The Santa Society (21 page)

Brice throws the blindfold at my face. I flinch as it hits me in the eyes and falls to my lap. I look down. I can just barely make out the gray flecks of my black scarf. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You’ve ruined a good man. Everything the Society has worked for and protected for thousands of years. None of it means anything to you. Why not Rick over there? He’s single, and he’s not Santa Claus. Billions of men all over the world and you have to go and steal Father Christmas. Proud of yourself?”

I open my eyes. He glares at me as he rocks on his heels. I consider swinging my legs around. I could start kicking, but I don’t because I know I’ll still be tied up and he’s not. He’ll do to me what he just did to Rick. I stare in his eyes, willing my vision to sharpen like a laser beam and cut through his craziness. Maybe with enough faith I can explode his head.

And then what? I’ll be sitting here, tied up. Still staring at these four walls, hoping somebody will find me. At least it’s a chance. Because I think he plans to kill me.

“You didn’t have to do this. It’s over between me and Reason. I wasn’t going to see him anymore anyway.” My voice shakes.

“Well, that’s convenient. Rick over here went through all that trouble. And it’s all for nothing. Guess I better let you go home now.” He smiles at me, with a twisted look of enjoyment in his eyes. He’s the cat and I’m the mouse.

“Look, I’m leaving town. I don’t want anything else to do with the Society, or Reason.”

He shakes his head and makes a tsk-tsk sound. “See there, I knew you weren’t worth it. And now look at you. He’s willing to give up everything for somebody who doesn't want anything to do with him.” He leans in close to me, his eyes only inches away from mine. “But I kinda got a feeling you’re just saying that now, aren’t you? Now that I got you down here with a bunch of hungry rats.”

The hot smell of onions and stale cigarettes hovers around my face. I swallow. “What are you going to do with me then?” I try to keep my voice steady, showing no weakness. Something tells me it’ll only enrage him further.

“I’m doing what needs to be done. I’m saving Christmas, and I’m taking care of the Boss, because he’s too weak to do it himself.” He sits back a little.

“I told you, I don’t want to see Reason anymore. He set me up and made a fool of me.” I struggle to think of something else to say, because suddenly, I know the horrible things he did to me won't sound all that horrible. I need to sound sure of myself. So I say, “He deceived me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not, and he did. I can't love a man who deceives me.”

He leans in closer again. His gaze moves from my eyes to my cheek and then my mouth. He’s so close I feel his hot, stale breath on my lips. In horror, I wonder if he’s about to kiss me. I close my eyes in disgust. But the air in front of me empties and cools.

“Reason doesn’t lie.” He whispers in my ear.

“Of course he does.”

I expect a hard slap across my face, but nothing comes. I open my eyes and see him pacing the floor.

“I’m doing him a favor.” He raises a finger in the air, emphasizing his point. “You don't know him at all. And yet, he thinks he loves you, even has faith in
you
of all things. Where’s your faith in him? He’ll thank me one day. He will.”

“Faith in me? Why should he have faith in me? He’s got faith in the Gift—or so he says.” I’m getting better at this.

“You don’t know anything about the Gift! So shut up. Just shut up.” He turns and clasps his hands behind his neck.

“But I do know.”

He whirls around to face me. “Reason doesn’t talk about the Gift. Not even to me. He'd never talk about it to you.”

“I know all about the Gift. It requires faith and belief. It knows the hearts of men.”

“Quit making stuff up, you little harlot. Straight from the devil, that's what you are.”

“I saw it. It gave something to me.”

His face twists with rage and his eyes so dark they begin to look black. “What did it give you?” he hisses.

I know I should back off. I’m pushing too far. But I can't stop. I press on. “An engagement ring—the one he wants to put on my finger one day.”

The room grows absolutely silent. Nothing moves. Even the dripping water seems to have stopped, and I imagine the oxygen being sucked out of the room by a black hole in the center of him as he grows larger.

Suddenly, he rushes me. “Liar!” He grabs me by my hair and forces my head back. Pain rips through my scalp. “I’ve worked my hands to the bone for the Society. I’ve saved his life more than once. If he’d trust anyone with such secrets, it would be me. You have no ring.” He lets go of my hair suddenly, and my head snaps back against the concrete wall. It sends electric sparks through my vision.

