Smokey Doolittle by Iker Raile

Iker Raile’s

Smokey Doolittle

This is a work of fiction.  The character of Santa Claus depicted herein is an original interpretation inspired by traditional folklore and public domain representations.  This portrayal does not reference, replicate, or derive from any specific commercial or copyrighted versions of Santa Claus, including but not limited to those owned by corporate entities or featured in films, television, advertising, or branded media.

Other names, characters, places, buildings, products and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author’s use of names of actual persons, characters, places, buildings or products are incidental to the plot, and are not intended to change the entirely fictional character of the work.  

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

© 2026 Iker Raile

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Prologue:      9

Chapter 1:     13

Chapter 2:     21

Chapter 3:     31

Chapter 4:     41

Chapter 5:     51

Chapter 6:     59

Chapter 7:     67

Chapter 8:     73

Chapter 9:     81

Chapter 10:   89

Chapter 11:   97

Chapter 12:   101

Chapter 13:   103

Chapter 14:   113 

Chapter 15:   121

Chapter 16:   133

Chapter 17:   141

Chapter 18:   151

Chapter 19:   161

Chapter 20:   165

Chapter 21:   181

Chapter 22:   191

Chapter 23:   199

Chapter 24:   211

Chapter 25:   217

Chapter 26:   227

Chapter 27:   233

Chapter 28:   241

Chapter 29:   251

Chapter 30:   257  

Prologue

Caught in the current of human adolescence, Noelle Halfpenny managed to keep her head above water surprisingly well.  

Now in her third teenage year, one of the best examples of the dichotomy of her journey from childhood to adulthood could be found in Noelle’s fingertips, as they gently pressed into the luminescent, rectangular touch pad outside the room she was attempting to enter.  From one perspective, the exquisite, orchid nails she painted herself, spoke to her potential future as a sassy, studious young manicurist.  Yet on the other, the alternating bell and wreath stickers on each nail, represented a throwback to the wonders and curiosities of a child, still in awe of the season of Christmas.  

The door slid open with a whoosh, introducing Noelle to the cinnamon stick atmosphere that had been piping into the room all afternoon.  She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the inviting aroma.  For a moment, she was five again, popping her head into her grandfather’s study, where she encountered that irresistible scent for the very first time.  The years since then only made the room’s ambiance more inviting for the young woman.  Reason being, a decade’s more memories of stories and adventures had been collected and organized just so, just waiting to tempt her.  

As she stepped across the entryway, the familiar jingle of bells chimed throughout the surround sound.  The teenager knew exactly what was about to happen next.  

“Human presence detected.  Identify,” said a kind, yet insistent male voice.

“It’s just me, Dasher,” replied Noelle.  

“Voice recognition.  Welcome back, Noelle Halfpenny.  And Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Thanks.”

Noelle rarely wore socks, even in the wintertime.  But she knew she would always be asked to leave her flats just inside the front door of this particular residence, a nod to a bygone era.  Barefoot and observant, she sensed the strands of shag, forest-green carpet sprouting up in between her slender toes with her first step into the study.  The second step with her opposite foot resulted in a similar predicament.  The teenager snickered, a humorous image crossing her fancy.

It's bad enough I have to shave my armpits now.  But at least I don’t have to deal with green toe hairs as well.

Noelle’s orchid-painted toenails were not quite as exquisite as her fingernails, as the added distance she had to stretch from fingers to toes took quite a bit more effort to reach with the nail polish brush.  But she always did her best, every attempt an improvement from the one before, the older she got.  Once her decorated feet had reached the middle of the library, the room and lamp lights dimmed slightly, meeting Noelle’s preprogrammed preference.  After that, the preprogrammed thermostat changed the room temperature to a perfect 71 degrees Fahrenheit.  

“Would you like me to play some Christmas music for you?”  Dasher’s voice had a whimsical tone to it.  

Noelle nodded.  “Can you play softly?” she asked.    

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that particular Christmas tune.”

“Now Dasher…”

“Just teasing.  What song would you like me to play?”  

The young woman thought for a second.  “Play ‘Jingle Bells.’  Instrumental.”

“Playing ‘Jingle Bells.’  SOFTLY.”  The artificial intelligence enunciated the last word slower and up one volume number, still all in good humor.  

Noelle smiled, her prominent dimples front and center.  The time had come to explore.

The entire room was like a festive, well-preserved time capsule, one that she couldn’t wait to unearth.  Boughs of holly were decked around the entire perimeter, just below the ceiling.  Four small sprigs of pine dotted the corners of the oak desk on the far side of the room.  Behind the desk rose three large bookshelves, accentuated with Christmas memorabilia and framed portraits.  The shelves held tomes and manuscripts ranging from medical journals and veterinary guidebooks to holiday poetry, from legal binders to treasured photo albums.  

Noelle continued to tiptoe around her safe haven, her secret hideout, knowing that she wouldn’t have long before the bustle.  She could be reunited with her extended family at any time.  Childhood wonder bubbled over into her thoughts once again.  There is so much to see and do here!  Whatever shall I choose first?  

Spotting a gold “brick” on the lower right of the last bookshelf, Noelle’s trembling fingers reached out to grab it.  “Treasured Memories,” was printed on the spine, in elegant cursive.

The album was heavier than Noelle expected.  And slightly uncomfortable to carry for the simple, one-handed grip of a 15-year-old lady.  Be that as it may, the album reached its desktop destination without incident.  The young woman rolled back the magnificent office chair and plopped herself down on the plushy leather pockets of maroon squares with bronze buttons adorning the corners of each square.  

Noelle spied a pair of grandfather’s spectacles on the upper right edge of the desk, near the pine sprig.  Her mind reverted back to her childhood dress up days.  She unfolded the two metal temples, placed the glasses on the tip of her nose, then pushed them to the bridge of her nose with one finger.  Her vision shifted to soft blurs, precarious depth perception and innumerable Christmas lights, all bleeding into vague, celestial orbs.  She felt it best to move the spectacles to the tip of her nose, thus allowing her to see over them with her perfect, 20/20 vision.  Next, she reached down into her holiday dress pocket for a scrunchie and placed her milky brown hair through it into a ponytail.  She puckered her lips and snapped a quick selfie with her phone, now feeling fully oh-so-responsible in the businesswoman persona she had created for herself. 

With her left hand, Noelle turned on the steampunk-inspired desk lamp.  The gilded book to come to life under the illumination, glistening directly in front of her.  Its tales of wonder and amazement were prepared to be shared with someone once again.  The woman rested her right palm on the desktop, as the fingers of her right hand rose up and felt the fabric stitching of the album’s lower right corner.  

But before she could open up to the title page, she hesitated.  

Noelle decided to first do a quick self-evaluation before proceeding.  First, she focused in on her breathing.  One… two… three complete breaths.  Each breath a blessing from above.  Saying a quick prayer, she pondered her body’s clumsy journey into womanhood.  But still, Noelle gave praise to God, thanking Him that each phase of her growth was exactly on point to her age and maturity level.  

Next, the young woman looked at various objects around the room, consciously observing the directions her neck went, acknowledging that her brain was using neural communications to send signals directly to that part of her body, in order to tell it which direction to turn.  Next, she batted her eyelashes, wrinkled her nose and wrinkled her toes, noting once again that her brain was sending the corresponding commands to those parts of the body, and those areas obeyed.  The recently-vacuumed shag carpet provided supporting evidence, further affirming the tactile sensations in her feet.    

This is really real, she thought.

Was the grandfather’s granddaughter, Noelle Halfpenny, ever meant to exist in the first place?  It all depends on who you ask.  But one simple fact remained:  She existed now, and she had the assurance of knowing that nobody was ever going to take that away from her.

Chapter 1

Snowflakes too numerous to count fell to Earth with a silent tenacity, a few of them liquefying on contact the instant they reached the front windshield of the moving pickup truck.  

Jake Evanrise ran his left hand through his auburn hair and let out a long, tenor yawn, without covering his mouth.  Weary from his hospital duties and training, he shifted his posterior in the passenger seat and glanced down at his wristwatch.  1:07AM, it read.  In spite of the late hour, the young medical resident attempted to remain awake and alert, not wanting to appear ungrateful for the hospitality of the man sitting next to him.

“Thanks again for the ride home, doc,” said Jake, wondering if his own vehicle would be fixed by Christmas or not.  

“Thank you, for waiting up for me,” the driver replied.

Doctor Yon Xavier Gomez was okay with talking, but he also wanted to make sure that the lion’s share of his attention was focused on the winter road.  The city limits were now miles behind them, and only the bounty of nature lay ahead.  

“Long one today,” he added.

It took a few moments for Jake to muster up the courage to speak again.  “Doctor Gomez,” he began.  “I don’t get a lot of opportunities to talk with my colleagues off duty, so I just wanted to tell you again that I’m so thankful for this residency, and for this opportunity.  Thank you for taking me under your wing.”

Yon smiled, his proud, Mexican heritage captured in the lines of his face.  “Always a pleasure,” he replied.  “You and your colleagues are our future, if you don’t mind the cliché.  Good land knows, we could certainly use more fresh faces like yours in this profession in this day and age.”

Jake’s eyes fluttered, as he began to feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.  For a moment, he did.  His head snapped forward, waking him up again.  And then it snapped forward a second time.

“Don’t conk out on me just yet, rookie,” chuckled Yon, with a mischievous grin.  “I really need a second set of eyes on this road.  One wrong move, and we’re history.”

The young resident began to pass out a third time.  He rattled his head to avoid sleep that was getting harder and harder to resist.  His eyes squinted with weariness at the dashboard.  Then his pupils shifted one click higher, gazing out into the storm.  

Staring directly head, the resident saw the flecks of white snow now being joined by the backdrop of a brown, ridged, horizontal object, extending across the entire length of the windshield view.  Jake’s amygdala was first to go off, followed by his mouth.

“Doctor Gomez, LOOK OUT!” cried Jake.  

Yon slammed on the brakes.  The sound of squealing tires battling against asphalt and treacherous ice broke the silence of the tempest.  The elder doctor could barely maintain control, as his truck skated to a standstill with the greatest of reluctance.  The bright beams of the halted vehicle measured only an arm’s length between the headlights and the closest branch of the pine tree that lay across the full distance of the two-lane highway.  .  

Jake breathed a sigh of relief.  “Good stop, old man.”

“Are you alright, Jake?!” cried Yon.  

“Yeah.  I’m alright.”  

Unharmed, but still shaken up, Yon shifted into park, threw his hands up and shrugged.  Nevertheless, both he and Jake were beyond grateful that they had escaped serious injury and the truck had escaped damage.  With tight, trembling knuckles, the driver placed the truck in reverse and carefully positioned his vehicle onto the right shoulder between the road and the ditch, before stopping and turning off the engine.  

“Grab the two flashlights in the glove compartment, Jake,” ordered Yon, leaving the headlights on as well.  “We’re going outside.”

The seasoned doctor slammed the truck door behind him and cautiously approached the coniferous obstruction.  Meanwhile, the spry, young resident ran on up ahead, grabbed one of the branches that faced the sky and gave it a little shake.  He did the same to the lower part of the trunk it was attached to, moving it backwards and forwards just a bit.  A slight dusting of resting snow fell off the pine needles and got caught in the gentle breeze, vanishing into the night air.

“Tree’s not that big, doc!” Jake called out.  “You and I should be able to swivel it off the road!”

The two men took positions at the top of the felled pine, laboring briefly to drag it ninety degrees clockwise, until it was completely clear of the highway and from any future vehicles that would have otherwise slammed into it.  Once the obstruction was removed, the two men began speculating as to the cause.  Yon trudged back in the direction of the truck, before taking a sharp left turn, stumbling into the ditch, and then stepping out on the other side into the sparse brush beyond.  Meanwhile, Jake walked over to the highway’s opposite shoulder, making sure to clear any remaining loose twigs or branches that could puncture the tires of any future travelers or damage other people’s vehicular undercarriages.  

Jake looked up into the night sky and scratched his head.  “You know… the storm’s really not that bad tonight, Doctor Gomez!” he shouted.  “This tree must’ve been pretty weak already to have fallen this easily!”

From behind the small line of standing trees on the other side of the highway, Yon’s voice called out.  

“This was no storm damage, Jake!  Something hit it!”  

“Hit it…?” repeated Jake.  He carefully navigated the icy road and shuffled in and out of the luge-shaped ditch to meet up with his mentor, who was pointing to the glaring void about ten feet up.  

“Look where that stump ends,” Yon continued.  “It almost looks like it was completely sheared off!  None of the surrounding trees are affected.”

Jake was flabbergasted.  “What could possibly do that to a tree?” 

“Something slamming into it with a lot of force and a lot of speed, I reckon…”  

There was a noise in the distance.  The two men froze.

They could hear the unmistakable sound of the cracking of branches and a large object crashing to the ground.  The commotion caused their bodies to tremble.  It was close, they both thought, somewhere back across the highway.  The two medical professionals scrambled back through the ditch and past their truck.  Looking across the empty field to the west, the men could make out a denser cluster of conifers, behind which was probably where the source of the noise came from.  Yon looked back over his shoulder and to his right, toward the dead conifer.  

“There’s only one thing I can think of that could possibly decapitate a tree quite like that,” he said.

They stared at each other in horror.  “Plane crash,” they both whispered simultaneously.

