree? Fuck you. Fuck your nonsense about how good mankind is this time of year that you chant like a mantra. I've got a stack of paperwork on my desk that says you're full of shit, and you know what? That stack's gonna get BIGGER. THAT'S the inherent goodness of mankind for you, Sandburg - and you're welcome TO it. Mankind is out for itself. Dog eat dog. No holidays. If they DO help someone, it's so they can hold it over their head. Not that HELPING anyone does any good. Take our pal Timmy. Living on the street, eating out of trashcans, blinding himself to the world with booze. If this season brought out the good in folks, why wasn't he in a shelter out of the cold?"

"Alot of guys like him have too much pride, man. They'd rather die than take a handout..."

"Well they oughta die, then, and get it over with. Makes room for others that have SENSE enough to come in out the cold; plus there'll be more to go around without them in the system."

"There's just no talking to you when you get like this," Blair pronounced. "I was gonna give you this later, but there's no time like the present..." He held out a small envelope to Jim.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a ticket to this Holiday party we're having at the college. Everyone's welcome..."

"Then why have tickets? More to the point, why give it to me? Isn't there some co-ed you'd rather take along?"

Blair shrugged. "Well, there's going to be plenty there as it is, man. No, I just figured you could use some holiday cheer when I got it for you, and you make me more sure of it by the second."

"This is for the twenty-fourth... That's tonight."

"Your point being?"

"I'm working tonight..."

"No, you're not. I already bounced this off Simon, and he seems to agree that eight Christmases in a row is enough for even you..."

"What the hell are you doing going behind my back like that?"

Blair's jaw dropped in shock, "I.. I thought you'd be happy to not have to work tonight..."

"Something ELSE you're on the money about. Hey, you're batting a thousand! Look how fucking HAPPY I am! Wheee!"

Sandburg sat there a moment fighting back tears as he asked, "Are you through?"

Jim pulled over and stopped the truck. "No," he replied. "But you are."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Get out of the truck. Not now, but RIGHT now."

Blair numbly complied.

"I've got another six hours on this shift," Jim said flatly. "That should be enough time for you to get back to the apartment, get your gear and hit the bricks. Toss your key back under the door when you leave."

"B-but... What about...?"

"You should have enough to do that damn book report you've been ruining my life to write by now. If not, too bad. You and me are DONE."

"B-b-but... What about me..? Where do I go?"

Jim pulled the door to the truck closed as he replied, "You'll be fine. Mankind's inherent goodness will take care of you from now on. I'm officially OUT of THAT racket."

Tears flowed freely from Sandburg as Ellison drove away.

Part Two: Humbugger with Cheese

Ellison drove on feeling strangely out-of-sorts.

Damn that neo-hippie and his meddling! This is supposed to be a free country, and if James J. Ellison doesn't want to bother with some stupid Jingle Bellery, so what? But, noooo, he has to get dragged over the coals because he's not following the crowd. Hmph!

Still, you may have overreacted a SMIDGE with throwing Sandburg out.

No! Where's your PRIDE? That silly bastard has gotten you into more shit than you'd find in a fertilizer factory, and it's time he learned that that goofy ass grin and shrug can't smooth over every scrape he bungles into.

That kid's gotten into a few scrapes BECAUSE of you, too, let's not forget... A few times his meddling has even saved your ass. Not that you'd ever ADMIT it...

Ever since that kid dropped himself into the middle of your life and started providing running commentary, you've never been able to get a moment's peace. Shit, you always wondered why his MOM keeps on the move; and now you know. Free spirit, like hell... She's RUNNING.

Like YOU'RE all that easy to live with... How many ex-wives do you have anyway? How many ex-girlfriends? Even YOU can't be so stupid as to think it's all THEIR fault things don't work out, can you? Oh, wait, THERE'S your pride. Found it.

That isn't it at all! You can't tell me you're not tired of having to tread so light around everyone ELSE'S feelings, but never getting the same consideration in return. Is it so much to ask? You're the one that's so wrapped up in being FAIR, just ask yourself if THAT is and get back to me.

Oh yes, let's send out some invitations to the pity party. Poor old Jimmy Ellison is SUCH a misunderstood soul. All he wants is to be miserable, and maybe spread a little of it around. You should stop bitching about how unhappy you are and just do something about it. What can it hurt to mark out a little for some silly tree? How much could a couple little trinkets for your friends cost? Maybe take some time off to try and enjoy life. Oh, wait, if you did that the whole WORLD would fall into chaos. Sorry, I forgot.

Now wait just a second! I've got nothing against giving to my friends. But it's got to be a two-way street! You've got to be out of your mind if you think I should just let myself be taken advantage of because it's a TRADITION.

Out of MY mind? Who's the one talking to themselves? You're the one that's bitching about people wanting to 'force' you to be happy, and look how hard YOU work making people around you miserable. What was that about a two-way street you were saying?

Dammit! How far out should I put myself? How responsible do -I- have to be for other people's welfare? And why the hell is it never far ENOUGH? Jim Ellison is NOBODY's damn custodian, and that's that.

You keep forgetting you're talking to a COP.

Fuck you.

Ellison grimly swung the truck into the parking lot of the McDonalds and planned out his evening. A quick couple of close-enough burgers, followed by some more good old fashioned WORK. What the hell did he care about this Santa Claus bullshit anyway? So WHAT if everyone else is being spoon fed that stuff to keep the economy going, they CAN because guys like HIM were around to protect Joe Consumer from from badguys who ALSO didn't take days off. And most importantly: What the fuck was he doing talking to himself? This goddamn Holiday Cheer was really starting to get on his nerves, and Jim silently determined not to bother with any more of this internal monologue stuff or anything else that could be an irritant in his current state of vexation.

Then why the hell are you going to go eat THIS crap?

Shut the fuck up, already! JESUS, I just got RID of ONE pain in the ass.

"I... I'm sorry, sir, but they MAKE us ask you that. Y'know, so we know what you want to eat?" said a voice to Jim's left.

"Oh, hell!" Jim hissed. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I wasn't talking to you... Uh, I'll have a Number Four Value Meal, No pickles and Super-size it, please?"

"Okay, then," chirped the voice from the speaker. "Drive up to the window, please..."

Jim complied, and out of habit listened to the workers - especially the one he unintentionally railed.

"Who does that guy think he IS, talking to me like that?" she said angrily.

"Calm down, Phoebe," someone else said. "Just give him the special sauce."

"Right," she said huffily. Then Jim heard a fairly ladylike spitting sound. He felt his ears heat with anger at this action. THIS was her Christmas present to a total stranger on Christmas Eve, and Sandburg had the NERVE to break his balls about mankind's good nature? The customer ahead of him got their order and drove on, and he slowly drove up to the window while his anger boiled his brain. He saw one of the girls, possibly Phoebe, goggle in shock as he came into view, so he tuned back in to their conspiring.

"Omigod! Gail, give me back that Number Four!"

"What's the matter?"

"That dude that was cursing at me, he's on the security cam..."

"Uh huh... And?"

"He's GORGEOUS. I just CAN'T do it to him. Quick, get Jake to do another one and I'll stall him..."

Jim kept his face the picture of serenity as Phoebe opened the window to speak to him. "Problem?" he asked innocently. She was a very pretty young woman, Jim appraised. The kind of double-stacked young thing Sandburg usually turns upside down over on sight. Reddish blonde, busty enough to notice - but not OVERLY so like you'd see if she was a cut-up, twenty-two at the latest. And she thought HE was gorgeous. She must love Connery flicks, too, he'd wager.

"Uh, well, we're sorry, sir, but it's going to be a little bit longer for your order," Phoebe said.

"Oh? Out of special sauce, are we?"

Phoebe's eyes widened. "Uh, no, it's just... Uh..."

"Shall I come inside? Perhaps talk to the manager?"

"Uh.... Well..."

"Listen, I used to work this sort of thing," Jim said, letting her off the hook. "I know the usual treatment someone that doesn't mind their language gets, especially this time of year. It's okay. I was having a bit of a rough patch with someone over the cellphone, and I guess I didn't know how loud I was being. I'm sorry, okay?"