But I press on more time. “It’s on my finger.”

He grabs my shoulders and pulls me forward. Burning pain explodes in my back and hips. I feel him raise and twist my hand to inspect. I hear silence as he turns the ring around on my finger.

He pushes me away and crosses the room. When he reaches the opposite wall, he turns and leans back. Slowly, he slides down, lowering himself to the floor. He watches me in the silent dimness.

I wonder where Klaus is now. Where is Reason? No one will ever know where I am. I’ll die here. He’ll kill me. He’ll—

“It’s just a ring on a liar’s finger. That's all it is. I’m his
apprentice
. He’d never choose you over me.” He seems to put himself back together as he speaks, piece by invisible piece. He rises to his feet and puts his hat on.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the hand that kills me.

I hear the hard soles of his cowboy boots on the concrete. Instead of moving toward me, they drift away. The door slams, reverberating in my skull again. I hear the sound of steel grating on steel as something big slides back into position.

He’s gone...for now.

Chapter 23

Klaus

HE MOVES THROUGH THE DARKNESS. The strength of his will pushes him forward despite the stab of goat-head burrs in his legs and the pads of his feet. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, seeing nothing but the road in front of him. He follows the white line at the edge, slipping into the cover of tall grass where headlights can’t see him.

He doesn’t stop.

Brilliant light grows brighter in the sky around him as the roar of an oncoming car grows louder. The light finds him in the dark, blinding his eyes. Only when it’s gone does he drift back onto the freedom of the highway.

He knows he’s failed his master—both of them. He continues on, unaware of the trail of bloody paw prints he leaves behind. He thinks only of his first master’s face, and like a beacon in the night, he follows it home.

 My face presses against something cold. For a moment, I forget where I am. But when I move, my cheek drags across the rough concrete and I remember. It’s not a dream. Something nibbles at my fingers. I jerk away, swinging myself into an upright position.

The outline of my hairdresser still lies a few feet away from me. It doesn’t look like he’s moved. I wonder if he’s dead. How long have I slept? Five minutes? Eight hours? Hunger rumbles in my belly. I wonder if my mother can see where I am right now. I wonder.

I close my eyes and lower my head. Inside my eyelids, I see Reason’s face in the light of the Christmas tree at Bethlehem Park. Then I’m at the North Star Inn again, and he smiles at me from across the table. Another image appears: of snow falling all around us. I bury my face in his chest as we glide across the ice like we have wings that carry us on the wind. He smiles at me in the carriage, wearing his old-world Santa suit. He yells German at my dog and sends him scurrying in shame. He’s so strong and so gentle. He’s not lightning, he’s thunder—giant, deep thunder that rolls but never strikes.

Tears stream down my face as I realize I can’t remember exactly how he smells or the taste of his kiss. And I’ll never know how he got the scar by his eye, the one that disappears when he smiles.

How can a week feel like a lifetime and three seconds at the same time? If any of this was real, any of it at all, do I really care if he met me under false pretenses? The questions flood over me until I finally realize it doesn’t matter anyway. There’ll be no future to figure it out in.

When I ignored his calls, I thought I had plenty of time to decide what to do. When I planned to leave him behind forever, I felt arrogantly immortal—kind of like I did at eighteen when I overstayed my visit to New York by a decade. My sense of time makes me spoiled and over-confident.

I didn’t even talk to Reason today. I didn’t hear his voice. If I hadn’t become so fat with snap-judgment, I’d probably be with him right now, safe in his arms, instead of here. Who cares if he had an ulterior motive?

The point of my anger seems so far away now. I have to work at it to hone the blade, to even remember it accurately. Oh, yes. Now I remember. If he deceived me, then he didn’t mean anything he said or did.
I have a ring from the future that says otherwise and not an ounce of faith to go with it.

