Twas the Night Before

“Christmas is a holiday that persecutes the lonely, the frayed, and the rejected.” Jimmy Cannon

Hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans, Darien walked slowly along the sidewalk towards the massive Catholic Church that dominated the view before him. He still found it slightly awkward to come here, but being able to talk to Father Tom about things no one else outside the Agency could possibly understand had done quite a lot to keep Darien on an even keel over the last few tumultuous months. Having someone with an outside perspective, who wasn’t tied to the matter at hand had helped Darien get some insight into not only why this had happened to him, but also why he was so damn angry about it.

The mood was decidedly festive with the nearby park decorated to the nines for the holidays, lights, garlands, fake snow, and ornaments everywhere. Some local high school choir stood on risers and was singing “It’s the most wonderful time of the year...” to the fair-sized crowd and a couple of television cameras who were looking for some family oriented fill for their evening newscast.

“The most wonderful time of the year, my ass.” Darien mumbled sullenly. This year was looking to be a bit better than previous ones and he was bound and determined to make it perfect for Adam, but, for the most part, he’d not found any of the holiday spirit for himself. Which was why he was headed to St. Mary’s for a bit of a chat with good old Father Tom.

Skirting around the church proper, he headed for the school and followed the sound of voices raised in laughter. He spotted a group of kids that were about Adam's age all dressed in full Dickensian costume and paused to ask where Father Tom was at the moment. They directed him towards the auditorium that doubled as an event hall and Darien headed on in to find the school's Christmas play in full dress rehearsal, which explained the archaically dressed kids outside. He nodded to the nun who was pacing back and forth across the floor before the stage, watching the kids as they acted out one of the early scenes in the play.

`You don't believe in me,' observed the Ghost.

`I don't.' said Scrooge.

`What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?'

`I don't know,' said Scrooge.

`Why do you doubt your senses?'

`Because,' said Scrooge, `a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!' Scrooge paused, staring at the ghost.

`You see this toothpick?' said Scrooge,

`I do,' replied the Ghost.

`You are not looking at it,' said Scrooge.

`But I see it,' said the Ghost, `notwithstanding.'

`Well!' returned Scrooge, `I have but to swallow this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you! Humbug!'

The kid playing the ghost, who should have let out a fearful howl to frighten Scrooge, instead let out a pitiful squeak, his voice cracking as his burgeoning adolescence made itself known. Darien forced himself to stifle the chuckle, but was unable to contain the grin while the kids backstage broke out into gales of laughter.

Smacking the tip of her cane into the hardwood floor, the nun stopped the laughter instantly and barked, "Continue." Whereupon the poor kid playing Marley cleared his throat and got out a screech that set the hairs at the back of Darien's neck to standing upright in reaction. The nun, who Darien now recognized as Sister Beatrice, clucked at him and shook her head sadly.

"Final dress rehearsal, and its been one disaster after another. At least that's a sign opening night should go well." She gave Darien a brilliant smile. "Father Tom should be in back, Mr. Fawkes." She nodded towards the air-wall that Darien hadn't even realized was in place. "A Christmas party for some of the less fortunate children in the area."

"Thanks. And break a leg." Darien winced in sympathy as on the stage Bob Marley tripped over his chains and fell headlong onto the floor with a shout of pain.

"Tristan," Sister Beatrice said in total exasperation, making it plain this was a fairly regular occurrence on the boy's part. Within seconds she was up on stage and making sure the child was unharmed by his fall.

Skirting about the air-wall, which had been left open just enough to act as a crude doorway, Darien found, instead of neat rows of chairs awaiting friends and family to come, sit and watch the brilliance of their children, controlled chaos. There were several tables set up, one with kids decorating paper snowflakes with glitter; another covered in food, punch, and various desserts including the ubiquitous Christmas cookies and milk. There was a group of kids sitting in one corner where a television showed the classic Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with a disconcerted Donder proclaiming, "His beak blinks' like a blinkin' beacon." While a very young Rudolph's nose squeaked and glowed on the screen.