The pair plowed ahead, medical instincts kicking in.  A significant amount of snow had accumulated in the field, making forward progress difficult.  Jake’s heart was beating out of his chest, the closer he got to the western tree line.  If this was a plane crash, why isn’t there any smoke? he asked himself.  Meanwhile, Yon’s flashlight caught the golden glint of a foreign object just inside the forest.  Whatever made the crashing sound was now less than 50 feet away.  The pair stomped through the last few yards of open space, selected the widest entryway available between the outer sentinel of trees, and plunged into ground zero. 

They nearly dropped their flashlights.  

“What the…?!” cried Yon.

Jake was equally as dismayed.  “No.  No, no, no, no, you can’t be serious.”  

“Look at the break marks of those branches!” exclaimed the elder doctor.  “That thing must have been eight feet off the ground, before finally crashing down!”  

That thing he referred to was an open sleigh.

“But how did it get here?” asked Jake.  “There are no reins or harnesses!  And I see no sign of any horses or-”

“Don’t say it, Jake,” warned Yon.  

“Reindeer!”  

With haste, Jake got down on his hands and knees and plunged his head into the front cockpit of the regal vehicle, which lay on its side.  “I… I don’t know where to begin,” he said, shining his light on the dashboard.  “What are these characters?  This… technology?”  

“What are you talking about, Jake?” said Yon.  

“It’s like some sort of… horseless sleigh?  Which runs on its own power?  Hey, look at this!”

Jake’s attention focused onto another loose object in the front.  He wrapped the fingers of his left hand around it, then pulled out what appeared to be a large, velvet sack.  His other hand shined his flashlight on it, revealing its scarlet hue.  

“Sack’s empty,” Jake commented.  “But… warm.”

Yon shook his head, his voice noticeably trembling.  “I truly hope that there was nobody inside that thing, because if there was…”

“There are no seatbelts or shoulder harnesses in this vehicle whatsoever, boss!” cried Jake.  “If this object was moving at high speeds, and if somebody was in here, they probably would have been thrown out several more yards deeper into the woods!”  

The elder doctor made a long face.  “Well, we have to make sure…”  

After skirting through a few more branches and past a couple more tree trunks, the two men’s journey came to an end.  Two flashlights converged on the same object at the same time.  Two pulses finally began to slow, as fear and adrenaline were replaced with sadness and heartbreak.  Jake’s free hand shot up to his mouth.  Yon’s right arm became exceedingly heavy, causing the beam of his flashlight to slowly make its way back along the snowy ground until it was just a few feet away from his shoes.  He looked solemnly over at his pupil.  

“Jake, check for life signs, but gently.  Every bone in that man’s body is probably broken.”

The crumpled figure in the jovial Christmas suit was plastered up against a durable Douglas Fir.  His back was to the two doctors.  Jake knelt down and, with the utmost care, rolled the crash victim onto his back.  A noticeable gash was present on the man’s right temple, with blood still seeping out.  The resident put his head down near the man’s neck and carefully placed two fingers against the carotid artery.

Another man might have recoiled in incredulous disbelief at that moment.  But the cumulative shock from all the events of that evening had left Jake stoic and emotionless.  

“The victim is unresponsive, doctor, but I do have both a faint pulse and breathing.” 

Yon chuckled and shook his head.  “Impossible.  No one could have survived that.”

The old man spasmed, snapping the resident out of his spell.  

“Call 911!!” Jake shouted.

Yon patted his chest and sides.  “Ack!  My phone’s still in the truck!”

“Use mine then, sir!”

Jake tossed Yon his cell, and Yon made the call.

“911, what is your emergency?” said the operator.  

The elder physician remained as calm as could be expected.  “This is off-duty physician Doctor Yon Gomez!  My resident and I have happened on an unconscious man on the way home from work this morning!  Unresponsive, but is breathing and has a pulse!  Pretty deep cut on his right temple, almost certain multiple internal injuries!”  

Yon waited for an acknowledgment from the 911 operator before continuing.  “Where are we, Jake?” he cried.  

“We had just passed Buckskin,” Jake replied.  

“We are on the Farm to Market Highway, operator, about half a mile north of Buckskin Run!  Subject is located several hundred feet to the west of the highway, across a field and a short distance inside the tree line!  Our truck is parked safely on the side of the road, I can have my colleague direct first responders to the site of the victim once they arrive!”

“You know who this is, right?” commented Jake.  

“Not now, Jake!” Yon shot back, before hearing the voice in his ear again.  “Okay, 911 Dispatch is back.  They’re going to have us hang tight with this phone on, and I’ll have you go out and wave down the paramedics when they get here.”

“Anything you need, doctor.”  

But before Jake could get up again, an elderly groan rose up from the injured man’s lips.  He was slowly coming to.  

“Uhhhhhh… who… am I?”  

“Easy, sir, don’t move,” Jake replied.  “You’ve been in a bad accident, but help is quickly on the way.”  The resident called out to Yon.  “He’s coming around, Doctor Gomez!”  

The iconic figure reached up and grabbed the resident’s arm, causing Jake to wince.  The old man’s grip was like iron.

“WHO… AM I?!”

Chapter 2

Doctor Evie E. Ellis didn’t believe in Santa Claus.  

So it was understandable that when she first got the call regarding the extraordinary events that took place a few hours earlier, she nearly hung up the phone.  But knowing that her Night Attendant, Imogene, was not one for making up stories, the gears in Evie’s head were already beginning to spin with speculation and possible scientific explanations.  She told her subordinate that she would be at the hospital right away.

With an irritated, feminine groan, Evie lifted the sweaty cell phone off her left cheek and chucked it on to the carpeted floor at the base of the window to her left.  With a great amount of reluctance, the woman peeled her right cheek off her man’s coarse, hairy chest, swung her bronzed, slender legs over the side of the bed, sat up and hiked up both straps of her nightgown back onto her shoulders.  Her husband didn’t stir once.

Once showered, Evie donned her medical uniform, pulled back her fine, black hair in her signature ponytail and applied her makeup like she was attending a rock concert.  She then added a citrusy, floral perfume to her regimen, the least Christmas-y scent she could think of, as if spearheading some silent rebellion only she knew about.  Her husband turned to his right side, finally showing signs of life, as his wife bent over the bed to say one final goodbye before going to work.  

“Don’t go,” he whispered.  He inserted three fingers inside the v-placket of her scrubs, pulled her torso close to him with the same hand and gifted Evie with flushed cheeks and the type of kiss that would take her mind all day to process.  

Upon arriving at the hospital, Evie charged the nurse station like a runaway gurney, nearly knocking over the miniature Christmas tree resting on top of the counter.  After briefing herself on the newest patient, she group-texted every on-duty doctor, nurse and resident under her leadership, to advise them that the morning case meeting that day was mandatory.

The combined scent of pine, gymnasium, and Evie’s citrus and roses perfume filled the small conference room.  The staff began to pile in, many of which who had already been at work all night.  Those who arrived early got seats, while the tardy had to make due with whatever plot of black or white checkered tile they landed on.  Evie stood at the head of the table throughout the entire gathering, giving her five-foot, five-inch stature a more prominent presence.  With clipboard in hand, she called the meeting to order.  

“Alright, settle down everybody,” Evie began.  “First topic of the day:  our newest John Doe patient.  But first and foremost, I think we need to recognize two of our own, Jake and Yon.  Even though they were already off-duty last night, they happened to be at the right place at the right time.  First on the scene, taking quick and decisive actions that got Mr. Doe out of the frozen elements and into the care he required.  Well done, you two.  You saved a life this morning.”

What followed was a round of sincere applause, a few foot stomps and a couple of fraternity-esque bellows from a couple of the male residents.  

With both hands, Evie pushed the air down in front of her, signaling a request for calm.  

“That being said,” she continued, “I feel the need to remind everyone here that we here at Logan Health work in science and facts.  I’m already hearing rumors flying about this hospital.”  The woman rolled her eyes.  “Sorry, poor choice of words.  Anyway, I want to make this perfectly clear.  This man is NOT Santa Claus.  No matter what stories you hear or how hard he tries to tell you he is.  Until our patient is discharged, I’d better not hear that name out of any one of you, unless it’s because you’re singing ‘Up On the Housetop’ over at the chapel.  Understood?”  

“Why would we be singing secular songs over at the chapel?” asked Yon, leaning back in his chair.  

Evie glared to her right.  “Anyway,” she continued, “our subject is male, 300 pounds, thought to be in his late 60’s, early 70’s.  He has a confirmed concussion.  Retrograde amnesia, including any recollection of his name or where he came from.  Sizable laceration on his right temple, that’s been stitched up.  He has a few other small scrapes and bruises, but no other internal injuries, hemorrhaging, bleeding or trauma.  From all we can tell, this man was most likely thrown from a fast-moving vehicle, yet somehow, miraculously, escaped any life-threatening injuries or severe hypothermia.”  

Various murmurs rose up out of the crowd, but the participants otherwise held their peace.  

The remainder of the morning conference was fairly straightforward, compared to the John Doe case.  At the meeting’s adjournment, Evie asked Imogene to retrieve John Doe’s street clothes and personal items, which had accidentally been left back in the emergency room where he was admitted.  As the staff headed for the door, Evie pulled Yon to the side for another minute or two.  

Yon raised an eyebrow.  “I’m pretty sure I know what you’re going to say, Evie, but say it anyway,” he said. 

Evie ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head.  “Yon, I’ve come up with every conceivable scenario I can think of so far, and things just don’t add up.  I just need to make 100% positive that everything in yours and Jake’s statements are accurate-”

“They are…” Yon replied.  

The woman sighed.  “I think we’re all quietly dancing around the real issue here.  A man.  Dressed like Santa Claus.  A nearby sleigh, supposedly airborne at some point.  Traveling, without horses or reindeers, at a high rate of speed, and then crashing without any seatbelts or shoulder restraints.  No human could survive that.  No one.  Based on your report, for all intents and purposes, that man should be dead.  But he isn’t.”

Evie’s eyes narrowed.  “But I’m still here to tell you that he’s not the real Santa Claus.”

Yon tilted his head.  “Do you have a another hypothesis for what happened?”

Evie smiled.  “Yes.  As a matter of fact, I do.”  

“I’m listening…”

Doctor Ellis strolled to the far side of the table, before slowly making her way back to Doctor Gomez’s personal space.  

“What likely happened was that this man was coming home from some Christmas party.  The driver of the vehicle was driving too fast, swerved to avoid the fallen tree, throwing Jolly Old St. Nick, who wasn’t wearing his passenger seatbelt, from the vehicle.  The driver then panicked and fled the scene the way they came, abandoning the injured and disoriented man to stumble several hundred feet westward, until he collapsed.  His warm suit, Santa hat and boots probably kept him alive from the frigid temperatures long enough for you to get there.  The blizzard would have covered up any tire tracks by the time you arrived, and the sleigh could have already been in the woods the entire time!  You and Jake both said in your report, it was completely intact, with barely a scratch on it!”  

Yon scoffed.  “And that’s the theory you’re going with?”

Evie’s voice was tainted with cynicism.  “And what would your expert medical opinion be, doctor?  That in two days, Santa Claus won’t be coming to town this year, because he’s laid out, recovering in a hospital bed in northern Montana, because he crashed his Santa sleigh??”

Help me.  Get me out.  Get me out of here.  

The old man slipped in and out of consciousness for hours.  The visions replayed themselves like a bad Christmas medley on repeat.  The nightmares altered only slightly in their relentlessness.  The old man’s pleas, loud and urgent at first, had been reduced to quiet, resigned murmurs, permeated with hopelessness.  Sometimes he was being sucked into the void.  Other times, he was already in it.  Sometimes the stampede was a few feet away.  Other times they were already marching on his head.  And not having the memories or context to identify the trigger to these atrocities, made it all the more horrifying.  

When long-term consciousness started to return, it began with an incessant throbbing deep in his skull.  The screams and the angry grunting gradually faded away, replaced by the beeping and clicks of medical equipment.  The sparkling bulbs, blinding lights and smooth glass melted into oblivion, replaced by a bland, hospital room ceiling.  

Where… where am I?  

Frightened and disoriented, the man nevertheless attempted to comfort himself, knowing that anywhere was better then where he just was.  He was laying in a bed in a sterile room, wearing a… a gown??  His right hand shot up to his chest to feel the coarse fabric, which yanked the IV pole a foot closer to him.  His arm was attached to it by a tube.  

What is this?  Where am I?  What is happening?

The monitor on the IV hissed, resulting in another shot of relaxant being pumped into the man’s blood stream.  Whatever was happening to him, it was too strong to fight under his own power.  He was at their mercy.  

Whoever THEY were…

At that moment, there was a soft knock at the closed door, followed by a duteous, young woman in a white lab coat popping her head in to the room.  She smiled when she saw that the man’s eyes were open.

“May I come in?” she asked, as if the patient had a choice.  The man tilted his head, but said nothing.  Hearing no objections, the woman entered, walked to the foot of the bed and introduced herself.  

“My name is Doctor Evie Ellis, I’m both Chief Medical Officer and Primary Behavioral Neurologist of this hospital.”

“A good day to you, Doctor Ellis,” replied the weary patient in a soft, scratchy voice.  “I’m… I’m… I can’t remember.”

The woman’s face radiated with compassion.  “It’s alright, sir.  You had a nasty accident last night, which we think caused you to have some short-term memory loss.  How are you feeling this morning?”