"YOU'RE apologizing?" Phoebe asked completely poleaxed. "Wow... Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I mean, GEEZE, what I was going to do! I'm DYING here."

"Wellllll," Jim said wryly. "You COULD tell me what made you decide not to go through with it..?"

Phoebe blushed, "I... Just didn't want to do something like that to anyone on Christmas Eve..."

"I see," Jim smiled. "So any other day and I would've gotten the special sauce, eh?"

"NO!" Phoebe said, aghast. "Uh... I just thought... That is... Well, actually, I guess I -WASN'T- thinking. I'm really sorry, mister."

"Jim," he said. "And don't worry about it, okay? Just remember we all have off days - especially this time of year. Right?"

"Right," Phoebe said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Say, listen, I don't usually do this, but I get out of here in ten minutes, and I was wondering... Y'know, if you're not busy...?"

Jim looked to the empty seat, spying once again the tickets to that Holiday thing at the college. "Welll, I'm not one for impulse moves, either, but I have these tickets to a big party at the college tonight..."

"The Holiday Festival?" Phoebe bubbled. "That'd be AWESOME."

"Well, hang on to the Number Four and I'll be right in to get it, okay?"

"You bet, Jim! See ya in two shakes!"

Ah, this was beginning to look like the start of something beautiful, Jim thought to himself as he parked the truck. Sure, it was a strange encounter, but not much stranger than some of the ones he'd met. He smirked as he realized he'd given new meaning to the terms 'Pick-up Window' AND 'Pickup Truck'. He strolled to the entrance and started to walk into the restaurant.

Then something caught his eye... A beat up black Chevy Nova was in the parking lot eight places over from his with the motor running. Normally, not much to worry about, as folks frequently send one of their friends into the store to pickup the order because they'd rather not deal with the hassle of fast food service. He'd sent Blair in a few times, himself. No, that wouldn't be cause for concern at all... if anyone were IN the car.

"Shit me a Yule log," he grimaced, noting the license plate - probably taken from some lot since there was only one screw holding it onto the car. He zeroed in again on the restaurant, checking his hunch.

"Okay, people, let's get this done," said a male voice. "Keep your cool, and nobody's got to get hurt."

"We just want the money in the till, and a couple of burgers," said a second male voice. "Let's cooperate, and we'll leave nice and clean so you can have a happy holiday. No trouble."

"Fuck," Ellison pronounced as he pulled his radio. "This is Detective James Ellison," he stated. "I'm at the McDonald's at Seventeenth and Larchemont, and there's a robbery in progress... Send backup. I'm going in."

"Officers are en route, Detective," said the radio operator. "Radio advises you secure the area and await backup. E.T.A. seventy seconds."

Jim yanked the keys from the Nova and then pulled his pistol. "They'll be gone by then," he told himself. "Time to make the donuts..." He went in. "Police officer! FREEZE!"

The two robbers smiled as they raised their hands, and Jim saw Phoebe looking wild-eyed straight at him. Shit, there was another one! Jim turned slightly and got a REAL close look at the butt of a nice Remington shotgun before the lights went out.

Part Three: Company Picnic

Jim awoke in a strange bed and peered over the side to see the white tiles. "Hospital," he murmured. "Shit!" He scanned around the sparsely decorated room, noting that he was alone there - and that there were no windows. Weird. What was even weirder was that he noticed his head DIDN'T hurt. He had been clocked a few times with a gunbutt in his day, and that sort of pain usually lingered...

Then he noticed that there was a sound coming down the hall. A slow, deliberate shuffle that was marked by the clatter of metal on metal. It sounded like someone moving a box of iron pieces, yet trying not to make alot of noise . A very strange cacophony in a hospital, indeed, and it put him on edge. The sound subsided, as if whatever was making it had stopped moving, and Ellison strained to hear what was going on.

And was promptly deafened by a sudden knock on the door of his room. Ellison ramped down his hearing after the initial shock, and the knock repeated.

"Mr. Ellison?" said a soft, prim female voice. "You have a visitor..."

"Where am I?" Ellison demanded.

"You're safe, sir," whomever she was replied. "And you have a visitor. "Shall I send him in?"

"Does HE know where I am?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she said in a pleased tone. "If you're up to seeing him, I'll send him in."

"Fine," Ellison sighed. "Maybe now I'll start getting some answers..."

"One moment, sir, while I fetch him from the waiting room," the nurse (well, he assumed it was) stated.

"Yeah, okay," he replied. "Sure, let's be sociable." Jim had no idea who it was, but since he had called for backup before he went in, he was pretty sure it would be Simon or Sandburg to break his balls about getting himself bushwhacked.

Then he heard that strange iron clattering start up again. He stared intently at the door, ready to spring upon whatever it was with all he had - just in case. The door opened, and his visitor shambled into the room.

Jim stared in amazement at the visage before him. The guy was carrying a big box of CHAINS, which were draped over his shoulder and spilling over the sides of the box. He walked slowly in a desperate attempt to hold the box together, jostling the chains to create the wild orchestra he'd heard earlier. As loud as that was, it was a pin drop compared to how loud the guy's SUIT was. Huggy Bear crossed with Herb Tarlek and trimmed with fluorescent green. It was hideous. Revolting. Words couldn't describe how utterly ridiculous the guy was dressed, and it was topped off with an oversized foam-rubber novelty cowboy hat in fluorescent orange with '#1" printed on the sides.

"Be with you in a second, junior," he grunted as he slowly set the box down.

Jim froze as he recognized the voice . "JACK?" he coughed in stunned disbelief. "Jack Pendergrast?"

"Yeah," he sighed as he slowly straightened himself, his bad back creaking and popping. "It's me."

"What the fuck is going ON?" Jim demanded, hysteria creeping into his questioning tone. "You're DEAD."

"Thanks for the update, junior," Jack sniffed . "No wonder you made Detective."

"What the hell are you doing here? And dressed like THAT?"

"Part of the punishment," Jack sighed. "Which is one of the reasons I'm here..."

"I don't follow."

"In life I was your partner, and now I appear before you to bring a warning."

"Warning? Warning of what?"

"This is the fate I created when I walked the earth, each link of my chain a misdeed I had perpetrated. Each link a good deed I did NOT do. You still have time to avoid this wretched damnation I have earned."

"Jack, you never believed in any of that heaven or hell bullshit..."

"I know," Jack sighed. "So just IMAGINE my SURPRISE, okay? They put me in this suit, dumped all these chains on me, and booted me out to wander the earth as a lost soul. I could deal with the chains and the wandering, easy, but sweet JESUS, do you SEE what I have to WEAR?"

"Why not just take if off?"

"NO!" Jack shouted, horrified. "It just pops back on even MORE gruesome. I started with a K-Mart sharkskin suit, so you can understand the first few stages I went through to get to THIS mess, as well as my reluctance to see how much WORSE it can get from here."

"Damn..."

"Precisely! So because you and me go back some, I decided to try to clue you in to the big picture before you wound up taking the same lumps I did. You don't need to keep fucking up like I fucked up, man. Don't."

"Fucked up? Jack, you never fucked up! All those collars, all those commendations... You were more than just another cop, man. You were the BEST in the BUSINESS."

"Mankind should have been my business!" Jack spat. "All I was was the JOB, junior. It was EVERYTHING. I couldn't LOOK at someone down on their luck without sizing them up as a PERP. I was so damn busy chasing crooks that I lost my FAMILY. After that, I felt like I had an EXCUSE to piss my time away. I lived for the moment, just like a DUMB ASS. Fast cars. Fast women. Gambling. Drinking like a fish. But, hey, I still had that BADGE, right? As long as I had THAT, I was still BETTER than the OTHER scumbags I was hauling downtown, right?"

"Jack, what the fuck happened to you?" Jim asked sadly. "When did you decide all that good you did just didn't count?"