"Darien, good of you to stop by," Father Tom said as he came over holding several of the finished snowflakes in his hands by the loops of yarn that had been strung through them. "Think you could help hang some of these? The littler ones just can't reach very high." Tom nodded towards the tree in one corner of the room, which stood a good seven feet tall.

"Sure." Darien walked over to the tree with Tom at his side and scooped up the little girl who was standing on her tippy toes and straining to reach the highest branch she possibly could. With a squeal of glee she placed the homemade ornament on a branch just below the angel that topped the tree and once Darien had set her down, she ran off crowing to all the other kids that her snowflake was the highest of them all. Darien just smiled and shook his head. Within moments he had a line of kids all wanting the chance to put their snowflake near the top instead of flooding the bottom three feet of the fragrant smelling pine with the decorations. After about a half-hour a pair of sisters appeared and lured the kids away with the promise of more Christmas fun, leaving Darien and Tom alone for the moment.

"You're a natural with kids, you know that?" Tom said, with the frankness Darien had grown to expect from him.

Darien shrugged. "At that age, they're pretty easy to please." All the kids gathered were young, the oldest maybe seven, but even he had been easy to lift, weighing far less than Darien had thought. "Older they’re a bit more tricky."

"Still, trying to find your place in Adam's life?" Tom asked, perceptive as always.

"Yeah. He's had it rough. Not like these kids," Darien waved at the group currently raiding the snacks and arguing over what movie to watch next. The Santa Clause seemed to be the forerunner at the moment, but Darien knew young minds could change faster than stoplights on a short cycle. "I'm surprised every day that he's handling it as well as he is."

It was plain by the state of the kids’ clothing that their parents, if they were even blessed enough to have two, were down on their luck and couldn't afford much more than the basics. Christmas would just be another day for these families, with no gifts and probably a meal either here at the Church or at one of the other shelters around town. It was also plain that the kids were taken care of, loved. The clothes, though worn and ill fitting, were clean and for the most part the children seemed happy.

"These kids are better off than most, they have families that love and care for them, just facing hard times this year." Tom told him in a soft voice. "The few that were having serious problems we were able to intervene and resolve most of the issues. It's been a tough year for many."

"And not even you can help them all." Darien stated his mood somber.

"Sadly no, but these we can. They'll go home with some happiness and will find a few gifts under the tree." Tom lowered his voice. "Their parents are choosing some clothing and other necessities, as well as two gifts for each of the kids. Though its not likely to be what they wished for."

"Wished for?" Darien asked in curiosity.

Tom plucked one of the snowflakes from the tree and turned it about for Darien to see the back. There, written in a child's scrawl, was the words fire truck and Henry. "The kids wrote down the one gift they wanted the most and some, like Henry here, will probably get it, but a few, like Katie over there, are wishing for items a bit more difficult to obtain."

"What? You don't perform miracles?" Darien asked with forced humor in his voice.

"That is His province. I just do my humble best to see that people know the miracle has happened," Tom responded, seemingly not the least bit put off by Darien's comment.

Darien nodded, thinking. "So, how many are looking to Him for assistance this year?" He kept the tone completely casual, but the glint in Tom's eyes made it pretty plain that the good father knew Darien was considering something.

"Surprisingly only seven of the two dozen kids this year. Even with money tight for most, we got a very nice variety of contributions this year." With a slight smile Tom looked over the tree and picked an ornament seemingly at random. This one was precisely done, the snowflake neat and well balanced, the glitter added to specific points and not haphazardly. "Theresa Wilson. Six years old and smart as a whip. She asks the hard questions much like you used to." Tom handed the decoration to Darien, who read for himself what the child wanted.

"Harry Potter books? That's all?" Darien was astonished and Tom chuckled.

"What she really wanted was for her Dad to come back, but as she said, 'That's not something Santa can do’," Tom replied, and Darien was betting the priest knew exactly what kind of reaction that would have on him.