“My head hurts a little…”  

The doctor nodded.  “It’s okay, that’s to be expected, you’ve had a concussion and a nasty cut on your right temple.  Have you felt any other discomfort?  Neck aches, nausea, shortness of breath?”

The old man shook his head, then looked around the room again.  “This is a hospital,” he said.  “For humans.”

“That’s true,” replied Evie.  “And we’re going to do our best to help you get your memories back and back on your feet just as soon as we can.”  

“I understand.  Tell me what I need to do.”

“Well, nothing at the moment, except recover and get better.  I’m just going to check your vital signs real fast, along with a question or two.”

Evie made some general observations about the man’s physical appearance, while performing the basic evaluation.  At the front of his silvery, horseshoe hairline were the layers of gauze which covered his head wound.  He had an admirable, ivory mustache that partially obscured his chapped, upper lip.  The “V” in the patient’s front-opening hospital gown allowed Evie’s eyes to journey from the long, coarse, snowy beard whiskers on his jaw and chin to the beginnings of the dense, snowy follicles on his sternum, which spread across his chest and stomach like a winter savannah.

“You have quite an exquisite wedding ring, Mrs. Ellis,” commented the old man.  “The diamond quality is really quite remarkable.”

With a soft chuckle, the woman momentarily paused her evaluation and instinctively thumbed the impressive jewel with her right index finger.  “Why, thank you, Mr. Doe,” she replied.  

The old man cocked his head.  “Mr. Doe?”

“John Doe.  That’s the common name we give to our patients who come in not knowing who they are, or where they came from.” 

“Oh.  I see…”

Evie shook her head.  “You have a bit of a fever,” she said.  “Not uncommon with your condition.  Other vital signs seem to be in remarkably good shape.  Do you recall anything about what happened last night?”

Mr. Doe narrowed his gaze.  “I was… cold,” he recalled.  “There were these two men who found me.  One was dressed kind of like you, the other was dressed mostly in blue.”

“Yes.  Very good, sir.”

“Do those two men work here too?”

“They do actually, yes.  Doctor Gomez and Resident Jake Evanrise are members of my staff.”

The patient opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the right words for a second or two.  “Please give them my sincerest gratitude.  I don’t know where I’d be right now, if they hadn’t been there.”  

Evie smiled, her perfect, pearly whites all in a row.  “I will certainly convey your thanks to them, Mr. Doe.”  The CMO looked at her watch.  “Well, I do have other patients to see, but my staff and I will be around to check on you throughout the day, to see how you’re progressing.  Don’t you worry about a thing.”  

Doctor Ellis turned to leave the room.  

“Just as long as no reindeers try to pummel me, I’m good,” the patient replied.

Evie froze, attempting to interpret.  But realizing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere at that moment, she simply craned her neck around, grinned and walked away.

Imogene was waiting for Evie at the nurse’s station.  “How’d the initial check-up go, Doctor Ellis?” she asked.  

“Except for a couple of confusing comments, he seemed pretty normal,” replied Evie.  “Almost as if I was talking to a textbook amnesia patient and not Sa…”

The CMO stopped herself in mid-sentence, causing her nurse to chuckle.  

“It’s okay, doctor, we’ve all let that name slip out at least once in the past eight hours,” said Imogene.  

“Oh and, speaking of Santa, did you get his clothes and personal belongings out of the ER like I asked you to?” asked Evie.  

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the nurse, holding up the hanger with the furry Christmas coat and pants.  “But there’s something I think you should-”

“Perfect.  Go ahead and put them in Mr. Doe’s room, and then you can clock out for the day.”  

“Doctor Ellis?  Before I do that, I think you need to see this,” continued Imogene, reaching for some of the patient’s personal items behind the desk.  “I was in the emergency room, getting Mr. Doe’s jacket.  My hand brushed by something hard in a hidden pocket, and I found these.”

The resident produced a small, green organza bag that contained several exquisite, yet peculiar items.  There was a lengthy pause between the two employees.

Evie rolled her eyes.  “Five golden rings.  Great.  The mystery deepens,” she said, as she inspected the jewelry through the bag.  “Wow.  Look at the workmanship on these.”  

Imogene nodded in agreement.  “You don’t know the half of it, Doctor Ellis.  My dad is a jewelry appraiser, he’s taught me a few things.  Just eyeballing these, from what I can tell, I’d say these rings would probably sell for about $15,000 each.”

“$15,000?  Each??”

“Did you want me to turn this over to hospital security for temporary custody?”

Evie pressed the fingers of her left hand into her cheekbone.  “No, leave them with me, I’ll get it over to them.  Thanks for letting me know right away, Imogene.  Oh, and before you go, anything back on Mr. Doe’s police report yet?”

“I think they’re conducting an investigation this morning.  Probably as we speak,” replied Imogene.  “We should probably know more about it later today.”  

Her boss nodded.  “Very well, Imogene.  Thanks, you’ve gone above and beyond for me.”

Mr. Doe was visited by a few different doctors and nurses throughout the day.  The patient was most agreeable and cooperative to the staff’s instructions.  By the time nighttime arrived of what had turned out to be an otherwise average day, Evie packed up her belongings and prepared to head home.

But the Chief Medical Officer thought it best to check on her John Doe patient one last time that evening.  With her purse and medical equipment in hand, she popped her head into the dark room.  Mr. Doe was asleep in his bed, snoring quite emphatically.

“Good night, sir,” Evie whispered, as she prepared to close the door.  

Mr. Doe’s head began twitching noticeably, left and right, but he remained unconscious.  Moans which began faint and distant developed to phrases and complete sentences.  

“No… I’m sorry.  I-I didn’t mean to do… no, just wait a second, it was an accident.”

Evie squinted as she tip-toed into the room a few feet.  “Mr. Doe?” she asked.

“I shouldn’t have done… no.  Please.  All of you, just stay back.  Stay back, I say…!” 

His volume was increasing.  Evie dropped her belongings and ran up to the bed.  “Mr. Doe, wake up!” she exclaimed, placing her right hand on his left shoulder.  

The man’s left hand shot up and clamped onto the doctor’s right arm like an iron vice.  Evie clenched her teeth.  It felt as if her patient had just used her own blood pressure monitor against her, strapping her in at full inflation and restricting the flow of blood to her hand and fingers.  She let out a high chirp, but nobody came to her rescue. 

“Noooo!” Mr. Doe shouted.  “Stay away from me!  I won’t go back, I won’t do it!”

“Sir, please wake up!  You’re hurting me!” cried Evie, using her free hand to desperately jostle her patient’s collarbone.  

“Noooooooo!!”  Mr. Doe’s eyes popped open.  Realizing where he was and what he was doing to Evie, his hand quickly let go.  “Doctor… Ellis.  It is… you?”  

“That’s right.  It’s me, sir.  Oh, sir, your heart is beating like a drum…”  

Mr. Doe’s breathing was erratic.  His entire body was trembling.  “They’re going to take me back soon, doctor!  I just know it!” he exclaimed, clutching Evie’s lab jacket.  

“Try and lay back and relax, Mr. Doe.  Who’s going to take you?”  

The man’s neck twisted from side to side.  “They’re going to take me from this room.  In the cover of night.  And when you come to check on me tomorrow morning, I’ll have disappeared!”  

Evie quieted the man with the sensibility of a trained doctor.  “Listen to me, sir.  You are safe here.  Nobody is going to take you away from here in the middle of the night.”  

“But-”

“You’re safe here.  We have security guarding the hospital.  We have security guarding our patients.  My medical associate Imogene is going to be checking on you regularly throughout the night.  Nobody is going to get in here and take you out of this hospital, Mr. Doe.  Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not any night.”  

Mr. Doe shook his head, with tears welling up in his eyes.  “You don’t understand.  It’s not up to you, Doctor Ellis.  Oh, why won’t they leave me alone?  What did I do wrong?  Oh, I wish I could remember…!” 

Chapter 3

Evie gripped the steering wheel at “10” and “2” and prepared to make another perilous winter journey back home.  The skin on Evie’s right arm was still tender from the incident.  

Driving down the icy road, she replayed the intense moment over and over in her mind.  After it happened, she had stumbled back out to the nurse’s station, visibly shaken, but not enough to lose all sense of composure.  Imogene had emerged from a room at the far end of the hallway and asked the CMO if she was okay.  Evie straightened up, after leaning up against the lip of the counter, and ordered Imogene to double the amount of regular check-ups she was to make with John Doe, and to make sure she was accompanied by at least one other person each time.  Confused, but compliant, the nurse acknowledged her superior with a simple, “yes, ma’am.”  

Adrenaline was still pumping through Evie’s body when she entered her house.  Her husband asked if she was okay.  Without giving away doctor-patient confidentiality, the woman simply broke down with a few light, uncharacteristic sobs, saying that it had just been a really hard day at work, and that she just needed her husband to make it all better.  With masculine compassion, protection and understanding, the man lifted his wife off the ground and carried her to the bedroom, shutting the door behind them until morning.  

In spite of the goings on of the night before, Evie glowed brighter than the sunrise the next day, while butterflies congregated midair in her stomach.  Not even the returning smell of disinfectant and the beeping of hospital monitors could dour her mood when she clocked in to work that morning.

“Are you feeling any better this morning, Doctor Ellis?” asked Imogene.  

Evie smiled.  “Oh heavens, yes,” she exclaimed, a hint of mischief in her tone.

“That’s good to hear.”  Imogene released the pen lid she was gnawing on and handed Evie some paperwork.  “We got back the police report from yesterday, boss,” she said.  

What police report? thought Evie.  

It took her a moment for her brain to pivot to work-related conversation.  “Right.  You know what, can you just give me the highlights?” she asked.  “I really don’t want to read this right now.”

Imogene shrugged.  “Sure thing.  Well, neither property’s homeowner took ownership of the abandoned sleigh in the forest.  According to this, they both seemed to be willing to drop the matter, so long as the sleigh and the fallen tree were removed.”

“And how is our John Doe doing this morning?”

“I checked an hour ago, he remains stable, doctor.  Nothing else out of the ordinary happened last night.”

“Good.  I’ll check in on him first, then.”  

Nothing could erase the grin on Evie’s face.  Except maybe seeing the empty bed where John Doe used to lay.  The butterflies in her stomach fell to the ground, dead.

“Impossible,” she muttered.  

Evie sprinted over to the wrinkled sheets, and the pillow that had fallen onto the floor.  The mattress was still warm, but there was no trace of her patient.

The woman heard a toilet flush from just a few feet away.  Rolling her eyes and breathing out a huge sigh of relief, Evie spun around as the bathroom door opened from the inside.  

“Mr. Doe, you were supposed to alert a nurse whenever you have to use the bathroom!” she cried.  “You can’t just be getting up out of bed without a medical staff member present in the room!”

Mr. Doe’s entire face quickened to the same color as his nose and cheeks.  “I’m sorry, Doctor Ellis.  I… I thought I could be quick.” 

“Just… please don’t do that again!  Let one of us know next time!”

“Yes, ma’am.”  

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Okay, I guess.”  Mr. Doe got back into bed and spread his arms wide.  “I’m still here…”

Evie’s smile returned.  “See?  I told you that you would be safe…!”

“Indeed, you did.  You were right, and I was wrong.  I apologize.”

“No apology necessary, Mr. Doe.”

Mr. Doe cocked his head.  “You are glowing.”

Evie put her hand to her face.  “What?”

“Your eyes are twinkling.  Your cheeks are like roses.”  

“Oh, I get it.  And is my nose like a cherry?  How are my dimples?”

“Merry!” exclaimed Mr. Doe.  “Quite merry!”  The patient and the doctor shared a good laugh together.

Visions of her husband danced in Evie’s head.  “I guess it’s kind of hard to mask how happy I feel in my life right now.  My husband and I are trying for a baby.”  

“Oh!  Any good news yet?”

Evie gave Mr. Doe a lighthearted glare.  “Not yet…” she purred.

The man lay a finger aside of his nose.  “Well, hold on to that hope and that happiness, Doctor Ellis, it is a rare gift.  And hopefully soon, you’ll be holding on to that treasure you so greatly desire.”  

“Thank you.  Oh.  Something else I should tell you, before I go.  Someone from Social Services will be coming in to talk with you sometime this afternoon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s just part of your recovery process.  They’ll ask you several questions, help determine the next steps for the best course of action in your unique case.”

Mr. Doe nodded.  “Yes, ma’am.  Whatever it takes.”  

“Okay.  I’ll be around for most of the day, so alert me or one of the nurses if you need anything.”

“Hey, I was wondering,” Mr. Doe interjected.  “Does your hospital have like a garden or someplace where I can just go out and sit for a little while this morning?”  

Evie squinted.  “You want to sit outside in the snow?”  

Mr. Doe nodded again.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a very good-” began Evie.  

“I won’t run away, I promise,” said Mr. Doe.  “You can even have someone on your staff keep an eye on me, if you’d like.  In fact, I’d prefer it.”  

“Well… we were going to have you try and get up and walk around for a little exercise later this morning.  If you think you’re up for it… let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Doctor Ellis.  I can’t say this enough, but I appreciate everything you and your hardworking staff are doing to help aid in my recovery.  You have my sincerest thanks.”  

Evie nodded.  “My pleasure, sir,” she replied, as she exited the room.  The man is charming! she thought.  

And yet, something in the patient’s room was different than the night before.  Evie was so caught up in Mr. Doe’s expression of gratitude, that it took her a second after she left to recall what had changed.  