"GOOD? You stupid ass! I was in DENIAL. I kept myself on the prowl for perps so I wouldn't have to face MYSELF. So I wouldn't CHANGE. I was a BIG SHOT, remember? Ol' Jack is the best there is, right? So I stayed at the station and was a big shot, and when I couldn't stay there I went hunting up something so I could look like a big shot the NEXT day. It was a WASTE, because in the long run I -wasn't- a big shot, Jim. I was a dumb shit. And I had the NERVE to think I could hide that with a few tailored SUITS."

"This isn't you, Jack," Jim sputtered. "The REAL Jack was PROUD of his accomplishments..."

"Shut the FUCK UP!" Prendergast shouted. "Pride comes before the FALL. The thing I regret MOST is that I actually got YOU to buy into MY bullshit. You used to be a cop because you wanted to HELP people. Wanted to make a difference! But -I- changed it. I convinced you that your legacy is about NUMBERS. How many collars a week. How many citations and records and medals you could rack up... I made it a FARCE, and you're still playing it like it's the way it's supposed to be. You're going down the same road I went, junior, and I'm trying to get you off it. Before you lose sight of what's IMPORTANT and LOSE it. Once you've lost THAT, man, you're on borrowed time. When nothing's IMPORTANT to you, you'll do ANYTHING... THIS is what that GETS YOU."

"Okay, I think I know what's happening here," Jim said, trying to get his bearings. "You're just a figment of my subconscious kicking me in the pants over that Christmas bullshit, brought on by my getting waffled in the skimmer by a holdup man. Yep, you're either a concussion induced hallucintation or my stupid good nature giving me a hard time about booting that college twerp out of my life. But one thing you are NOT is Jack Pendergrast. So do me a favor and hop back on the Starlight Express, huh? I need to wake up and get back to work. STAT!"

"You know, I was hoping you would just take some good advice when you heard it," Jack sighed. "But I forgot how HARDHEADED you were. Alright, junior, this is the way it's gonna be... You're going to get visited by three spirits; and if THEY can't pull your head out of your ass, NOBODY can, and if THAT'S the case I'll see you when they size you up for YOUR clown costume."

"I'd just as soon not and say I did," Jim grumbled. "Christmas is a con, period. So you can knock off the spiritual smack, Jack. I've read that story, okay? It's not going to work."

"Oh, you think it's bullshit, do you?" Jack sneered. "Alright, Jimmy, you asked for it. For YOUR sake, I hope they can get the job done, but you'd do yourself a favor if you took this seriously. You think you know the plan, huh? How it's supposed to go?"

"Fuck, Jack, I've read Dickens before, alright? I'm not the lummox everyone thinks I am, okay? The spooks of Christmas are gonna come work me over and I'm supposed to do a one-eighty after the bones in the hood has his turn. Everyone and his UNCLE knows that trite nonsense forwards and backwards. Give me a break, huh? That routine's so WORN OUT that you can see through it. Even if you didn't know HOW to read, the networks shove that one down everybody's throats almost as often as that Jimmy Stewart one. I'll pass, if it's all the same, okay? I promise I'll dress up like Santa and drop off some Toys for Tots and all that jazz, okay? Now's not the time for the Scrooge McDuck workout, pal."

"Well, junior, you're gonna have to make time... I'm not giving you a choice, here. You had your chance to turn it around just when I was talking to you, but you BLEW it. Now you get the whole nine yards, so just shut your cake and take it like a man."

"Oh for Christ's sake, Jack," Jim pleaded. "I know the whole routine. Let's just jump to the bones in the purple cape, do the repentance at the graveyard bit, and let me get on with it..."

"Sorry, junior," Jack said as he turned away and picked up his box. "The only thing YOU'RE getting on with is the show."

"Jack, c'mon!" Jim shouted. "I don't have time for this...," he trailed off as he noticed he wasn't in the white tiled hospital room he was in, but rather a small wooded area he used to hang out in as a kid. "Shit!" he pronounced morosely.

Chapter Four: Past Tense

Jim Ellison looked around the copse of trees in bewilderment. "What the hell am I doing HERE?" he muttered irritably.

"I thought you READ Dickens," spoke a voice over his shoulder.

"GAH!" Ellison jumped in startled surprise. He spun around to see a spritely face he hadn't seen in about a year, framed in a cascade of mousy reddish-brown curls. "Cassie?" he asked, stunned.

"No, silly," she giggled. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. Neat, huh?"

"But I thought you-"

"Got transferred? Got promoted? Quit the force? Did they ever actually say WHY I was off the show?"

"The show? What show?"

"Nevermind," Cassie waved dismissively. "They KILL that Crosby bitch on Star Trek and nobody complains when SHE comes back repeatedly - even when she's a ROMULAN! But let ME so much as do a cameo WALK ON, and the flack starts up immediately."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Cassie grabbed Jim by the collar and yanked him down to meet her eye to eye. "Shut UP. People LIKE you because you're some square-jawed blockhead. People HATE me just because I -MIGHT- have been used to replace that fucking GUPPY Maggert. But that's not important, now is it? This is about YOU... like it ALWAYS is."

"I'm confused," Jim murmured. "Who's Maggert? Why the hell does he piss you off? Why take it out on ME?"

"Oh, that's RIGHT," she said smacking herself in the forehead. "This is kayfabe. Sorry." she released him, and he pulled away reflexively. "We're inside," she pronounced.

"What the-? Are you CRAZY?" Jim sputtered. "Look around! We're standing in the middle of-"

"Yes?" she said smirking.

"My living room?" Jim whispered. "At the old house... How did...? Who are...?"

"Magic and the Ghost of Christmas Past," she nudged. "Try to keep up, won't you?"

Two youngsters bounded down the stairs and ran to the hall closet. "I heard him put the stuff here last night, Stevie," the older one whispered conspiratorily. "Stay on the lookout for Pop, huh?"

"Okay, Jimmy," said Stevie. "Are you SURE you can tell what's inside without taking off the paper?" He didn't seem convinced, but was willing to go along.

"I think so," Jimmy replied as he opened the door. "Remember, you give a yell if dad comes back. I'm gonna be concentrating on the stuff, so I won't be able to tell if he comes back early. Don't get us pinched, okay?"

"Okay, Jimmy," Stevie said happily. "Make with the X-Ray."

"Don't let me down, now," Jimmy warned. "We're in this together, don't forget."

"Sure, sure," Stevie replied. "Check one of mine first, though."

"You knew what you could do, even back then," mused Cassie.

"Don't trust him," Jim warned. "He'll sell you out!"

"They can't hear or see us, of course," Cassie sighed. "This is just your memories. We're merely shadows."

"Okay, here's one for you," Jimmy said stepping into the closet. He picked up the package and sniffed at it. "Smells like plastic," he said as he shook it gently. "I think it's a model kit from how it sounds, but I can't tell you what it's a model OF."

"Well, it's more than we knew before," Stevie shrugged. "Try another one."

"Check," Jimmy said. "Here's one of mine." He sniffed it once, "Football."

"Keep going...," Stevie urged.

"Stop," Jim insisted. "You're gonna get caught!"

"Lemme see," Jimmy smiled. "You got a sweater," he snickered. "Wool."

"Rats," muttered Stevie. "Grandma can be SUCH a pain in the neck. What did she send you?"

"Rubber boots," sighed Jim. "The coast is clear, right?"

"Absolutely," Stevie replied. "Keep going!"

Jimmy went to each of the packages. A sniff, a jiggle, and he could ballpark the contents. "Finally this stuff is coming in handy," he muttered. "Hey, I think I finally got that electric train set I wanted!"

"How do you know that?" asked another voice.

"Well, I smell the tin and the steel... Plus, I hear the tracks bump each other when I shake it. Then there's the copper wires, rubber, and charcoal. What else COULD it be?"

"That's pretty sharp going, James," stated the voice levelly. "Sharp as a TACK."

"DAD?!" gasped Jimmy, horrified.

"Oooo, BUSTED!" laughed Cassie. Jim's face hardened, but he stayed silent.

"James, did we or did we not have a talk about your snooping?"

"B-but..."