The muscles of Darien's jaw momentarily clenched in reaction, he knew how the kid felt, he’d made similar wishes when his dad left and later when his mom had died. Theresa was proving to be wise far beyond her tender years where intelligent reasoning was concerned. The spark of an idea fired in his mind and coming to a decision Darien looked Tom right in the eyes. "Who else?"

*          *          *

“Hobbes, you look like an idiot.” Darien commented over the plastic cup of holiday cheer. It was supposed to be eggnog, but somewhere along the way it had become the residence of about a liter of bourbon. Darien had taken one sip, which he had very nearly sprayed on one of the pretty females that hovered about his partner at the time, and then studiously ignored it as dangerous to his continued existence.

Hobbes shrugged, plainly having had enjoyed more than one cup of said intoxicant as he was currently smiling serenely as he gazed about. “Don’ feel like one,” he commented as yet another female in tight fitting holiday wear, this one dressed like the Frederick’s of Hollywood version of Mrs. Claus, paused to plant a firm kiss on Hobbes’ lips, much to Darien’s irritation. “You’re just wishing you’d thought of it,” Hobbes said once he was freed from a potentially fatal case of tonsil wrestling.

“Try again,” Darien reached out and flicked the mistletoe dangling above the Santa hat that sat firmly in place on Hobbes’ head. He’d rigged a wire to the band of fake fur that ran around the edge so that he was always standing under the thing and, much to Darien’s dismay, the dorky idea worked. There had yet to be a single woman who had not taken Hobbes up on the free kiss deal. “Look man, it’s been fun, but I got things to do. A kid to get home to.”

Hobbes' demeanor changed instantly and Darien suspected Hobbes had been ditching the flammable libation much as Darien himself had. “Fawkes, it's still early, stay another hour at least. Claire won’t have problem with it. They’re probably just eating popcorn and watching It's a Wonderful Life or something else just as sappy.”

Darien shook his head, he’d been reluctant to come to Hobbes' “office party” for his supposed textile firm to begin with, but with the plans he’d made that afternoon he needed to bail. He had a ton of crap to do and only so much time he could do it in. “Hobbes, you know this is not my style.” He waved a hand at the overly decorated room Hobbes had reserved for this little shindig in one of the “lounges” he frequented to maintain his cover as an ordinary guy. Darien still wasn’t sure he understood the reasoning, but he went along with it as it had occasionally served a purpose in his own life. Gave him a legit job for his Aunt Celia to tell her friends about. He hated lying to her, but better a fake job than risk her getting hurt because of what he really did.

Hobbes shook his head. “You gotta get out more, Fawkes. Live a little while you can.”

Darien sighed. “Hobbes, I do, just my own way is all.” He batted the mistletoe again, which made Hobbes growl in feigned irritation. “Try not to have too much fun. Don’t want to have to explain to Claire about your hangover or why you smell like perfume.” Darien danced away with a laugh when Hobbes mock-swung at him.

“Merry Christmas, Fawkes,” Hobbes called out as Darien sauntered away.

Lifting his hand to wave, Darien returned the sentiment, “Merry Christmas.”

The entire room responded, with various levels of clarity depending on how much alcohol had been consumed, “Merry Christmas.” and then segued into a horrid rendition of We Wish You A Merry Christmas in at least three different and dissonant keys. It was with a sense of relief that Darien shrugged into his jacket and stepped out into the cool evening air. He had a very busy night ahead of him and need to get home, change and gather up the necessary items for the night’s work.

*          *          *

‘When up on the roof there arose such a clatter that I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.’ Ran through Darien’s mind as he cautiously made his way across the roof of the house turned run-down apartment building. But unlike the home invader in the ditty stuck in his mind, Darien’s footsteps were nearly noiseless, carefully testing each step before his full weight came down. No need to risk discovering a soft spot and falling through the roof and into the attic of the building.