Yon happened to be walking down the hallway at that very moment.  

“Doctor Gomez,” said Evie, “did you replace that heavy gauze on Mr. Doe’s forehead with a simple Band-Aid patch?”

Yon shook his head.  “No.  I think Imogene must’ve done that.”  

“How odd,” she replied.  

A blast of arctic chill greeted Mr. Doe when the sliding doors opened up to the garden.  He took a few steps forward past the sensors, then remained motionless as the doors slid shut behind him.  Bundled up in his coat, hat, pants, gloves and boots, he walked a little bit further and stared blankly across the open courtyard.  Beyond the decorative lamp posts decked out for Christmas, beyond the snowy, city soccer fields behind said street lamps, were The Rockies, a beautiful and formidable range of mountain peaks.  Mr. Doe had overheard about these sierras from a passing Imogene, just after waking up that morning.  Their grandeur caught the man’s fancy.

His positive musings were brief, however.  Memories were pouring into his brain like a recurring nightmare.

No.  Please, no.  I don’t think I want to remember.  

And then there were the voices.  Actual voices, coming from every direction, all around him.  And they were getting stronger by the second.  Mr. Doe squeezed his eyes tight, to no avail.  Then he tried widening them as much as he could, attempting to focus on the mountains in the distance.

The clamor only intensified.  His mind cried out, Stop it, stop it, stop it!

He could now make out English words and phrases.  There was at least one specific dialogue happening within the madness at that very moment.  With great effort, he chose to tune into that conversation, as he attempted to block out the rest of the tumultuous noise from his head.

“Mama, is he Santa?”

“What did you say, dear?”

“Is he Santa?”

“That guy?  No, I don’t think so.  He’s probably just dressing up for the kids at the hospital.”

“I’m going to go down there and find out.”

“No, don’t!  He won’t understand you!”  

Out of Mr. Doe’s peripheral vision, he saw a creature flitting in the tree immediately to his right.  He raised his head and saw a chickadee staring him down on the lowest branch.

“Are you Santa?” asked the chickadee.

“What?” replied Mr. Doe.

“Are you Santa?”

“No.  No, I’m not Santa.”

“Well, what is your name then?”

“I’m currently known as John Doe.”

The chickadee sighed deeply from his tiny pair of chickadee lungs.  “‘John Doe’ is the name the hospital uses for patients with amnesia.  Do you not remember what your real name is?”

Mr. Doe shook his head.  “No.”

“But you can understand me…!  Maybe you are Santa?  But with amnesia issues?”

The man glared at the bird.  “I don’t know what my real name is.”

“C’mon, son!”  A maternal voice chirped from higher up in the tree.  

“Just a minute, mama!  My name is Saw-Whet, by the way!  Nice to meet you!”

Mr. Doe had an incredulous look on his face.  “Saw-Whet?  As in… owl??”

Saw-Whet laughed.  “That’s right…!  My parents named me ‘Saw-Whet,’ because I kept them up all night when I was little!”

“Now, Saw-Whet, we’re going!” cried the mother bird.

“Be right there!”  The chickadee took one final look at Mr. Doe.  “I have to go, but I’ll compile a list of names you might like to call yourself and come back and see you later in the week.  Bye-eee!”

Mr. Doe put his arm up.  “No, wait!  You don’t have to…”  But Saw-Whet was gone.  “… do that.”

Because Jake was standing a distance away in the warmth of the hospital, he couldn’t be certain.  But it looked like his patient had just wrapped up a conversation with a songbird.  

Later that afternoon, there was an unusually slow period in the hospital.  Evie emerged from her office and walked down the quiet hallway, where Imogene was sitting at her nurse’s desk, texting on her phone.  

“Where’s Sarah?” asked Evie.  

Imogene shrugged.  “I think she’s gone,” she replied.  

“Gone?”  

The nurse stood up.  “Yeah, like less than a half-hour ago, when she came out of Mr. Doe’s room.  When I asked her how things went, she shoved her clipboard into my chest, said, ‘you people figure this out,’ and then bolted toward the exit.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” exclaimed Evie.  “Why didn’t you alert me?”  

“You ordered me not to disturb you, unless it was an emergency,” Imogene replied.  

“Did you take a look at what she wrote?”  

“No, ma’am.  Figured I better not.”  

Imogene handed over the clipboard to Evie, who did a preliminary scan over the first couple of pages of the Social Services evaluation.  Her expression became more distraught by the second.  

“She thinks he’s a fraud,” said Evie.  “Like he’s making the whole amnesia thing up.”    

“But we tested,” returned Imogene.  “The hospital diagnosed a confirmed concussion and confirmed retrograde amnesia upon admittance two nights ago!  Not to mention the psychotic episode he had last night!”

The head doctor threw her right hand in the air, after flipping to the next page.  “Right, we did!  So then, like, what is her problem?  What could Mr. Doe have possibly said that would have caused her to go off like this?”  

 

John Doe kept going over the events of that afternoon in his mind.  He wanted out of that hospital so badly.  But he realized, too late, that his answers and his erratic behavior with the case worker only exacerbated the situation.  The patient attempted to regain his composure, as Evie flew into the room and slammed Sarah’s clipboard onto the counter.

“Well, I hope you’re happy, Mr. Doe,” she grumbled, breezing toward the window.  “You’ve just made my job a lot harder, and you’ve managed to tick off one of the best case managers in the entire Flathead Valley!”  

Mr. Doe frowned.  “I take it the interview didn’t go so well, then.”  

“Really.  You think?!”  

I’m really very sorry, Doctor Ellis,” he continued.  “I realize I may have come across a bit... unpredictable.  But it was never my intention to cause Sarah any pain.  I’m thinking she must’ve have gotten coal in her stocking when she was a little gi-”

“Stop it!” cried Evie.  “Just stop it with all the Santa Claus analogies, okay?!”  

“Yes, ma’am.”

The condition of the room is different again, thought Evie.  No, not the room.  The man.  

Shivers cascaded down the woman’s spine as she stared at her patient.  “How’s your head, sir?” she asked.  

“It’s been pretty okay…” Mr. Doe replied.  

Evie came over to the bedside.  Without hesitation, she ripped the bandage off Mr. Doe’s temple.  There was scant sign of any injury, any scarring, only some awkward stitches that looked like they needed to be removed as soon as possible.

“Who are you??” the woman cried.  “You survived what should have been a deadly accident, your head wound is nearly healed, and your overall recovery is shaping up faster than any patient I’ve ever seen!  Who on Earth are you?!”  

The man looked down at his exposed navel.  “I wish I could tell you, Doctor Ellis.  Sincerely I do.”  

Evie’s head was pounding.  “I can’t believe I’m about to ask you this.  Do you believe that you’re the real Santa Claus?”

“I am not.”  

“Did you steal those rings?”

“No.  They were given to me.”

“By whom?”  

Mr. Doe shook his head.  “I can’t tell you that.”  

Evie clasped the back of her neck with both hands and wheeled away from her patient in frustration.  “Agh!  If those rings end up being identified as stolen, regardless of who or where they were stolen from, then there will be absolutely nothing I, or anyone else here, will be able to do for you!” she exclaimed.

“I understand.  Doctor Ellis, you have my solemn word.  No Homo Sapiens on this planet had those rings stolen from them.  Those rings belong to me.”

Immediately after talking with Mr. Doe, Doctor Ellis asked Doctor Gomez to meet up with her in the conference room.

“We’re running out of time, Yon,” said Evie, shaking her head.  “Mr. Doe’s case is an enigma for the ages.  And at his rate of healing, we’re going to have no choice but to let him go soon.  Have you tried talking to him yet?”  

Yon nodded.  “Yeah, I did.  Right after lunch.”

“Did he open up to you in any way?  With any information we might be able to use to help him?”  

“I don’t have your impressive range of expertise, of course,” Yon replied.  “But to me, it appears he’s now in complete control of his faculties, memories are back, and he’s cooperating with us quite nicely, Social Services notwithstanding.  He told me that when he gets discharged, he wants to get a job and an apartment here in Whitefish and make a new life for himself.”

“Same thing he told Sarah.”

“He also promised me that he would agree to come in for any and all follow-up appointments we set up for him for the coming year.”  

Evie smirked.  “Do you still think he’s Santa Claus?” 

Yon pondered for a moment.  “No,” he replied.  “But, whoever he is, he’s definitely running away from something.  Or someone.”

“Yes, but then, why wouldn’t he just tell us that?  Give us the opportunity to help him?”  

“I don’t think he thinks we can, doctor.  It sounds to me like his goal is to go it alone, to try and blend into American society, inconspicuous and unassuming.”

“I keep thinking back to those rings of his,” said Evie.  “Nobody’s reported them stolen from any pawn shops, jewelry stores or safety deposit boxes we’ve checked on from Missoula to Fargo.  I think he’s going to end up back with them again.”  

“And sell them, he said,” added Yon.  “Seventy-five grand’s a pretty good nest egg for someone trying to get back on their feet again.”  

Evie plopped her fist on the table.  “Well we can’t hold Mr. Doe here forever.  Tomorrow is Christmas, so I’m not going to discharge him tomorrow.  But after that…”

“There is one more thing we have to have for him before he leaves though,” said Yon.  

“What’s that?” asked Evie.  

“A real name.”

Chapter 4  

What if John Doe really IS Santa Claus?

Even after a heartfelt Christmas morning gift exchange with her husband before work, Evie could not shake the audacious notion that hounded her all the way from her beau’s parting embrace to the driver’s seat of her automobile.  

What IF John Doe really is Santa Claus?  What if Santa has been a patient in my hospital, when he should’ve been traveling the world last night, going down chimneys and delivering gifts to all the good little girls and boys?  How will they respond when he never shows up this year?  

Evie couldn’t believe how emotional she was getting over this.  Her eyes were welling up with tears at the thought of millions of lamenting children, collectively crying their eyes out on a global scale, after Santa Claus didn’t come that year to bring them presents, fill their stockings or eat their plates of cookies.

What will become of his legacy?  What if John Doe REALLY is Santa Claus, and I am to blame for keeping him from fulfilling his Christmas duties?  What if I…

“What am I doing?  This is crazy!” she exclaimed out loud.  

Evie attempted to regain her composure, reaching up to turn the key that was already in the ignition.  But that attempt was interrupted when her mouth released a huge, syrupy belch.  With her stomach now churning and her throat now burning, the woman snapped her left hand up to cover her mouth, fumbled to unbuckle her seatbelt, opened the car door and ran to the nearest trash can.  She threw up three times in less than 30 seconds.

“What is happening to me?” she asked herself, as she wiped the used waffle residue off of her chin with haste.

Evie’s physical discomfort didn’t subside, as she braved the light, holiday commute.  Luckily, her cell phone rang, allowing for a momentary distraction from her nausea.  The car’s electronic monitor in between the driver and passenger side seat lit up with the details of the incoming transmission.  Evie glanced at the caller’s number, smiled and took the call with gladness.  

“Hello?” she asked, her voice weary and hoarse.  

A joyous, boisterous response piped through on the other end of the phone line.  “MERRY CHRISTMAS, AUNTIE EVIE!!”

Evie’s face beamed with unexpected relief.  “Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Suzanne!”

“GUESS WHAT, AUNTIE EVIE?”

“What?”

“SANTA CAME!!”

“He did…?!  Tell me all about it!”

Evie’s niece went on to describe the items in her stocking and under the tree, the empty plate consisting of only a few remaining cookie crumbs and everything else that was on her exuberant, childlike mind.  Suzanne eventually gave the phone over to her mother, but not before giving it a big smooch in Evie’s ear.  

As Evie sat there talking to her big sister and her family, she realized at that moment that everything in Christmas lore was going to be okay.  And hearing the innocent elation and glee of a young girl only bolstered Evie’s desire of wanting to bear and hold a little one of her own someday.

It was 10AM by the time Evie had the opportunity to visit her John Doe patient that day.  

She found the old man still sound asleep in his hospital bed.  Imogene had mentioned to her boss earlier that he had been restless throughout most of the night, talking again about “being abducted,” and only finally nodding off for a long period just before sunrise.  

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” said Evie.  

Mr. Doe slowly stirred, appearing a bit disoriented at first.  “Doctor Ellis.  It is… you?”

The woman’s warm smile lit up the room.  “Happy holidays, sir.”

“Happy holidays to you too, madam.”  The man looked curiously around and smiled.  “It would appear I’m still here.  Again.”  

Evie tilted her head.  “You seem surprised by that fact,” she said.  Her head tilt resulted in another piece of waffle threatening to return from where it came from.  

Mr. Doe glanced toward the window.  “Well… yes and no,” he replied.  “But, if it was going to happen, last night would have been the night.”  

The CMO chuckled, but not enough for her patient to hear.  “Uh-huh.  Anyway, I’m glad you’re still here, because I need to take your vitals…”  

As Evie began her routine examination, another one of her abrupt motions caused the room to start spinning. 

“Are you alright, doctor?” asked Mr. Doe.  “You look pale.”  

The woman wanted to shake her head, but it probably would have sent puke all over her patient.  “I just… I don’t know what’s wrong.  Something in that breakfast I had this morning, maybe.”  

“Or perhaps your body just found out that you got what you wanted for Christmas.”  