"You have to fit IN, James," he scolded. "You can't do that if you're always messing around with that stuff you promised me you wouldn't DO anymore; now can you?"

"I...."

"Stop it," Dad barked. "You made a promise, and you broke it. What comes next?"

"I get punished," Jim sighed.

"I... I...," stammered Jimmy.

"Yes?" Dad demanded.

"I get punished," Jimmy said sadly. "But..."

"No buts. You knew the risks when you started, and you still did it. Maybe you could have gotten away with it, but you didn't. My hands are tied, Jimmy. There have to be consequences, or the system doesn't work, right?"

"I...."

"Right. So, since we're a family, and families share, I know what your punishment will be. Do you?"

"Um...."

"That's right! Half the fun of Christmas is opening the gift and seeing what it is, and you've had that now, haven't you? So for your punishment, we'll share."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. We'll give your brother Steven the OTHER half - actually HAVING the present. Share and share alike, right? That's what families do!"

"But..."

"Nope. That's my decision, and it's final. Maybe this will teach you to KEEP your promises from now on?"

"FINE!" snapped Jimmy. "I'm never going to get what I really want anyway!"

"What's that?" asked Dad.

"MY MOM BACK!" Jimmy shouted, tears streaming down his face. "At least SHE loved me!"

"She LEFT," Dad sneered. "And -I- STAYED. Freak son or NOT, I stayed."

"She didn't leave because I was a freak, and you know it! She LOVED me!"

"Suuuure, she did," mocked Dad. "All the way out the door."

"She didn't leave because of me," Jim accused. "She left because of YOU. She loved me and Stevie, but she hated you MORE than she loved us. I wish she'd taken me with her, because I hate you, TOO!"

"ENOUGH!" shouted Dad as he slapped Jimmy to the floor. "You will not speak of such things to me ever AGAIN, and you WILL keep your PROMISE. Do I make myself CLEAR?"

"Yes," seethed Jimmy.

"Good. Now get up and go to your ROOM! You're grounded two weeks on top of everything eles for sassing me."

Jimmy stomped up the stairs, noting his brother giving him the raspberry as he went.

Jim turned away from the scene angrily. "What the hell am I supposed to see here?" he growled.

"That," said Cassie as she turned him back to it. Jim took a step back in shock as his father covered his face and wept softly.

"Lord, I don't want to be so hard on the boy," he whispered in agony. "But I have to protect him..."

"Real asshole, huh?" Cassie stated flatly . "Pretty thankless job, providing for and protecting your family. Alone."

"Fuck him." Jim snarled. "There have to be consequences, or the system doesn't work. So fuck him. Is this what you're here for, Cassie? To remind me of my perfectly good reasons for not buying into this holly jolly bullshit? Job well done. See you later. Buh-bye."

"Not so fast!" Cassie scolded. "Sure you had a tough go of it, but you never knew why... Your father was scared to death about what could have happened to you - and for good reason. You know as well as anyone what could STILL become of you if your secret gets out."

"You KNOW?" Jim croaked out.

"Of course, stupid. I'm a ghost. I just happen to LOOK like Cassie to YOU. One time I looked like a dirty Buster Poindexter driving a cab. It depends on the person. Actually, I'm a young thing with a halo in a robe; but people see what they choose to see. As long as the message gets through, the messenger isn't an issue."

"So, what's the message?" Jim asked.

"C'mon, Jim!" she laughed. "I know you're a bit thick at times, but CHEESE! Oh well, let's try a different tact, shall we? There was a time when you believed, remember?"

"Believed in WHAT?"

"That people were GOOD. That love was REAL. That there was a time of year that it was even MORE real, because EVERYONE felt it..."

"Wow," Jim sniffed. "I must have been INTENSELY blasted that day..."

"Well, smartass," Cassie retorted. "Let's go SEE."

"See what?" sighed Jim dejectedly.

"MISTLETOE!" Carolyn giggled as she leaped into Jim's arms for a big smooch. Jim stood frozen as he watched himself and his ex-wife in each other's arms in a small dining area of a banquet hall.

"The Christmas Ball?" Ellison gaped. "We haven't had one of these since... Since..."

"Nineteen ninety-four," Cassie cooed . "It's been rough since your talents kicked in, but the boys try to find the time."

"No," Ellison corrected. "It's been longer than THAT."

"Nope, you just stopped GOING, is all... Party pooper."

"Hey!" Carolyn said, pulling back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Past-Ellison sighed. "Why do you think something's wrong?"

"You're hiding something from me," Carolyn huffed. "What is it?"

"Oh, you must mean this," Past-Ellison smiled as he pulled a small burgundy box from his pocket. "Here, sweetheart. Merry Christmas."

"Jim, you DIDN'T!" gasped Carolyn as she shakily took the small parcel and opened it.

"I know it's not much," Past-Ellison sighed. "But for an honest cop's salary, it's not bad, eh?"

"Oh my GOD, Jim," Carolyn flustered. "I... I don't know what to say!"

"As a suggestion, I'd go with 'Yes, Jim, I -will- marry you'," smiled Past-Ellison as he got on one knee.

"Awwww.... Now THAT is one romantic son of a gun," Cassie gushed. "What happened to him, anyway?"

"Stop this," Ellison whispered desperately. "NOW."

"Fine," pouted Cassie. "Have it YOUR way."

"Where the hell are we now?" Ellison demanded.

"We're stopping this, just like you asked," Cassie replied. "Darn shame, too."

"But this is my... OUR old apartment..."

"You noticed! I guess you know HER, too?" Cassie pointed behind Jim, and he turned to see Carolyn looking very unhappy on the phone. A tiny tree was on the table, and it looked fairly half-heartedly decorated.

"But, Jim, you said you would be home tonight!" Carolyn said accusingly. "I haven't seen you in WEEKS, and you PROMISED we could... But.... Can't someone ELSE do that? No, Jim, this is NOT about ME, this is about US. What? You know something, mister? There's no point of saving the world when you won't LIVE in it! FINE! Same to you! GOOD-BYE!" She hung up the phone angrily, and then ripped it off the wall.

"What did you tell her?" Cassie asked. "Same WHAT to you?"

"Merry Christmas," muttered Jim as he watched Carolyn sink to the floor in tears. "She wasn't home when I finally got there, and she took a leave of absence for a month right after. When she came back, it was with divorce papers... And I signed them."

"But why?" Cassie prodded. "What was so important that you couldn't spare a few hours for your wife?"

"We'd finally gotten a lead on a big shipment of cocaine coming into town, and I was heading up that investigation. My first major league bust. A career maker... When we brought the gang dowm, I got a medal for performing above and beyond the call... All it cost me... Was... Was Carolyn...."

"Jim, I'm so sorry," Cassie said soothingly.

"NO!" Jim shouted. "NO MORE. So what does it mean, huh? What's the message, Cassie?!? That I brought it all on myself? Don't you think I fucking KNOW that? But that's the past, right? I can't change it. I did what I did because I had a JOB to do. So I missed a few Christmas parties, so what? Doesn't all the good I did count for anything? How many people had a Christmas they WOULDN'T have had if it wasn't for me? I had to make sure everyone ELSE'S halls were decked . I shouldered that burden, and it's been breaking my fucking BACK!"

"I hear that," said a matronly voice behind him.

Part Four: Holidaze and Purple Haze

"NAOMI?!" Ellison blurted, suddenly finding himself in a sprawling - yet somehow COZY - kitchen. The smells of all the fare being prepared all but overwhelmed him, and yet he couldn't help but feel, well, cheered by it.

"Actually, no," Naomi Sandburg smiled as she set down a mixing bowl and adjusted her apron. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present. See? Says so right on the apron."

"Right, I just SEE Naomi."

"You're catching on fast!" Naomi cheered. "Good boy! Have a cookie!"

"I don't want a cookie."

"Oh come on, they're nice and fresh from the oven."

"I said I don't want a cookie..."

"What's the matter? Think I'll poison you or something?"

"Look, I know why you're here, so let's just get this over with already, okay?"

"Okay, okay," Naomi sighed. "Shame, though. They're best when they're still warm and soft..."