Crossing the roof ridge he laid eyes on his target, the two by two square access door that led down into the attic proper. Lying flat beside it he slowly opened it, not very surprised to find it was unlocked and well oiled with not even the hint of a squeak or squeal. Slipping inside, Darien suspected it was probably one of the denizens of the building that kept the roof entrance in such good repair and not the owner; even more likely a teen who used the access to escape the confines of the building and their life after hours.

Once inside he took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness before locating the stairs leading down. From there it was simple to locate the apartment in question and even easier to bypass the nonexistent security. The door didn’t even have a deadbolt and the chain had been ripped off long ago. Moving stealthily, he located the living room and was surprised to find it decorated, although it was plain the decorations and tree were second or third hand at best. Unlike several of the other places he’d broken into tonight they’d been able to find some of the holiday spirit and express it.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.’ Dang if that wasn’t true, the place was dead still except for his movements, which made less noise than a whisper. “Good thing cat burglars are nocturnal,” he muttered softly to himself.

Shifting the large backpack about he pulled out the oversized package wrapped in glittery silver paper and set it under the tiny tree. While not the most awkward of the deliveries he’d made – the rocking horse had been a major challenge – it was the heaviest. Ms. Rowling must have been paid by the word since the fourth book was easily three times the size of her first. He then took out two much smaller packages, one addressed to Theresa and the other to Mrs. Wilson. For Theresa there was a $100 gift certificate for Borders, one of the big bookstore chains to feed her need to read, and for Theresa’s mom there was $200 cash.

Darien sighed, as he made sure the cards were visible and wouldn’t be missed, he only wished he could do more. As he turned to leave another line from that famous poem spoke up in his mind. ‘But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!”’

*          *          *

Adam staggered through the door of the tiny apartment, across the room and flopped down onto the futon that he’d chosen and that fit without too much rearranging of the place. Plus, it meant Darien could sleep in his own bed again instead of waking up with a backache from the sofa. The thing was fine for naps, but was not designed to be the main location for eight hours of sleep.

Adam was out cold before his head even hit the pillow, thankfully, since it meant Darien didn’t have to explain why he’d been so very late picking Adam up from Claire’s place. He suspected Adam wouldn’t really care, but Claire had been sure to demand the explanation Darien had dodged by citing the need to get Adam home and into his own bed so Santa could stop by, which had earned a snort of derision from the disbelieving teen and the raising of a single blonde eyebrow on Claire’s forehead.

Darien pulled the blankets up a bit closer about Adam who grumbled and then snuggled in before heaving a contented sigh. Chuckling softly, Darien made his way back down to the car where the remainder of Adam’s gifts had been hidden and carried them back upstairs to stuff about the base of the tree tucked between the full-sized bed and the kitchen counter. He realized, again, that he needed to hunt for a bigger place if the two of them were going to stay together for any length of time. This miniscule studio just wouldn’t cut it for very long.

Changing into his pajamas, Darien decided to leave the tree on, the white lights twinkling softly in the late-night darkness, but he wasn’t quite ready to sleep. Settling onto the bed, he sat back against the headboard and looked over the dimly lit apartment feeling a lot like Scrooge must have the morning after. His heart a bit lighter, his outlook a bit more upbeat, his future looking much brighter. And it wasn’t the ghost of any Christmas that had done it, it was all himself, just a simple act of kindness to a few strangers who would probably never know that he had invaded their homes and lives in hopes of making a few childish wishes come true.

For the first time in many long months Darien found himself content. Shifting down on the bed he pulled up the covers to settle in for a long winter’s nap knowing full well the rambunctious teen softly snoring on the other bed would be up at the crack of dawn to complain he’d not gotten all the things he’d asked for. That would be all right though, because Darien knew the kid had already gotten the greatest gift possible, he was alive and free.

“The world is not a playground; it's a schoolroom. Life is not a holiday but an education. And the one eternal question for us all is how better we can love."

Henry Drummond

finis