Evie chuckled at the man’s hypothesis at first.  But then it suddenly all made sense.  Her eyes brightened.  Her lips curled into a dazzling smile.  “You think it’s possible?” she exclaimed.  

“Maybe.  Perhaps you should find out for sure before you leave the hospital tonight.”  

“I will!  I’ll definitely do that!”  

The examination went flawlessly.  There was no longer any lingering signs of physical trauma in the patient.  He could be discharged at any time.  Evie got up to leave the room, when Mr. Doe spoke up one more time.  

“Merry Christmas, Doctor Evie Ellis.”  

Evie’s heart fluttered.  Her mind was awash in future possibilities.  “Merry Christmas to you too, sir!”  

Mr. Doe’s return to the garden was a mix of personal introspection and relief.  After using his white-gloved hand to wipe the new fallen snow off the bench, he sat down and pondered his current reality for a bit.  

They didn’t come! he thought.

He was so certain they would come, he wasn’t sure what to do next, now that they hadn’t.  His “plans” of moving into an apartment and getting full-time job were still on the table.  Now he just had to man up and back up his words with actions.

But before Mr. Doe could consider his options further, he had a visitor.

“Good morning, Saw-Whet!” cried the old man.

“Morning,” the chickadee replied, perched in the same tree as before.   

“And Merry Christmas to you!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, sir.”

Mr. Doe sensed distress in the bird’s tone.  “Saw-Whet, is something the matter?”

Saw-Whet flicked his tail back and forth.  “Well, I was going to come up with all these great names for you to try,” he replied.  “But I only came back with one idea so far, and it’s not even from me.”

“Well, that’s alright.  Tell me, what is it?”

“Well, before you laugh, let me explain,” continued Saw-Whet, jumping down to an even closer branch.  “There’s this really eccentric bear I know.  He’s also kind of an insomniac, always one of the last ones to fall asleep for winter hibernation.  Anyway, in the summer months, he likes to hang around just outside of campgrounds and RV parks and watch TV sets from a distance, while humans are watching their shows.  He doesn’t know the human language, of course, but he’s picked up enough to learn the names of certain shows.  Anyway, he says to me yesterday that if you are truly able to speak to animals, and you really want to make a difference out here, we should call you… ready for this?”  

Mr. Doe nodded.  “Ready.”

“Smokey Doolittle.”  

“Smokey Doolittle.”  The man mulled over the offering for a second.  “I like it!”

“You… you do?”

“Yes!  It’s great!  Smokey Doolittle, it is, then!”  

The chickadee did a 180, as he prepared to depart.  “Okay.  Glad you have your new name now.  Guess I better go-”

“Saw-Whet?” interrupted Smokey, gazing at the bird with in earnest.  “That wasn’t the real reason you were sad, was it?”  

The young songbird didn’t turn back around right away.  “No, sir,” he replied.

Smokey brought up his right arm and stretched out his index finger.  “Come here, friend.”  

Saw-Whet accepted the invitation.  Making one extra hop onto the lowest branch, his next destination after that was the human perch that was offered to him.  

“What happened?” asked Smokey.

The chickadee’s body sunk as low as any avian creature’s could.  “Two of the little ones on the other side of my tree didn’t make it last night.”  

Smokey’s heart fell.  “Oh, no.  I’m so sorry, Saw-Whet.”  

“I’ve been told that… about three out of four chickadees don’t make it past their first winter.  Did you know that, Smokey?”

The old man made a long face.  “I did, yeah.”

Saw-Whet’s voice was filled with emotion.  “Mama said that it’s just the natural order of things.  But I think that’s a load of bird poo.  I think 75% is horrible.  With just a little education, and some basic predator evasive maneuver training, that number could drop to 65%, or even to 60.”  

“Fascinating.”

Saw-Whet jerked his head back and forth as he continued talking.  “It would also help tremendously if we had a human like you, communicating with songbirds like me, helping out with non-mortal chickadee injuries.  Of course, any injury to a chickadee is life threatening at the bare minimum.”

Smokey thought about things for a minute.  

“I know I’m still going to have to get a full time human job after I leave this hospital,” he replied.  “But… yeah!  I don’t see why I can’t begin studying up on chickadee anatomy and veterinary care when I’m off work, to help your species with better survival skills and fixing minor injuries!  It’s the least I could do for the bird who named me!”

The chickadee’s eyes sparkled with hope.  “Oh, could you?  Oh, that would be so awesome, Smokey!”  Saw-Whet hopped back into the tree for a moment.  “Wow, I’ve got to go tell the others immediately!”

“Wait, Saw-Whet!” cried Smokey.  “I almost forgot!  I’m scheduled to be discharged from the hospital any time now!  How will I ever find you again?”

If a chickadee could smile, Saw-Whet would have done so.  “Oh, don’t you worry about that, Smokey Doolittle!” he exclaimed, glowing with a renewed joy and excitement.  “I’ll find you!”

Jake didn’t know what to make of what he just saw.  But he didn’t really want to interfere either.  After all, Mr. Doe wasn’t causing anybody any harm.  

Yon strolled up to Jake’s side.  “Time’s up I’m afraid,” the elder doctor said.  “Evie wants a name, and she wants it now.”

Jake’s lips quivered, ignoring the ultimatum for a moment.  “Mr. Doe was just there a minute ago,” he muttered, “talking to a bird.”  

“A bird.”

“Yeah.  A chickadee, I believe.  It was literally perched on the man’s finger.  I’m pretty sure it was the same one as yesterday.”  

The older doctor pursed his lips and smirked.  “When was your last break, Jake?”

“Very funny.  Look, there’s a security camera in the garden, we could get the footage-”

Yon waved his hand.  “No, after what you and I have seen and heard over the past two-and-a-half days, I believe you, rookie.  No need to let security in on this little matter.”  

Jake sighed.  “I’ll talk to Mr. Doe stat, doctor.  Perhaps we can come up with a name that suits him.”  

Later that afternoon, the same pair of male medical professionals were standing by the nurse’s station when Evie stormed up.  

“Alright.  ‘Smokey Doolittle.’  Which one of you came up with that name?”  Evie glared at Jake.  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“No, I swear!  I had nothing to do with it!” cried Jake.  

“Perhaps the chickadee gave it to him,” Yon chuckled.

“I told you I could get the footage…!”

“Forget it, you two,” continued Evie.  “We’ve got our name, and he actually likes it.  Now we’ve got to figure out how to sort this mess out and help Mr. Doolittle reintegrate into society.”  She looked up at the clock on the wall.  “I get the feeling nobody is going to come looking for him for quite some time.”  

After another Christmas had passed into memory, things moved quickly the following day, in regards to Smokey’s discharge. 

Evie did not want to rise from her desk, a reluctance prompted by an odd mix of disappointment, glee and morning sickness.  She heard the footsteps approach her office, and she knew that…

“It is time,” said Yon, popping his head through the door. 
The Chief Medical Officer beckoned Doctor Gomez to enter.  The rising sun reflected off of her eyelids, accentuating the beautiful, bronze layering of eyeshadow she had applied that morning.  

“One of the biggest, miraculous survivals and healings in modern medical history,” she lamented, “and we have to let him go.”

Yon shrugged in resignation.  “Everything checked out, Doctor Ellis,” he replied.  “The rings, the physicals, the cognitive tests… we have no choice.”  

“Do you believe what he promised?”  

“You mean, that he’ll follow-up with us and won’t disappear?”  Yon looked down at his lab coat and sighed.  “I know this is going to sound crazy, Evie.  But… yes.  I see a lot of me in him.  When my family came to this country, it’s because we had nowhere else to go.  And we were grateful for the opportunity to begin again.  I truly believe that Smokey and I share these things in common.”  

Evie took a deep breath and smiled at her colleague with pride.  “And now look at you, Doctor Gomez.  You’ve come a long way, sir.”  

The CMO slowly rose from her desk, as to not lose her breakfast.  “Alright, then.  Let’s release Smokey back into the real world with our blessings.”

A light snow was falling.

Under his own power, Smokey walked out the front, sliding doors of Logan Health for the last time as a patient, accompanied by Evie, Yon and Jake.  The old man had been blessed with a fresh pair of undergarments, slacks and a white polo, compliments of his serving hospital staff.  The only original garment he wore that morning was his red coat with the white trim around the collar, wrists and waist.  His furry red pants and five golden rings were packed away in his Santa sack, which he carried with his left hand.  

The trio of medical staff passed by Smokey, then turned to face him.  

“Okay, sir.  Let’s go over this one last time,” said Evie.  “That vehicle right there is called an Uber.  We’ve prepared the driver to attend to all your day’s critical needs, he is fully compensated for today and prepared to take you to all the places that you need to go. 

“Imogene and her father have already arranged for a trusted jeweler to appraise and make a cash offer on your five rings.  She expects seventy-five thousand dollars, seventy thousand at minimum, should be absolutely no problem.  The address is on your paperwork, that’ll be the first place you’ll want to go. 

“After that, we have an extended stay hotel that you are registered for.  This will be your temporary living quarters, until your identity can be fully and officially established, and you are able to find a permanent place to live.  There is a large grocery store just a few blocks away, you’ll probably going to want to purchase some food right off the bat, after checking into your hotel.”  

Yon spoke next, reaching out his hand with a loaded, manila folder.  “I’ve included a paper map, not easy to find these days, of the Greater Flathead Valley for you.  I have also included instructions for you on how to use the internet, as well as several important Whitefish addresses I think you’ll find useful.  And a few recreational and restaurant recommendations thrown in for good measure.  Jake…”  

Jake stood at Evie’s left flank and smiled.  “Here is your track phone, sir,” he said.  “It will be how we and our colleagues will be able to contact you throughout your rehabilitation process.  Plus, you can be in outbound contact with anybody you want, when you want.  Hospital needs, emergencies, ordering late night pizza…”  

Smokey stared at the device quizzically for a few seconds.  “My very first American cell phone.  My very first US phone number ever,” he mused, placing the phone and the manila folder into his sack.

“Listen to me closely, Smokey,” admonished Evie.  “It is vital that you comply with all identity protocol and instructions you receive over the next days, weeks and months.  And you must, you must, you must… show up for every hospital checkup we arrange for you for the foreseeable future.  We’re not out of the woods yet, sir.”  

Smokey cocked his head.  “But you got me out of the woods, my friends,” was his faint reply.  An unexpected wave of emotion washed over him.  His tears ducts activated.

“Thank you.  All of you, thank you.  For saving my life,” Smokey cried.  

“You are quite welcome, sir,” replied Yon. 

“Absolutely,” said Jake.

“It’s what we do,” affirmed Evie.

Smokey eyes fell to his shiny, black boots.  “Well.  Guess I better start making the rounds.  Thank you once again.”  The old man shook each medical professional’s hand one last time.  

“Good luck, Mr. Doolittle,” said Evie.  

The Uber driver got out and opened the front passenger door for the intended customer.  Smokey Doolittle wheeled around one last time first, however, and beamed at the female doctor.

“You take care of that wee one now, you hear, Doctor Ellis?  Nurture it inside and outside of the womb, cherish it always!  For it is a blessing from above!”  

“I will, sir!  I promise!” Evie cried back, her right hand brushing across her tummy back and forth, as symbolism to her new vow. 

Chapter 5

“Did you want to use your reusable bag, madam?”

There was no reply.  The woman’s glazed-over expression suggested that she was more interested in what was on her phone than what type of material her purchases were placed in.  Her reusable bag was still balled up and contained within a single black, elastic band a few inches away, resting on the plastic flap of the shopping cart where a child’s bottom usually sat. 

The old man sighed and bagged her groceries in paper as he was trained to do, making the best use of space between bulky items and smaller items that could be tucked safely in nooks and crannies without ripping the brown sack.  The celebrity magazine from the newsstand was placed on top, its dog-eared pages curved downward past the edge of the cereal boxes.  The bagger then moved to place the groceries into the cart.

“I got it,” the woman snapped, placing the phone down next to the unused, reusable bag and snatching the brown paper bag out of his grasp.  

The old man frowned, but took no offense.  “Have a nice day madam,” he replied, observing his customer make a beeline for the exit, like she had just robbed a bank.  

The bagger sighed a second time.  Even though he had been at this job less than a year, it was still becoming monotonous, both in ritual and in patrons’ attitudes.  He looked back at the next customer in line, a scowling mother with an shrieking infant in one hand and a shopping basket filled with baby supplies in the other.  On the next row over was a man arguing with his cashier about why he wasn’t able to return an item there, about why he was required to take it all the way to the customer service desk.  

And yet, amid all the Saturday bustle, the employee’s mind heard an unfamiliar voice whispering to him, like a gentle breeze in the late-autumn, Montana chill.

Smokey Doolittle.

It was a micro respite.  For a moment, Smokey’s spirits lifted, as did his eyes.  The fluorescent light directly above him flickered in three-syllable replies, as if affirming the call inside his head.  

Doolittle.  Doolittle.  

“Doolittle!” 

The assistant manager had managed to get within two feet of the old man without him realizing it.  Smokey was jolted out of his daydream.

“Wipe that cheesy grin off your face and help bag down at register one!” the manager barked.  

“Why is it so busy today, boss?” asked Smokey, clearly unprepared for the spike in customer traffic.  

“Didn’t you hear?  Ski season opened today up at the resort!  Earliest opening in 80 years!  Our town is completely booked solid!”

“Oh,” the old man replied, turning and strolling down the lane toward the far register.  The female cashier greeted him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.  