Jim tapped his foot in frustration. "Fine, I'll have a cookie."

"You have to say the magic word..."

"Abracadabra?"

"No, James. Please."

Jim knuckled his forehead in exasperation and then just threw up his hands in defeat. "May I please have a cookie, Naomi?"

"Sure, sweetie. Enjoy."

Jim took a bite of the Christmas Tree shaped sugar cookie and did a double take. "Wow, these are GREAT."

"Of course they are, James. I'm a WHIZ in the kitchen... Another?"

"Please," Jim nodded as he polished off the first one. "I forgot how much I loved these things..."

"We forget LOTS of things as we walk this road, James. It happens. Of course, a little reminder now and then doesn't hurt, now does it?"

"I guess not," Jim conceded.

"That's what makes this time of year special, you know," Naomi said wistfully. "It reminds us of the things we tend to forget the rest of the time. That's too bad, don't you agree?"

"Too bad that this time of year is a reminder?"

Naomi laughed, "No, James. Too bad that we NEED such reminders."

"Uh, yeah."

"Okie-doke, then let's get to it, shall we?"

"To what?"

"You're SUCH a dear when you're being obtuse, James," Naomi chided. "But time is short... Behold!"

"What are we doing at the station?"

"What else?" Naomi asked with a sweeping gesture. "Having a party!"

Jim grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself. "I don't see any party," he grunted. Suddenly the double doors of Major Crimes burst open and the entire squad ambled in singing 'Deck the Halls', making up for any lack in singing ability with sheer enthusiasm. They carried gifts, decorations, and cases of soda, beer and snacks. Jim was thunderstruck by it. "What the hell is the Captain going to say about all this?" Jim gasped.

"Ask him," Naomi smirked. "Here he comes now."

"Ho! Ho! Ho! MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Captain Simon Banks shouted as he came in dressed as Santa with his son Daryl dressed as an elf. "Let's get this party STARTED!"

Ellison stared at the spectacle absolutely poleaxed. "What the hell is going ON?"

"It's called a party, James. You know... Celebration. Gathering. Festivity. Pageant," Naomi replied.

"What about the city? What about the scumbags?" Ellison carped. "Free reign?"

"No, James. They've got a rotation worked out, some on the radio, some on the street, an hour each. Of course, ONE of them takes the whole twelve - sometimes more. What a dope, huh? Missing all this ON PURPOSE. Oh well, makes room for others that have SENSE to come in out the cold, right?"

"You use my words against me," Jim sighed morosely.

"A toast!" cried Taggart raising his glass. "To Jim Ellison, whose selfless dedication makes this celebration possible for so many of us."

"Hear hear!" responded the officers in kind. "To Ellison."

"The man saved so many of us here, it's not even funny," stated Detective Brown solemnly.

"It's kinda sad, though," mused Megan . "For someone that is so quick to stand by you when the chips are down, he doesn't seem to want anything to do with you any other time."

"The man can't see the forest for the trees," Brian Rafe said with a shrug. "What's the point of saving the world when you won't let yourself LIVE in it?" Someone dropped a glass and it shattered noisily on the tiled floor. Everyone turned to see Carolyn Plummer with a look on her face like she'd been slapped, and she ran from the room in tears. Everyone turned back to Rafe scowling. "What did I say?" he asked in embarrassment.

"She's... a little touchy this time of year," Simon said gently. "It's okay. She'll be fine..."

The officers resumed the festivities, and Ellison spun to face Naomi. "But that was YEARS ago," he argued. "She should be over it by now!"

"Why?" Naomi retorted. "YOU'RE not, and you're still hurting over stuff that happened even LONGER back. Why is everyone ELSE supposed to get over it, and not YOU?"

"Take me out of here," Jim choked out. "I can't take any more of this."

"I hear that," Naomi said softly. "Let's try something a little more low key, shall we?"

"Wh-where are we now?" Jim asked shakily.

"Fifty-third and West Clark," Naomi replied. "Visiting a friend of yours..."

"Who?"

An old drunk ambled around the corner carrying a bottle in a brown bag, and he stopped suddenly in front of Jim and Naomi. "I shee youse!" he announced.

"WHAT?" Jim demanded. "Timmy? I thought we were invisible, Naomi!"

"We are," she replied. "He's talking to someone else."

Ellison turned to see, and noted a scraggly young man warming himself over a barrel-fire. The man stared at the drunk for a second, then went back to the fire. The drunk threw down the bottle and shouted, "I shee youse!"

"See what?" the man replied cockily. "What you see, rummy?"

"I sheen you thish morning," Timmy continued. "It wush YOU! I sheen you."

"Get the fuck out of here, rummy," the man snarled. "You ain't seen SHIT."

"I shaw you beat Shanta's head in with a BRICK, motherfucker," Timmy shouted back.

The man froze, and Jim heard his heartbeat accelerate. He turned to face Timmy and then began slowly approaching the old souse. "Yeah?" he asked. "You sure it was me?"

"I picked you right out of the mugbook, I shure did." Timmy replied. "Yer Rudolph Tyndale."

The man grimaced. "You told them I did that, rummy?" Rudolph said icily.

"You bet I did," Timmy sneered. "Becuzz it'sh the TRUTH. I sheen it, and I'll SCHWEAR to it."

"What makes you think you'll do that, rummy?" asked Rudolph while popping open a switchblade.

"Hold it right there!" Jim shouted, pulling out his pistol. "Police officer! On the fucking ground, NOW!"

"James?" Naomi interrupted.

"Not now," Jim snapped. "I said FREEZE!" he reiterated, releasing the safety. "On the GROUND!" But Rudolph continued to stalk forward. Jim fired. Rudolph continued towards Timmy palming the knife. "What the-?" Ellison said, as Rudolph walked right through him and grabbed Timmy by the collar.

"We're not able to be seen or heard, James," Naomi said sadly. "Or affect these events in any way. I'm sorry."

"I will FIND this greasy fuck, I swear to GOD," Jim seethed in impotent rage.

"Of course, dear, but we still have another stop to make..."

"What the-? This is MY place!"

"Of course, dear. And you know THAT adorable little sweetheart, don't you?"

Jim turned to see Blair moving in a stunned haze, his face streaked with tears. He shambled through the two visitors weakly singing 'O Christmas Tree' as he animatedly decorated the tree. Jim noticed several bags near the door.

"Geeze, I didn't think he'd take it so hard," Jim fumbled . "Is he going to be okay?"

Naomi frowned. "Sure, James. Mankind's inherent goodness will take care of him..."

Jim winced. "What the hell am I supposed to do, lady? He's a grown man, not some kid that needs to be taken care of all the time. Am I supposed to be some sort of monster because I want to have my own LIFE?"

"You do, dear. He just wants to be part of it, is all... Shame on him, huh?"

Jim turned back to watch Blair continue to decorate the tree. "Really, though, he's gonna be okay, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, James," Naomi sighed sadly. "I see someone that is more than willing to be the friend to Blair that you're not interested in being anymore. More than that I cannot say..."

"What? Why not? Who is it?"

"My time is past, James, and I must away... There is still one spirit yet to visit you, and I pray that he may yet reach you. Farewell."

"Damn it, Naomi! Tell me! What's going on?" Jim stopped in his tracks as he looked around. He was back in the white tiled room he woke up in, and there was someone standing by the door . "Okay, I see where this is going," Jim muttered. "You're the last spirit, and I'm supposed to be all scared of you and shit. Well, forget it! Oh, yeah, I see. You're taking off your hood so I can see what a scary ol' monster you are. I-" the words died in his throat as the flickering fluorescents showed him the scarred features of this last visitor. "Oh, no," Jim whispered. "Not YOU..."

"Hello, my intended," the visitor smiled.

Part Five: Down a Dark Street

"BOBO FIENDISH!" Jim wailed in horror, backing away from the monster that was going to destroy the entire city of Cascade just to prove a POINT. "NO! You're DEAD!"