I never expected my last hours to feel like this. How acutely simplified things become. Since last Christmas, I’ve wasted my life…until I met Reason. And then I
really
lived. I never knew how that felt before. I’ll die very soon, knowing what I’m missing. But at least I’ll know. It suddenly seems more tragic not to. I’ll know all the days, the seconds, the hurt, and the joy that no longer stretches in front of me like a highway slicing into the horizon. At least, if I know, then I’ve seen the truth about life. It’s all beautiful.

A highway. I remember now. I dreamed of a highway...Klaus running in the dark, alone on a highway
. Poor Klaus.
It may be because I’m losing it, but I want to think it’s real. I can’t give up—not yet.

Believe. I have to believe. If I don’t, I’ll die. That’s all I know.

I scan the room. There has to be some way out of here. A dim, wire encased light bulb hangs in the center of the ceiling. It glows yellow, casting an ugly circle of light on the floor below. I struggle to stand. My feet, I have to get them under me. I shift my weight. The ties around my ankles sink further into my skin as I flex, but I ignore it and keep trying. Finally, I work my feet into position under my bottom. I press my back against the wall and force myself upward. My coat drags down as I push, but seconds later I’m standing and I’m surprised to discover more wiggle room between my ankles now that I’m not bending them. It gives me just enough slack to shuffle.

I begin moving along the perimeter. I examine the door first. It’s smooth on this side. Not even a window, so I continue on past it.

A few feet away the floor looks darkened with moisture. As I check the wall, a large droplet of water smacks me in the center of the forehead and runs down the bridge of my nose. I shake my head. I bet the rats drink this. God only knows what they eat.

Rats. They must have some way in and out of here. A large one scurries along the wall a few feet ahead of me. It reaches the corner where it sniffs at the air and the wall before it disappears into a small flat crevice, not even half the size of its fat belly. That’s not going to do me any good.

I keep inching forward until I notice a square shape in the wall near the floor, a metal grate with screws at the corners. I lower myself to my knees and peer inside. About five feet in depth, I see a dim orange glow. I wonder where it leads. Then I realize—who cares where it leads? It leaves here. That’s all I need to know. But this small glimmer of hope fizzles too. I’ll never get the cover off with my hands tied behind my back.

 A sob escapes my lips as I press my forehead against the grate and close my eyes. I try to steady my breathing, try not to give into the exhaustion. In the distance, the steel bar slides out of position. I hear it as if it’s farther away than before and somehow, I don’t really care right now. I don’t turn.

Cowboy boots strike the concrete in a steady pace toward me. Hands grab me by the waist and drag me back to the other side of the room. I land on my bottom with my arms squeezed between my back and the wall. Electric shocks of ligaments stretching sear through my shoulders. Oddly, I begin to hope they’ll dislocate. If they did, maybe I would pass out.

“What did he say about the Gift?” Brice paces the floor, breathing fast like he’s been running.

“I already told you.” I don't have the energy I had before to challenge his thinking.

“Tell me!” He grabs a handful of his own hair in each fist. Then he drops his hands to his sides where they continue to clench—opening and closing, opening and closing.

I grab at words to say. “He said the Gift knows things. It only gives what is wanted or needed—purity of heart. That’s what he said. It doesn’t impose on free will, and you have to believe. You…have to have faith.”

He repeats my words to himself, still pacing. Then suddenly he stops with his back to me. He faces the wall so that I can’t see his face as he speaks. “Did he say anything about
seeing
things?”

“I don't think so.” I close my eyes. I just want to sleep.

“Think about it!” He roars. “Did he say the Gift shows him things?”

“I don’t know.” I pause to think. “Yes, he said it showed him something and then confirmed it.”

He continues pacing as he mumbles. “He knows, he knows. Oh, my God. He knows.” A loud sob catches in his throat. “I saw it in his eyes, the way he looked at me when he carried the dog in. Think Brice, think!”

I feel myself drifting. His words begin to string together like musical notes, lulling me to sleep.

“Wake up!” He screams in my ear and shakes my shoulders. When my head lolls to the side, my eyes fly open. I look at him and he lets go of me. “Has he ever said he didn’t trust me? Has he ever said that to you, or anything else about me?”

“No.”

He jumps to his feet. “I gotta get it together. Paranoia, that’s all.” He turns and heads for the door.