“Hey, Smokey.  Careful with this one, we got eggs.”  

Smokey was on opening for the grocery store, therefore his shift ended earlier in the day, at 2:00PM.  Once released from the supermarket, he chased the sun on foot, watching it emerge from the clouds and then duck back into the cumuli upon his arrival at his own front door, roughly five minutes later.  Upon entering his sparse yet cozy flex apartment, the old man hung up his classic tan jacket, unpinned his nameplate from his apron and then chucked his apron into the top-end washing machine on the far side of the kitchen.  

His laptop sat on the kitchen table, fully charged and at the ready.  It was the only other significant piece of technology Smokey owned, besides his track phone.  He jostled the mouse to wake up the sleeping machine, and popping up on the monitor was the last email he had accessed the previous day.  

“LOGAN HEALTH.  REMINDER.  YOUR FOLLOWUP APPOINTMENT IS TODAY 11/12/27,” read the subject line.  Smokey smiled, spotting the 11/12/27 After Visit Summary paperwork immediately to the right of the computer.  Included in the report was the glowing statistic of his extraordinary weight loss since the day he was first admitted into Logan Health a year prior.  

100 pounds.  

The report suggested he still had a little ways to go, but Smokey was already beyond content, knowing that his actual physical weight now contained a “1” in the “hundreds” column.  The medical checkup also contained several other impressive, improved vital statistics for a man of 71-years of age.  The old man couldn’t be positive that’s how old he was, but Doctor Ellis’ initial examinations estimated him to be 70 the previous December, so he’d almost surely be 71 by now.  

The joints in his knees cracked as Smokey bent down and filed the paper in a small, plastic file box under the table.  He then stomped across the green, shag carpet to the other side of the room, where he plopped his shiny, black boots onto an obliging footrest, just after he had plopped his lumbering body into an obliging, secondhand couch.  Smokey exhaled through chapped, puckered lips, then wiped the sweat off his brow, thankful for yet another work day successfully completed.  He looked across the room to a wall where a television might hang, if he ever felt the inclination to buy one.

Smokey Doolittle.

There it was again, clear as day:  the whispering of his name.  The phenomenon began happening a few days earlier, two or three times a day.  The voice was weak at the beginning, but was getting stronger with each episode.  And yet, the auditory hallucinations were by no means unsettling, quite the opposite.  Rather than fear and concern, Smokey felt intrigue and curiosity, wondering whether or not there was a deeper context to his paracusia.  

Dinner that night consisted of a couple of frozen burritos baked in the oven, three rubber celery sticks and the last of the lemonade.  His paycheck was deposited the day before, so Smokey decided that the following day might be a good day to restock the food cupboards and fridge.  Using his twenty percent employee discount, of course. 

After hand-washing his dishes, Smokey let out a loud, extended yawn, the bristly, white whiskers of his mustache and beard flexing and retracting with the movements of his jaw.  Finally, he changed into his nightwear, which was now two sizes too big.  He made a mental note that some better fitting ones may be a good use of his latest paycheck as well.  Taking one last look out the window at the silent, heavy flakes falling in the darkness, Smokey made a long face, turned to his side and fell into Slumberland within seconds.

Smokey Doolittle.  

No longer was Smokey watching the silent, heavy snowflakes outside.  He was immersed in them, surrounded by a starless night.  There were no signs of civilization in a 360 degree scope, as his body shuddered in the bone-chilling cold.  

Smokey.  

The tone of his name was a mix of every positive attribute he could rattle off in his head:  love, hope, joy, innocence, wonder, gratitude…  

Relief?  No, that’s not quite right, he thought.  Triumph?  Victory, maybe?

The ground shifted beneath Smokey’s feet.  Even though he remained perfectly still, the curvature of whatever body of land was under him began to rotate backwards, propelling him forward at an incredible rate.  Through the darkness, his eyes made out the lights of a large dwelling.  He only had time to blink once before his still-stationary body was hurtled through the doorway, and he was standing in a warm, inviting, Christmas foyer.  

Never in all his life had Smokey ever experienced a dream so vivid, so real, as the one he was having at that moment.  From the crackling of logs in the cozy fireplace, to the very warmth that they produced, from the smell of cinnamon pinecones to the lavish holiday boughs, lights and decorations of the exquisite, nocturnal abode, Smokey felt like the dream was real.  It was a longing finally fulfilled, a longing the real world had yet to afford him.

“I’m home,” he said out loud, a tear running down his cheek.

Then came the icing on the Christmas cake.  He sensed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he heard the voice behind him.  For the first time since the episodes began, he heard his name spoken in a tone other than a whisper. 

“Smokey Doolittle.”

In his delight and excitement, Smokey wheeled around to face the woman who showed such interest in him…  

… And found himself staring up at the popcorn ceiling, in his own bed, in his own apartment, in Whitefish, Montana, the following morning.  Alas, he never saw her face.  

“No.  Please, no,” Smokey gasped, a real tear rolling down his cheek.  “No, please.  Let me go back.  I have to know.”  

His pleas dissipated into empty furnace air.  He wasn’t transported back.  But at least he was left with some consolation, knowing that if he ever heard that woman’s voice in the real world now, he’d recognize it immediately.  

Smokey stayed motionless in his bed for minutes.  The dream was exquisite.  Each time his mind focused back on that hand on his shoulder, that voice in that abode, he felt the warmth in his fluttering heart spread across his chest.  

He felt alive, like no dream had ever made him feel before.

“I want to go back,” he murmured again.  

The old man closed his eyes, yearning to fall back unconscious, yearning to continue the dream he was just having.  But the only sound that resonated inside his half-asleep head was the sound of his grocery store assistant manager, tapping his fingernail against the surface of the bagging area.  

Tap, tap, tap, tap.  

It took a few more seconds for Smokey to separate dream state from reality.  Was that… was that real? he thought.  

Just then, a coach bus shook the apartment as it rumbled by, before fading away down the street.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.  

Smokey cracked open his bleary eyes.  “That can’t be the sink, can it?” he asked himself, now fully awake.  “They just fixed that thing two months ago!”  The old man got up, slumped through the open bedroom door and into the kitchen.  He found that the sink was dry and that the faucet was, in fact, not dripping water.  

The tenant’s head jerked back with a start.  A small bird was flapping its wings in the window directly in front of him.  Smokey’s eyes lit up in recognition.  He shuffled his feet to his immediate right and forced open the heavy, sliding glass door that led out onto his balcony.  The bird followed him from the outside, from the window to the balcony, and landed on the snowy bannister.  

“Good morning, Saw-Whet!” exclaimed Smokey.  “Was that you tapping on my glass?”

“Uh-huh!” tweeted the vivacious songbird.  “Good morning to you too, Smokey!” 

“Adding ‘woodpecker’ to your list of bird talents now?”  

“Think I should try?”  

“No, but I think you should come out of the cold for a minute.  It’s freezing out here!”  

Smokey opened the sliding door even wider, allowing Saw-Whet to fly into the apartment and perch on the top of the spare dining room chair.  

“How’s the family?” asked Smokey.  

“Family’s doing splendid!” replied Saw-Whet.  “Suzanna’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me!  Well, other than meeting you, of course!  Busy though.  We barely have a minute to spare, taking care of our darling little nestlings!”  

“Full time job.”  

The chickadee nodded.  “I’ll have to be going back to them very quickly.  But my reason for coming to you this morning is more than just a simple house call.  This is a big one.”  

“I’m all ears,” replied Smokey.  

“Remember Randall?  The insomniac bear, always the last one to hibernate?  Well last night, he was finally about to go to bed for the winter, when he heard this noise, followed by this agonizing roar.  Inside a cave near his, a large rock came loose and landed on an adult female bear, somewhere around the chest-abdomen area.  We don’t know how bad it is, if there’s any internal injuries, probably some cracked or broken ribs at minimum.  She’s in a lot of pain, difficulty breathing.”  

Smokey squinted and shook his head.  “Bears.  I’m barely up to treating small mammals.  This sounds like a huge undertaking.”  

Saw-Whet cocked his head.  “Well, no time to learn like the present, right?  Randall has already said that he will guarantee your safety, even if your diagnosis is that you can’t save her.  All they just need now is you.”  

The old man stroked his ivory beard and looked blankly ahead at nothing in particular for several seconds, before opening his mouth again.  

“Where is the cave?”  

Chapter 6

A sunny but frigid Sunday morning greeted the avid skiers of Montana.  It was day two of the earliest opening ever for the Whitefish Mountain Resort in its 80-year history, and the multitude of excited customers, rippers and gapers alike, did not want to miss a single minute of it.  Meanwhile, inside Base Lodge, at the foot of Big Mountain, the resort employees had experienced their first taste of ski pandemonium the day before and now had a better understanding of what to expect.  

Among them in the staff locker room, sat a berry-scented, blue eyed, golden-blonde haired woman, untainted by the world.  

Written across her innocent face was the cheeriest of countenances, with the words, “Welcome, Friends,” as its unspoken anthem.  Beating inside her chest was a heart of pure gold, overflowing with love for others.  She was as beautiful on the interior as she was on the exterior, one of the most attractive and decent Homo Sapiens one could ever hope to encounter outside of fiction novels and children’s fables. 

Her name was Ashley Sleddingbaum.  And she was the last one to leave the locker room that morning.  

With a festive, charming song on her lips, Ashley had just finished retying the laces of her brown winter snow boots, the ones with the white, faux fur mid-calf and one-inch heels.  Upon rising, she transported her Kate Spade crossbody purse from the bench to her locker.  While there, she reached in and pulled out the “ASHLEY” nameplate off the top shelf, affixing it to her fitted, baby blue, puffer jacket with the symmetrical squares.  The woman then reached down to zip up her coat, pulling up the apparatus along a familiar track from navel to neck.  Her nameplate gleamed like precious metal, smudge-free and perfectly aligned, resting against the gentle slope above her right bosom.  All the while, Ashley could be heard sweetly crooning the second verse of “Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella.”

“It is wrong when the Child is sleeping 

It is wrong to talk so loud;

Silence, all, as you gather around,

Lest your noise should waken Jesus.

Hush!  Hush!  See how fast He slumbers;

Hush!  Hush!  See how fast he sleeps!”

With eyes twinkling, Ashley spun herself around 360 degrees on one boot and repeated the last two stanzas of the verse she had just finished.  

“Hush!  Hush!  See how fast He slumbers;

Hush!  Hush!  See how fast he sleeps!”

Ten seconds later, an icy chill entered the room, as Ashley’s boss, Mrs. Whitmire, stumbled through the open door.  

“Little too much caffeine already this morning, Ms. Sleddingbaum?” she sneered.  

The young maiden looked up.  “Oh, I haven’t had any coffee today,” replied Ashley in a nonchalant timbre, incapable of detecting the subtext.

Mrs. Whitmire shook her head.  “I don’t know how you do it.  Keeping that bright, cheery demeanor day in and day out.  Doesn’t it ever get exhausting for you?”

Ashley’s teased her zipper pull, making sure it was clicked in to the exact spot she favored for her jacket.  “Golly, Mrs. Whitmire, I’ve never really thought about it that much,” she replied.  I just love my life and the job that I’ve been blessed with!”  

The Lift Ticket Sales Agent strolled over to the table and reached for her matching baby blue beanie with the pom pom puff and meticulously slid it straight down over her shoulder-length hair.  The smooth, moisturized ends of her voluminous locks literally sprang off of her shoulders with a discernible bounce as she walked.  

“Well, you better get on out there then, Pollyanna,” sighed Mrs. Whitmire.  

Ashley finally sensed the disdain toward her.

“You know, Mrs. Whitmire, if you only opened your heart just a little, you could discover some new joys in the everyday too!” Ashley cried, undeniably affirming the namesake that had just been given to her.  

Mrs. Whitmire’s boots shuffled a couple of feet forward, and her eyes narrowed, as she delivered a chilling forecast to her young employee.

“Tread… carefully… Ms. Sleddingbaum.  Innocent and joyful young women, such as yourself, usually become the most disillusioned and bitterest of old women.” 

It was a calloused and horrid prediction to be spoken over Ashley’s life.  The twenty-something optimist became speechless for a few seconds, allowing Mrs. Whitmire to make her escape.  But like water off a duck’s back, the upbeat young maiden shrugged it off and made her way to her designated ticket station.

Throngs of eager ski enthusiasts fidgeted at the entrance to Base Lodge, their purses and wallets out, ready to purchase their way up the mountain for some much-needed recreation.  The clouds rolled in at opening announcement just as rapidly as they had retreated the night before.  But the sun didn’t need to be out when Ashley Sleddingbaum was manning her ticket counter.  Her dazzling smile, every tooth in perfect alignment, warmed the hearts of each guest who came to her counter.  She made sure to make eye contact with each guest’s eyes, as if to infuse them with some of that extra joy that bubbled over from her hope and positivity, as she honored their purchase and wished them a blessed day.

Later that initial hour, Ashley had just wrapped up a heartfelt rapport from a middle-aged couple who were visiting Montana from New Zealand.  They had heard about the early Whitefish ski season and had bought plane tickets on an impulse, simply to participate.  As they moved on, Ashley’s eyes lit up when she saw the young, bronzed, power couple step up to her counter next.

“Ha-HAAAAA!!” Ashley exclaimed.  “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Freddie and Dhargey Escarra!  The blissful and blessed newlyweds!  I wondered when the two of you were going to resurface!”  