"Tut, tut," Fiendish smiled shaking his finger in reproach . "We are presenrly perceived as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come - here to enlighten you to the results of the road you currently - and stubbornly - walk. But you, Shaman, are free to continue to call us 'Bobo' if it pleases you."

"This CAN'T be happening..."

"Coming from a man that's travelled through time and space with both a disgruntled actress and a hippie after having spoken to a corpse? Ah, irony. It is to laugh..."

"Why the hell did it have to be you?"

"You know as well as WE do that it wasn't going to go over if it was just some bones in a purple cape. We seem to recall you braying how you weren't scared of, what was it? Oh, yes. A 'God Damned Thing'. Seeing your reaction to us serves at least to prove that the Man Upstairs hasn't given us the 'thumbs down' just yet. This pleases me. Sadly, much as we'd enjoy comparing our... differences in ideology, shall we say? We have much to show you, and scant time."

"Get the fuck away from me, or so help me I'll kill you again!" Jim shouted, taking a fighting stance.

"Pardon? Hmm... You must have been hit a little harder than we thought," Fiendish replied. "We don't recall you killing us a FIRST time. The person taking credit for THAT is our dear friend Dr. Kelso, if you'll recall. Sadly, it is not the first time he has claimed doing something he did in fact NOT do, but I digress..."

Jim stopped in his tracks. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stammered.

"Oh, THAT'S right," Fiendish continued. "You didn't READ his book, did you? Suffice to say when - which is to say, IF - you ever do; be sure to have a few grains of salt handy. Heh." Fiendish clapped his hands together and drywashed them briskly, and Jim tensed in anticipation of the coming assault. "Now to business," Bobo announced. "Firstly, lower your hands. You and we both know that you cannot match us, and the attempt will be an ODIOUS experience. For us both. At any rate, we're not here to beat you half to death yet again; that endeavor is so easy it's a smidge boring for us. No, Shaman, our purpose here is to instruct... And instruct we WILL."

"No," Jim said flatly. "There's no way in hell I'm going to go anywhere with you, or to have you try and teach me SHIT about Christmas or anything else!"

"Perhaps we weren't clear?" Fiendish said patiently as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We didn't say we would LIKE to, if you PLEASE. We said we WOULD - and we ARE."

Jim blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself standing in a bustling paramilitary base. "What IS this?" Jim blurted. "I don't recognize the insignia... A sword through a golden ring? Nobody uses that."

"Because it hasn't been created just yet, Shaman," Bobo replied. "Christmas FUTURE, remember?"

"SIR!" shouted one of the soldiers. "We have captured the last remnants of the resistance."

"This is good news," nodded the officer. "Take them to the grand chamber, and I'll inform the Leader. He shall decide their fate."

"Sir!" saluted the soldier. "Escort the prisoners to the grand chamber for judgement!"

Several haggard people were roughly shoved along and past Ellison and Fiendish. "Resistance? Resistance to what? Who are they?"

"We forget sometimes that you are not quite as far developed as ourselves. But surely you can tell them by scent? No matter, you'll know them soon enough..."

"Leader, we present Maya Corasco, weapons supplier and organizer for the Resistance." The soldier shoved her to the ground in the center of the grand chamber, and she stared defiantly at the figure seated in shadows at the marble desk at the far side of the chamber. "We present Daryl Banks, chief military specialist and organizer for the Resistance." Another soldier sent a grown up Daryl sprawling with a stiff clout from his rifle. "We present Naomi Sandburg, chief organizer and spiritual leader of the Resistance." Naomi marched forward meekly, and knelt down beside the other two. "We regret that the leader of the Resistance would not be captured..."

"He escaped?" the Leader asked, his voice tempered steel.

"No, sir," the soldier replied. "He managed to break free of custody en route, and attacked the pilot of the transport. It went down. There were no survivors..."

"FOOL!" the Leader shouted. "The Fallen Angel has been dead more times than you could count, only to return to strike again at the foundation of what we've built! I will not believe him dead until his head has been the centerpiece on my table for at least a week, and even THEN I'd doubt it." He strode forward, pulling a pistol and firing. The soldier dropped in a gurgling fountain from a sudden rupture in his neck caused by the gunshot. "To fail in the cause of Good is to serve Evil, and Evil must be PUNISHED."

"EVIL MUST BE PUNISHED!" echoed the soldiers enthusiastically.

"You... actually... did it...," Jim murmured in amazement as he sank to his knees in shock. "You took over the world and shaped it to your dark vision..."

"No, clearly not," Bobo sighed. "HE did."

Naomi wept. "What have you BECOME?" she demanded through her tears. "Blair..."

"SILENCE!" the Leader barked harshly. "You have long since forfeited the right to call me by name when you turned against me, mother! I may yet spare your life if you tell me where the Fallen Angel has hidden himself."

"Never!" Naomi spat. "He'll see you dead for the mockery you've made of his dream."

Blair laughed mirthlessly. "I've got a stack of paperwork on my desk that says you're full of shit," he mocked. "The Resistance is finished. Good triumphs over Evil. Accept it. Eventually, even the likes of the Angel of Death Most Exalted will be swept aside for the good of us all..."

"What the fuck?" Ellison breathed. "What happened here?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Bobo asked, incredulous. "That she saw someone that was more than willing to be the friend to him you're no longer willing to be?"

"Holy shit!" Jim exclaimed. "You're still ALIVE?"

"We never said we were dead, remember? 'We are not dead until we TELL you.' Ring any bells?"

"Jesus H. Christ... But now... he's after YOU?"

"It all started out just fine," Bobo sighed. "But the lad was a bit broader in his definition of Evil than ourselves... First, anyone that would not serve was deemed Evil, and driven underground. Then those that disagreed with his methods were similarly labelled, and hunted - that's where WE come in. Heh. Then, those that were a strain on resources were deemed Evil, and so the sick and infirm were expunged. Then those that didn't quite 'measure up' in whatever fashion they did not - be it mental, physical, et cetera... Then the elderly... Sad, no? It's even a smidge ironic, considering history..."

"You're surprised?" Jim demanded angrily. "He's just following in your footsteps!"

"That is not so, Shaman," Fiendish replied. "Our vision was meant for the good of all. But... Something had changed Little Brother.... When we first met him, he was possessed of a measure of compassion, piety, gentleness. When we met him the second time, well... Those qualities were long dead in this one, and no one knew it until he drove out everyone that ever loved him. Of course, NOW those that remain are back home for the holidays..."

"What happened to me?" Jim asked softly. "Where do -I- figure in to all this?"

"Just a moment, we're coming to the good part," Fiendish hushed.

"The prisoners await your judgement!" one of the soldiers stated.

Blair looked at the three people huddled together at his feet; people Jim knew that Blair loved more than all the world. "Evil must be punished," he pronounced without a trace of emotion. "Hang them."

Maya and Naomi sobbed in tandem as the soldiers placed the nooses around their neck, but made no move to resist. Daryl tried, and was clubbed relentlessly to the ground by five soldiers, who then stood his unconscious body up and put the noose around his neck in turn. The cords were then thrown over the rafter beams, and hooked to winches.

"Wait!" Blair said.

"Thank God," Jim said. "I knew he wouldn't go through with that..."

"I almost forgot," Blair smiled. "Merry Christmas." He then threw a lever, and the winches hummed to life - yanking the three rebels off their feet and dangling them eight feet from the floor.

"NO!" Ellison shrieked. "BLAIR, STOP!"

"This is where we remind you that we cannot be seen or heard, Shaman," Fiendish said evenly.

"Jesus, I can't watch this," Ellison moaned as he turned away.

"You MUST," Fiendish replied, seizing him and turning him back to witness the scene - even holding his eyes open. Jim struggled, but Fiendish was too strong. Ellison wept as he felt his soul rip to pieces.

The prisoners kicked futilely as the cables tightened from their weight, and after what seemed like an eternity to Ellison, they ceased. Blair watched it all with nary a blink, and after a palpable silence he spoke with a voice like a breeze through a graveyard. "Evil must be punished."

"EVIL MUST BE PUNISHED!" the soldiers cheered.