Ashley’s bestie and confidant Dhargey grinned wide, as she removed her designer sunglasses and gloves.  “Morning, Ashley.  Yeah, it wasn’t easy leaving our bedroom, let me tell you!  But then we pulled back our curtains yesterday morning, we both looked at each other and said, ‘What in the blazes…?  How can we only be in mid-November?’”  

“Gosh, I know, it’s incredible, right?  Ever see powder like this when you were a kid in the Himalayas?”  

“Nope.  Montana wins in a landslide.  Oops.  Knock on wood.”  Dhargey playfully rapped on the lip of the ticket counter a few times.

“And how are you doing, Freddie?” asked Ashley, looking to her right.  “Is your beautiful bride taking good care of you?”

The thin mustache on Freddie’s perfectly-groomed goatee lifted, upon the flashing of his radiant smile.  “Hi, Ashley.  Oh, absolutely.  I’m definitely still feeling the honeymoon vibes with mi amada, and this mountain is just extra frosting on the wedding cake!”  

“Man, you two are so tight.  You guys are going to have so much fun up there.  Can’t wait to hear how the conditions are and try it myself!”  

The morning rush of enthusiasts had reduced to a modest but continuous stream of skiers, as the clock reached 10:30 AM.  It was then that a peculiar old man approached Ashley, holding a doctor’s bag and wearing a red Santa hat, heavy coat and ski pants.  Snow shoes were strapped to his back.

What an extraordinary looking fellow, the woman thought.

Lifting her chin up and squaring her shoulders, Ashley gazed into the man’s eyes and flashed her patented smile.  “Good morning, sir!  How may I help you?”  

The man stopped moving.  He seemed to be transfixed on the woman herself, but had lost the ability to state his intentions.  

“Sir?” she asked again.  “May I… help you?”  

The man’s paralysis lifted, as his eyes dropped to the woman’s nameplate.  “Oh.  Yes.  Good morning, Ms. Ashley,” he replied.  “I would like to buy a ticket to go up the ski lift, please.”  

Ashley raised an eyebrow.  “Where are your skis?”  

The old man chuckled.  “Oh, I’m not here to ski.  I’ve come to help an injured bear who lives on the top of this mountain.”  

She blinked.  It took a moment for her mind to process the information.  But like a ship approaching providence, so Ashley’s skepticism subsided, as she returned to her safe harbor of innocence and intrigue.

“Oh,” she exclaimed.  “Okay.  So… you probably want the lift for Summit House, then?”  

“That’d be great, yes,” he replied.  

“Do you have your online liability waivers with you?”  

The old man looked down at his right pocket.  “Well, no, it’s a track phone…”  

“No, I get it, that’s okay, sir,” said Ashley, reaching under her counter for a pen and a paper document and then sliding them under the glass partition.  “I just need you to fill this out for me real quick, and we can get you all situated.  While you’re doing that, I’m just going to help this nice couple behind you with their digital waivers.”  

The curious man smiled and did what he was told.  Ashley helped the two skiers get their tickets, and then Smokey was ready with his completed waiver. 

“Excellent,” beamed the woman at the ticket counter.  “Let’s get you a paper ticket for the lift, Mr. … Doolittle?  Did I read that right?”  

“Indeed you did,” he replied.  “Smokey Doolittle.  At your service, madam.”  

Ashley flashed a smile that could melt glaciers.  “Smokey Doolittle,” she repeated back.  

The old man’s jaw dropped.  The expression on his face was like that of someone who had just seen an angel.  

“Can I be of any other assistance to you, sir?” asked Ashley.  

“Thank you, no.  Your kindness and courtesy are appreciated, Ms. Ashley,” replied Smokey, gazing at her name plate a second time.  

Ashley’s cheeks flushed just slightly.  “It’s who I am,” she replied.  “Here’s your ticket, sir.  Have a good day on the slopes.” 

The peculiar man gave the white fur trim on the front of his Santa hat a slight tug and nodded.  

“My lady,” he said.

Once he was out of earshot, Ashley began to giggle.  The way he made her feel like royalty, just by one simple nomenclature, caused her heart to swell up with even more joy than she normally carried.  

“Next,” she grinned, her face frozen in glee.  

Hours went by, and before Ashley knew it, it was afternoon, and her shift was winding down.

“Going for one more round?” she asked the same middle aged couple she had helped that morning.  They nodded enthusiastically.  “Alrighty then.  I’ve already got your information in the computer, you’re good for one more trip up the mountain.”  

Ashley looked behind the couple and saw Mrs. Whitmire, who nodded, and then disappeared again.  Recognizing the signal, Ashley closed down her window and prepped her booth for the next shift, making sure her workspace was immaculate.  There was still the matters of balancing her till and preparing daily financial summaries, so she gathered her things and prepared to vacate her station.  

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him again.  

Smokey had entered Base Lodge from the back door and was now headed towards the front.  Sweat that had nearly frozen to his brow from the ride back down began to liquefy in the warmth of the lodge.  He looked exhausted.

But he was happy.  She could feel it.  

The old man looked up and saw Ashley as he continued forward.  Their gazes remained unbroken for several seconds.  Finally, he simply answered the woman’s unspoken question by lifting up his left hand and giving her a simple “thumbs up.”

The lines on Ashley’s brow disappeared.  Nodding, she gave Smokey a cheesy grin and a similar gesture in reply, with both hands.  

The man’s lips parted for a brief moment, as if he was going to say something, but then didn’t.  With a final wave and a smile, Smokey Doolittle pushed the front door open, and then he was gone.

Chapter 7

As daytime stepped aside to welcome the fading light of dusk, the white, twinkling holiday lights of the newly-renovated Base Lodge became brighter with each passing second.

The timing of the structure’s remodel completion could not have been better, as the early winter storms blew in with a fury, exactly one week after the final touch-up of paint was added to the rafters.

After finishing their evening ski runs, the cold and huddled masses descended upon the bright, inviting, alpine oasis.  And they found therein, a sanctuary of warmth, refreshment and hospitality.  For those more daring individuals at the lodge who still loved being in the elements, an expanded, third floor outdoor patio, just outside the newly-remodeled food court, had been constructed with eight luxury gas firepits of glass fiber reinforced concrete.  Each unit was bordered by six rustic dining chairs, every seat crafted with Montana’s own lodgepole logs.  Six of the firepits were first come, first serve, while the other two were reservation only.  The two semi-private units were partitioned off with decorative stone walls on west and east ends, leaving one side open for entry and the other side facing Big Mountain for a superb backdrop.  Interested parties booked those units in advance, by date and block of time.  Protecting the balcony guests was a 40-inch glass railing which stretched across the outer border of the entire patio.  

Before, during and after the lodge’s remodel, Ashley’s pulse on the goings on of this particular haven were keen and astute.  The beautiful maiden recalled the joyous times she and her friends experienced around the firepit the previous year and was eager to recreate that intimate environment once again this season.  Almost before the remodeled lodge’s last coat of wood lacquer had dried, the woman jumped on the chance to reserve one of the sought-after firepits, prepaying for Saturdays from 6PM-8PM, every Saturday, up to and including New Years Day.  This gave Ashley and her friends the opportunity to have dinner, converse, celebrate life and still safely return home at a reasonable hour.  

Dhargey and Freddie, faithful friends who were dear to Ashley, couldn’t wait to check out Base Lodge’s new digs and remodeled patio.  It was the first time all three former childhood schoolmates had had a chance to really sit down and have fellowship since the couple’s wedding, where Ashley was Maid of Honor.  

Despite being the third wheel now, Ashley nevertheless had no capacity in her heart to harbor envy, awkwardness or forlornness in the relationship.  Instead, she considered the inaugural firepit gathering to be a small, intimate, post-wedding celebration, a triumph of Dhargey’s and Freddie’s successful discovery of their love for one another, leading to their declaration of marriage.  And it would begin in the simple partaking of hot chocolate with miniature marshmallows.
“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you two are married now,” exclaimed Ashley, as she passed the hot beverages around to the other side of the firepit.  

Freddie’s eyes darted over to his bride.  “I mean, what can I say?  Simplemente no hay palabras,” he replied.  “I’m just… so in love with her.”

Dhargey’s mahogany pupils reflected the flame of the firepit.  “I’m madly in love with you too, Freddie, you make me so happy.”  She glanced across the dancing licks of fire.  “And your friendship too, Ashley.  You’ve been so loving and supportive throughout our whole courtship process.  Throughout my whole life, really.”

The trio took a sip of their hot chocolates simultaneously, savoring its bold flavor as it hit their taste buds.  

Freddie swallowed his first sip.  “So, just the three of us tonight?” he asked.  

Ashley confirmed.  “Yeah.  You know… schedules and all that.  He said he’ll be sure to meet up with us next week.”

Dhargey and Freddie nodded, already aware of who “he” was.  

“I heard you had an interesting first week at Base Lodge, Ashley,” said Freddie.  “Some guy came in after us without skis, requesting to go up the mountain?” 

“You heard about him?” asked Ashley.  

“Pretty much every employee up at Summit was talking about him.  Said he had a Santa hat?  Looked like the genuine article, except for the clothes and the weight?”

“Yep.  He came to my ticket booth.”

“And you let him go up anyway?” exclaimed Dhargey.

Ashley shrugged.  “Why not?  He signed the waiver right there in front of me.  And he was certainly dressed for the possibility of inclement weather each day.”    

Freddie’s law firm tendencies kicked in.  “Wait, we’re talking multiple days here?”  

“Each day I was manning the window this week, yes,” Ashley replied.  “The man told me he took a few hours off from his regular job so that he could tend to an injured grizzly bear.”

Dhargey nearly spit out the sip of cocoa she was drinking.    

“What’s this guy’s deal really?” asked a calmer Freddie, as he swirled the dissolving marshmallows in his cup with his finger.  “Did he give you his name?”

“He called himself, ‘Smokey Doolittle.’”

Dhargey forced down another sip of beverage and chimed in.  “My husband’s right, you don’t actually believe this guy, do you?  A man who says he makes house calls to injured animals?”  

“Why wouldn’t I believe him?” returned Ashley.  “What would be the purpose of lying to someone you’ve never met before?  And… I think I saw actual grizzly bear fur on his scritchy scarf a couple of times when he came back down!  Pretty sure the man is on the level!”  

Freddie shook his head and looked out into the darkness.  “Extraordinary.  Wonder if he’d do better just getting a season pass-”

“That’s not funny, Freddie,” snapped Dhargey, turning back to her bestie.  “Ashley, is he even staying within the boundaries of the resort when he’s up there?”  

Ashley stuttered.  “I… um…”  

“You don’t know??”  Dhargey leaned in and lowered her voice significantly, as to make sure it didn’t carry past the partitions of the reserved space.  “Ashley, that’s crossing into specialized insurance territory!  If he dies up there without it, signed resort waiver or no, that’s something you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life!  Do you understand that?  And what if your boss finds out about this?”  

“She’s right about that, Ashley,” affirmed Freddie.  “From a legal standpoint, this is potentially not good.”  

For the first time, Ashley pondered the consequences of her recent actions.  A cloud of fear and regret rolled into her thought process.  

“Golly, you’re right,” she said.  “I should have reconsidered selling him tickets.  Or checked with my supervisor first or something.”  

Dhargey reached around the firepit and placed her right hand on top of her best friend’s hands.  “It’s okay, darling,” she said.  “We know the man is still alive today.  You just have to stop selling him lift tickets until you know he has the proper backcountry insurance.”  

 “But what if I end up impeding his efforts to bring a helpless grizzly back to recovery by doing that?  What if he’s telling the truth?”  

 “This has to be done, Ashley!  For his sake, and for yours!”  

Ashley pursed her lips.  “Again, you’re right.  I own this.  I have to be the one to make it right.  Okay.  Tomorrow, I promise I will approach Smokey and ask about the whole insurance thing.  If he doesn’t have it, then I’ll just have to tell him I can’t sell him tickets anymore until he does.  It’ll be okay, you two, don’t freak out.”

A few silent seconds passed.  A couple more sips of cocoa were taken.  Dhargey looked over at Ashley again, who was gazing through the window at the food court.

“Uh, oh, I know that look.  What are you thinking about, Ashley?” asked Dhargey.

“Oh, nothing,” Ashley replied.  “Just about what it would be like if Mr. Doolittle really was telling the truth.”  

“No.  No way.  Don’t even think about it.” 

Ashley looked back at her friend.  “I mean, if everything checks out, if he’s clear to return, then what would be the harm in me-”  

“That’s freaking insane!” Dhargey cried, causing a couple of passersby to glance over momentarily.  “You hardly know anything about this guy, you don’t know what’s up there!”  

Ashley got uncharacteristically defensive.  “Of course I know what’s up there!  And the man is harmless!”  

“Even if that turned out to be true, and, if by some miracle, his story also turned out to be true, grizzly bears and humans don’t mix!”  

Ashley pouted and placed her hands on her hips.  “I’ve been to that backcountry six times, Dhargey, I think I can handle myself!  Plus, most bears are already hibernating at this point!”

Dhargey’s hand tightened around Ashley’s hands.  “I just don’t want to check my news feed next week and find your name in the obituaries!  Freddie!  Back me up on this!”  

Freddie had removed his coat and was busy picking off a rogue piece of fuzz from his wool sweater.  “What?  Oh.  No, I completely agree with you, snookums.”