"Now get out!" Blair shouted. "Bring me the head of the Fallen Angel! NOW!"

"AS THE LEADER COMMANDS!" the soldiers replied in chilling unison.

Blair marched to the marble desk as the soldiers filed out, and appraised his three new chandeliers before sitting down. "You were right, Big Guy," he whispered. "Dog eat dog. No holidays . And look how fucking HAPPY I am...." He then went back to his paperwork, and Ellison stared in stunned shock.

"Tell me," he creaked. "Where do -I- figure in to this nightmare?"

"Ah, yes. You. Brace yourself, Shaman, we don't think you'll enjoy this half as much as the last..."

Jim suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a town square, and in the distance he saw a single person on their knees in front of a statue. "Where are we?" Jim asked.

"The place that holds the answer to your question, Shaman," Bobo replied. "Go to her..."

"Her?" Ellison stammered. "What do you mean?"

"Your answers to your place in this world, Shaman, are here. With her. Go and get them."

Jim marched tentatively to the statue in the center of the square. As Fiendish had said, a woman was weeping softly as she laid a few forget-me-nots at the base of the monument. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she whispered through her tears. "You BASTARD."

Jim took two steps back in surprise. "CAROLYN?!" She was reeking with the stench of alcohol.

"He was such a sweet young man," she sighed. "So giving. So loving. Full of dreams and hope and potential. But you just HAD to step in, right? Now look at him... He's destroying the world. For you. I hope that you're PROUD of yourself. May you rot in the bowels of Hell, you twisted, miserable piece of SHIT."

"Citizen, it is approaching curfew," someone said to the right. "You may return tomorrow to continue paying homage to the Blessed One, if you choose."

"Homage!?" Carolyn laughed bitterly. "You're joking. No, I won't go. I want this fuck to watch..."

"Citizen, you show dangerous levels of disrespect for the Blessed One. Please go home. Sleep it off."

"NO!" Carolyn cried. "I'm not going anywhere! You can't make me!"

The sound of a safety unlatching on a submachine gun echoed through the deserted park. "Citizen, for the last time, you are requested to cease your display and return to your home. Further acts of defiance will not be tolerated."

"Jesus, Carolyn, go home!" Jim pleaded. "That psycho isn't playing around!"

"FUCK YOU!" Carolyn shouted, pulling a pistol.

"NO!" Jim cried desperately. "Please, Carolyn! NO!" The sounds of automatic fire erupted, and Carolyn danced the last waltz under it's deadly rain. She fell to the ground in a bloody heap, and Jim wailed piteously as he dropped to his hands and knees in the sparse snow.

"Rise, Shaman," commanded Fiendish. "There is one last thing to see..."

"No...," Jim sobbed. "No more."

"But you must know the architect of this bleak time," Bobo smirked.

"I can't take any more... Please, stop."

Bobo grabbed Jim by the collar. "But there IS more, Shaman. Enough for all, and to SPARE." He lifted Ellison one handed, and held him at arm's length off the ground as he turned him towards the monument. "Look, and know the fruit of your works!"

"What?" Jim blurted, taken aback. "MY works?!? What did -I- have to do with this?"

"You know," Bobo hissed. "Look upon the proof, coward!" Jim Ellison stared at the monument, still spattered with Carolyn's blood, and his heart froze dead in his chest. "READ it, Shaman!" Bobo commanded.

"'In Memorium of James J. Ellison'," Jim recited numbly. "'The Light that Shows the Way. The Truth that Builds the World.'"

"By those words be thou DAMNED," Fiendish spat as he tossed Jim roughly to the ground next to Carolyn's body. "FOREVER!"

"NO!" Ellison pleaded. "Wait! Are you the Ghost of the Christmas that WILL be, or that MAY be?"

"An interesting question, Shaman. Why ask?"

"Why show me this, if there's nothing I can do about it?"

"Is there?" Bobo sneered.

"I know that I've stumbled.... That I've forgotten the truth of this season. But I can change!"

"Do tell?"

"I know it! Let me have the chance. Let me erase the letters from that cold stone, and as God is my witness, I'll give all that I am to see to it that this dark passage never comes to the history of the earth. I beg you! If you can give me that, I swear to keep the joy and love alive in my heart - and not just at Christmas, but the whole year through! You'll see. I know it's not too late! PLEASE!"

The Dark Angel stood over Ellison's prone form and contemplated for a moment that seemed to go on forever. "So be it," Bobo smiled. "You're welcome. See you SOON."

Part Six: Worth a Pound of Cure

"He's coming around," he heard someone say. "Back up, give him some air!"

"Wh-what?" Ellison said shakily.

"Ease up, Detective," the voice commanded. "You've taken a nasty shot to the head. Just sit tight, and the EMTs will be with you as soon as they can."

"Is he going to be alright?" he heard someone else ask.

"The EMTs will find that out in a couple seconds, ma'am. We've still got to sort out the mess you've made."

Ellison opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. "Wh-where am I?"

"You're at the McDonald's at seventeenth and Larchemont, Detective," smiled a uniformed officer. "And you're lucky to be alive. Go easy, okay? The EMTS will be right with you."

Jim sat up, and rubbed his eyes. "What... what day is it?"

"It's Christmas Eve," said an EMT as he stooped down to check Ellison. He shined a light into his face, and Ellison winced. "Well, your pupils aren't dilated, so you don't have a concussion. That's good. You really have quite a thick skull, sir. Most people that've taken the shot you did don't even wake up for at least eight hours.... You've only been out ten minutes."

"Then they did it!" Ellison said happily. "I didn't miss it!"

"What the-?" the EMT said, taken aback. "Okaaaay, right. Let's get you to the hospital for observation."

"No time!" Ellison said as he leaped to his feet. "The robbers...?"

"Well, that's kinda complicated, sir," the officer said. "Seems after you were bushwhacked, your gun went flying across the store..."

"I caught it," Phoebe said with a wave.

"Uh, yes," the officer said. "She then fired your weapon upon the suspects, injuring the one that assaulted you, and held the other two who had feigned surrender as her prisoner under threat of similar action until we arrived."

"They were gonna SHOOT me," Phoebe accused with a pout. "That's gratitude for ya..."

"Ma'am, we were not aware of the situation," the officer explained.

"Phooey!" Phoebe sniffed. "Three guys in trenchcoats with their hands up, and you wanna act like -I- was the one at fault. Sheesh! Hello?!? Notice the McDonald's uniform?"

"Right, well, I think everything worked out okay," Ellison said. "You guys can take the collars, and get the security camera tapes as evidence.... I'll take the young lady into my custody."

"Okay, Detective," the officer said. "If you're sure..."

"Tut, tut," Ellison said with a broad smile. "The faster we get these guys run through, the faster we can get back to our families, right, Officer... uh?"

"Saunders," the blue suit replied.

"Officer Saunders, I'd like you to follow me in your patrolcar, and these other fine officers can get these suspects squared away, alright?"

"Uh... sure. Is it okay if I asked why?"

"Crime in progress, Saunders. So let's go," he strode to the door. "Coming?" he asked.

"Right behind you!" Phoebe said, picking up Ellison's gun from the counter and bounding after him. Saunders stood his ground, clearly puzzled.

"Let's go, Officer Saunders," Ellison called, crooking his finger. "Chop chop!"

Phoebe and Ellison piled into his truck, and Saunders got into his patrolcar. Ellison put his light on the roof of the truck and pulled into the street. Saunders did the same, and put on his siren.

"Where are we going?" Phoebe asked lightly.

"Fifty-third and West Clark," Jim replied.

"How come?"

"We've got to help an old friend..."

Five minutes later, the two cars pulled up to the intersection, and Jim hopped out of the truck. "Wait here, I'll be back in a second," Jim told Phoebe.

"Better take this with you," she smiled as she handed him back his firearm.

"Right," Jim smiled. "You with me, Saunders?"

"Yes, sir, Detective," Saunders replied, drawing his pistol as well. "What are we doing here?"

"Our jobs, Saunders," Jim replied. "Let's go..."

"HELP!" someone called desperately.

"Police!" Ellison barked. "Free- Well, I'll be damned..."

"Don't just STAND there," Rudolph pleaded from his awkward position on the ground. "Get this rummy OFF me! He's gonna break my fuckin' ARM!"

"HEY!" Timmy called. "It'sh you! Fanshy sheein' you again..."

"Let go of the guy, and get your hands up," Saunders commanded. "NOW!"

"Saunders, relax," Ellison said chuckling. "Timmy's with us. Who you got there, soldier?"

"It'sh that guy what killed Shanta's buddy thish mornin'.... Tried to shlip me the shiv when I shaw him and shaid I shaw what he done, but it din't work out like he figgered; did it, Rudy?"

"I don't have ANY idea what this wino is talking about!" Rudolph stammered. "He's off his fuckin' nut. Get him the fuck OFF me already!"

"Crazy, is he?" Ellison smiled . "I guess that this ISN'T your switchblade, huh?"

"Fuck," Rudy cursed. "I mean, uh, NO."

"Cuff the scumbag, Saunders," Ellison commanded. "And after he does, Timmy, you can let him go."

"Aight," Timmy nodded.

Saunders stood amazed. "But... How the... How the hell did you know this was happening clear across town?"

"Can you keep a secret?" Ellison whispered.

"I guess..."

"Me, too," Ellison laughed, clasping Saunders on the shoulder. "Quite a collar, there, Saunders. Murder and robbery suspect. Could get you promoted..."

"You're giving ME this collar?" Saunders said, his eyes widening in surprise. "But... why?"

"You don't want it?" Ellison asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I didn't say THAT," Saunders coughed. "It's just... Well, shit! Thanks, Detective."

"No problem, officer," Ellison waved. "Just remember one thing, huh?"

"What?"

"Don't let yourself get distracted from what's really important, okay? Merry Christmas."

~~~~

Sandburg took one last look at the apartment and rubbed away the tears that sprang to his eyes. He then shouldered his bags and reached to open the door when it almost knocked him down as it flew open. "Holy shit!" he yelped as he stumbled backwards off balance. Someone grabbed him by the collar before he fell, and he looked to see who it was. "JIM?" he exclaimed.

"Still here, are you?" Ellison demanded.

"I- I was just l-leaving," Sandburg stammered.

"Where to?"

"I dunno, maybe get a temporary set-up at the dorm... It doesn't matter, I'll survive."

"What makes you so sure?" Ellison growled.

"Now wait just a minute... I'm getting, I'm getting! No need to get all feral..."

Ellison pulled Sandburg's bag off his shoulder, "No, Chief, I mean what makes you so sure you're leaving?"

Sandburg blinked in surprise. "What? Wasn't it you that told me to be out before you got back?"

"Uh huh... And yet here you still are... What do you think that means, professor?"

"I don't know," Sandburg gulped.

"After all we've been through, you think I'd be enough of an asshole to throw you out into the street on CHRISTMAS? Sounds to me like you need to do some more observation, Chief..."

"Wh-what are you saying?"

"You're not going anywhere, Chief," Ellison said as he clamped Sandburg in a bearhug. "Unless you want to, of course... But I think you should stay."

"Oops, I don't mean to interrupt," Phoebe blurted. "Say, he's really CUTE! Who's he?"

"Phoebe, allow me to present Blair Sandburg," Ellison said with a grand flourish. "My partner."

"Damn, just my luck," Phoebe grumbled.

"No, sweetheart," Ellison corrected. "He's my partner with the police-thing."

"Uh, charmed," Sandburg fumbled. "I serve as an advisor and observer to the Cascade P.D., and they've teamed me with Detective Ellison..."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Phoebe said lightly.

"Uh, how did you two meet?" Sandburg stammered.

"Oh, I spit on his hamburger," Phoebe replied. "Next thing you know I was shooting someone, and..."

"Yes, yes, that's fine," Ellison waved impatiently. "But we're on a schedule, here... Let's go, you two."

"Uh, is he okay?" Sandburg whispered.

"Seems fine to me," Phoebe said. "Considering he got socked in the chops with a shotgun... Why?"

"Nothing. Forget I asked," Sandburg sighed. Ellison stopped short and turned around.

"I see, you think I got knocked goofy, huh?" Ellison demanded, crossing his arms across his chest. "Maybe I did, but listen... Chief, I know I've been a mess lately; but I'm not anymore. It dawned on me that..."

"What?"

"That you were right, man. That this time of year IS special... TIME is special, and we shouldn't waste it feeling sorry for ourselves... I get it now, and I'm sorry for what I said. I was wrong, and I apologize..."

"Wow," Blair sighed in amazement. "I don't know what to say..."

"Well, think about it on the way, huh? We've got to get going! C'mon!" Ellison insisted, pulling them along behind him and stuffing them into the truck.

~~~~

The double doors of the Major Crimes Unit flew open and James Ellison strode grimly in, flanked by Phoebe and Sandburg. A stunned hush came across the partiers as Ellison marched to the center of the place and looked around. "Goofing off, huh?" he said haughtily. "Drinking on the job, huh?"

"BUSTED," Rafe wheezed. Everyone lowered their faces, fully aware of the irony.

"Well, there's only one thing to say about that," Ellison snarled.

"Jim, wait a minute," Simon flustered. "This was my call, and-"

"Give me a minute, would you, Simon?" Jim said raising his hand to stop the captain short. "As I was GOING to say, there's just ONE thing to say about this deplorable display of unprofessionalism... And do you know what THAT is?"

Everyone looked up, and Megan sheepishly asked, "And what IS it?"

Ellison broke into a wide grin. "Where's MINE?" The congregation shot puzzled looks at each other as Ellison grabbed a beer . "Nevermind, here it is!" he beamed as he popped it open and chugged it. "Well? What's everyone standing around for? Is this a party or not?"

"What the hell happened to HIM?" Simon asked Sandburg as the party resumed. Several of the officers gathered around Jim and were patting him on the back or shaking his hand.

"I have NO idea, Captain," Blair shrugged. "But I wish it happened SOONER. How about you?"

"No argument there," Simon chuckled. "Who's your friend?"

"Phoebe Merriwether," she said shaking Simon's hand. "You'll read about me later, I think..."

"Fine," Simon sighed. "I don't think I want to know just now, anyway..."

Jim strode up and eyed the three of them suspiciously. "Say, Chief, it just occurred to me that maybe this isn't quite the place for the young lady..."

"What?" Blair and Phoebe said, poleaxed.

"So what you do, Chief, is you take this ticket, and you take these keys, and you get her to that Holiday Festival at the college..."

"But... What about you?" Blair asked.

"Yeah!" Phoebe added. "I thought YOU were taking me. Don't get me wrong, he's cute as a button, but..."

"Phoebe, I'd love to go with you, but I can't," Ellison said. "There's someone else..."

"WHO?" they both asked.

"Never you mind," Ellison said as he urged them to the door. "Just go and have a great time, okay? Merry Christmas. Now get the hell out of here."

"Right," Blair sighed offering his arm to Phoebe. "Shall we, milady?"

"Let's," Phoebe giggled taking it. The two of them briskly ambled off to Jim's truck, and the Detective went back inside.

~~~~

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Wh-what are YOU doing here?" Carolyn asked, scrubbing the tears from her face.

"I was, uh, in the neighborhood, and someone told me that you were feeling kinda down..."

"That fucking blabbermouth Rafe," she groused. "I'll break his neck."

"Hey, hey, cool your jets, dragonlady," Jim said softly. "We're all on the same team here, right?"

"Are we? I hadn't noticed," she snapped.

"Listen, I have to show you something," Jim whispered. "It's important."

"What?" she demanded.

"It's in this box," he replied, holding it out to her.

"If this is some lame ass joke, you'll be dead before you hit the floor," she grumbled as she opened it. "Hey, what gives? This is..."

"MISTLETOE!" Jim shouted as he kissed her.

She kissed him back.

The End.

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Acknowledgments: Mary's Christmas present from her son, Clancy. Patt did the art.