“I don’t know how to say this any plainer to you, Ashley.  Do not go up the mountain with that man.”  Dhargey made a pleading gesture.    

“Look, he would just tell me ‘no’ anyway, so… nothing to worry about!” replied Ashley.

“Uh-huh…” said Dhargey, leaning back to her original position, taking another sip of cocoa and partially missing her mouth altogether.  Fortunately, the misplaced liquid only got to her chin and not onto her white, Moncler, ski jacket.  Freddie jumped in and applied a small napkin to the spot, to ensure that it didn’t.  The two paused for a moment, before breaking down into elementary school giggles.  

“Come, mis amigas,” said Freddie, “no más peleas tonight.  Just enjoy each other’s company.  We have so much to be thankful for, and so many more adventures to experience at the top of this fresh holiday season!”  

Honoring Freddie’s wishes, the trio did not mention Smokey Doolittle’s name for the rest of the evening.  Stories were shared, laughter was exchanged, a few hymns and Christmas carols were sung.  

Nevertheless, the same curiosity kept replaying in the back of Ashley’s mind, What if, along with Dhargey’s admonition.  

“Do not go up the mountain with that man.”  

Chapter 8  

 

“Mr. Doolittle?” she asked, her breath turning visible in the frigid air.

Smokey recognized the voice and looked up.  Ashley was leaning up against the front of Base Lodge, staring back at him.  Her arms were folded, with one leg bent at the knee, her boot pressed against the intricate stone skirting.  The female fashion plate had on sleek, powder pink ski pants, top and matching pom pom beanie.  She wore a powder pink puffer jacket with chevron puffs over her curvature and down to her xyphoid process, halved by her zipper.  Two 3X3 rhombus puff designs on each side of her zipper around her lower abdomen completed the garment.  Around her forehead, Ashley sported ski goggles with an iridescent pink shade, which reflected the winter playground all around her.  Her confident wardrobe spoke volumes, as if to say, “Welcome to my mountain, sir.  I am the queen.  I rule these slopes.”

“We’ve not been formally introduced,” said Ashley. 

Smokey smiled and walked up the steps to meet her.  “Sure we have,” he replied.  “You’re Ashley.  The nice lady that’s been selling me lift tickets.”

Ashley folded her arms and smirked.  “What’s my last name?” she asked.  

The old man paused.  “You’re right.  Perhaps some formal introductions are in order,” he confessed, extending out his hand.  “My name is Smokey.  Smokey Doolittle.”

The woman accepted his hand and shook it with the grace of a princess.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Smokey Doolittle.  My name is Ashley.  Ashley Sleddingbaum.” 

“A pleasure to make yours as well, Ms. Sleddingbaum,” he replied, turning his neck to the side, shaking his head and stroking his beard.  “Gosh, it all makes sense now.”  

“What does?” asked Ashley.

“The name ‘Sleddingbaum’ would be awfully difficult to fit on your name plate.”  

Ashley blinked for a few seconds, and then she began to laugh, with a hearty, healthy, feminine timbre that warmed Smokey’s heart.  He began to laugh with her.  

“Gee, I never thought of that!” she cried.  “Golly, I suppose it would!”  

The two began a slow stroll down the walkway together, as if they were old acquaintances. 

“You’re not working today, Ms. Sleddingbaum?” asked Smokey. 

“Now that we’ve officially met, you can call me Ashley again,” Ashley replied, brushing back a lock of her golden hair.  “And no, I got the rest of the day off.  I needed to, because we need to talk.  You and I.”  

Ashley turned toward the old man and took a slow, deep breath, in and out.  Smokey watched the demonstration with curiosity, still having no idea yet why he caught her fancy.  

“I might have made a mistake,” she began.  “When you go up the mountain, do you travel past the border of the resort?”  

“It’s a good kilometer beyond the resort boundary to the cave, yes,” replied Smokey.  

“Do you have backcountry insurance?  In case you get hurt?” 

“Uh, no.  Didn’t know I needed it.”  

Ashley made a long face.  “Then I’m afraid that I can’t sell you any more lift tickets, until we have documentation that you do.”  

Smokey frowned.  “Oh no… oh dear.  Have I gotten you in trouble, my lady?”  

“No, not yet.  If we fix this now, everything should be okay going forward.”  

“I understand, Ashley.  Please tell me what I need to do.”  

The woman breathed a sigh of relief.  “I know you only have a track phone.  But if you’d sit inside with me for a few minutes, I can use the app on my phone of the insurance company our lodge partners with, get you an account set up with them and then get you through the process.”

The two worked well together.  Smokey was still a novice with smart phones, but Ashley took him through the step-by-step process on navigating him where he needed to be.  Fifteen minutes later, Ashley’s eyes lit up in surprise, when she watched Smokey successfully use her phone to receive instant coverage, simply by completing his purchase online, using his payment card, and then sending himself a confirmation to his email address.  He looked over at the confused ski lift ticket taker and explained that he had money set aside for unexpected expenses, such as this.  

“We good?” he continued.  

Ashley tilted her head to the side and sighed in contentment.  “Yes!  We good!” she replied.  “And thank you so much for keeping your composure throughout all this and for not yelling at me.  I’ve been worried about this meeting all night.”  

“It is good to give grace to others.  Everyone makes mistakes, my lady.  I’m just glad we were able to resolve this conflict amiably.  Together.”

The woman beamed with joy.  “Smokey, that’s exactly the way I feel when working with others!  Well said, sir!”

Smokey stood up.  “Thanks again, Ashley.  Guess I’ll go buy my lift ticket now.”  

He prepared to head back over to the ticket counter, when he felt Ashley’s warm hand reach up and touch his arm.  

“May I come with you this time?” she asked.  “I’d love to see this bear you’re helping.”

There was a long pause.  But eventually the old man’s eyes brightened.  The lines of his crow’s feet lifted just slightly.  “Okay.  I don’t think the bear will mind.”

Two lift passes were secured, and Smokey was soon riding up the mountain again, with Ashley one chairlift in front of him.  At one point, she turned around and smiled.  The old man smiled back, but his mind was already locked in on the task he was headed to.  Once at Summit House, the two stepped off the lift, equipped their snow shoes, backpacks and poles, and began trekking in the direction of the cave.  

Very few words were spoken between Smokey and Ashley, as they travelled side-by-side.  The old man would occasionally look over at the beautiful young woman’s somber expression and ask, “We good?”  This resulted in a responsive nod or a resolute, feminine, “Yeah.” from his partner.  

My partner.  

Ashley Sleddingbaum, a Homo Sapiens whose existence was not known to Smokey even just eight days earlier, had now become his medical partner.  Why is she doing this? he thought.  Anybody else would have dismissed me as a crazy old man with a desire to die of hypothermia!  Who IS this woman?

Then an even more basic, yet profound revelation hit him.  

She believes me.

Never once did Ashley question Smokey’s sincerity from the day they met.  Nor did she respond back with a doubting, sarcastic or cynical tone.  The trusting young woman took his claim at face value, without question.  And now, here she was, matching stride for stride with him with the endurance of an Olympic athlete, headed to a destination only known to him, with an injured bear inside.  Smokey listened to Ashley’s sweet, rhythmic pants as they labored toward the site.  He looked over again and saw the fierce determination in her sapphire eyes, her lips curved for a fight, her teeth semi-bared and her face fixed straight ahead toward their goal.  And he was captivated. 

The pair reached the cave, removed their snow shoes at the front and made their way in.  At the back wall was the female grizzly bear Smokey promised would be there.  With thick and matted fur, the creature lay on her back, whimpering at even the slightest attempt to shift her position.  With a couple of curious huffs, the bear turned her face toward Smokey, followed by Ashley, and lifted her left paw.

“Don’t be afraid,” Smokey whispered to Ashley.  “The bear senses kindness.”  

Ashley stood paralyzed, not in fear, but amazement.  “Extraordinary,” was the only word she could muster.

“She’s fortunate to be alive,” said Smokey.  “Had the rock that had fallen on her been any more jagged, or landed just a few inches lower below her rib cage and into her abdomen…”  

The old man’s voice trailed off.  Ashley’s eyes widened, as she watched him walk over to the bear, kneel down and then transition to a language she had never heard come from a human tongue before.  And, to her greater amazement and delight, the bear appeared to be communicating back to him with understanding.  

Smokey began pressing on different parts of the bear’s chest and rib cage, examining the progression of the healing.  He produced a large stethoscope from his bag and listened to the bear’s heart and lungs, while also observing the bear’s breathing patterns.  The creature responded positively, complying with Smokey’s every grunt, every snort.  At one point, the man touched one of the still-injured ribs, causing the bear to cry out with a painful chirp.  The old man apologized in Ursine and promised he would try to be more careful.  

Ashley observed the examination with a child-like wonder.  “No bandages?” she asked in a soft tone.  

Smokey responded with an emphatic shake of his head.  “No.  Like humans, tight bandaging on this type of injury can restrict breathing.” 

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”  Smokey picked up a nearby item that he had left in the cave on the previous visit and handed it to the woman.  “Ashley.  Can you empty the ice and water out of this bucket outside, then fill it with fresh snow and bring it right back to me?”  

Ashley’s rosy cheeks glimmered in the dim enclosure.  “Of course, sir,” she replied, straightening up and walking toward the front of the cave.  Back in no time, she handed Smokey the bucket.  He took some of the new snow and applied it to the injured ribs.  

The woman’s heart fluttered with astonishment and compassion.  “May I touch her?” she asked.

Smokey interpreted the request to the creature, and the bear responded.  “She says, ‘yes, she’d like that.’  Come and rub her head.”

The woman knelt down and stroked the creature’s head with a delicate femininity.  She could sense gratitude radiating from the bear, as a soft series of chirps came from the creature’s lips.  

“What’s her name?” asked Ashley, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Adelaide,” Smokey whispered back.  

“Good afternoon, Adelaide.  I’m Ashley.”

The woman and the bear retained eye contact, while Smokey continued to apply the cold.  “Such a magnificent creature,” Ashley continued.  “Bears are one of God’s greatest creations, you know.  Strong, resilient, confident…”

Ashley’s admiration was interrupted by a deep, rumbling purr from the patient.  The bear tapped Smokey’s wrist, turned her head and growled with the delicate decibels of a field mouse.  The man interpreted.  

“Adelaide says she likes the sound of your voice, Ashley,” he said.  “Calm.  Smoothing.”  Smokey grinned.  “Confident.  She says you would make an amazing grizzly.”

Keeping her torso perfectly still, Adelaide held out her paw toward Ashley.  With Smokey’s nodding approval, the woman placed her palm perpendicular on top of the bear’s palm.  Ashley gasped in amazement as the bear gently closed her paw around her hand.  Adelaide’s claws glided back and forth on human skin with a feather touch, as the creature let out a few, proud grunts, resonating with tones of clear admiration.   

“Congratulations, Ashley,” said Smokey.  “Adelaide has just made you an honorary, North American Brown Bear.”

Ashley giggled, yet at the same time, her eyes watered up with tears.  Awe overwhelmed her, body and mind.  She did not take this once-in-a-lifetime experience for granted.    

“Tell Adelaide, I am honored,” said Ashley, “And also that it has been a great and humble honor, just to be spending this time with her, experiencing her world.”  

After returning to Summit House, Smokey and Ashley shared a chairlift going back down the mountain.  No words were spoken.  For Ashley, the sense of awe was just too great still for her to speak.  For Smokey, his silence was in reverence for the genuine bravery, love and compassion of the woman sitting next to him.  

Later, safely back at Base Lodge, the two sat down together at the indoor, third-floor food court.  Ashley reached across the table and handed Smokey one of the two cups of hot chocolate she had just purchased.  His chilled hand received the container’s warmth with gladness.  Meanwhile, the chatter of the dinner crowd could be heard all around them, the ski guests completely unaware of the phenomenal goings-on just beyond their orbit of knowledge.  

“Smokey Doolittle.  You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” said Ashley.  “Why do you do this?”  

For the first time, Ashley saw Smokey’s countenance drop.  

“I used to be somebody else,” he replied.  “A reckless, angry, selfish somebody.  Who carried bitterness and malice, caused pain and grief, wherever I went.  But now… now I’ve learned how to let go.  I carry groceries, because I want to help people who can’t carry those burdens themselves.  And I use my veterinarian skills to help injured animals too, wherever I go.”  

A shy smile returned to his visage.  “And now, maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a new human friend in you too, Ashley.”  

Ashley smiled back, placing her hands on top of his.  “You most certainly have, Smokey,” she replied.

Chapter 9

Thanksgiving had just ended for the year, but Ashley’s weekly Saturday gatherings around the fire pit with her friends were just beginning.  First to arrive on the scene during that extended, four-day holiday weekend were the normally-upbeat Escarras.  This Saturday, however, Dhargey had remained uncharacteristically quiet on the ride over to Base Lodge, while Freddie awkwardly tried to think up spousal conversation starters that never quite reached his lips.  

After the couple sat down near the flames of the fire pit, a minute passed with no words being exchanged.  Ashley had still yet to arrive, and Dhargey was fuming in her silence.  Freddie had finally had enough of the suspense.  

“Did I do something to upset you, my love?” he asked.

His wife let out an extended exhalation, like she had been holding her breath for over an hour.  

“No, it’s nothing you did,” she replied, reaching over and caressing Freddie’s cheek with her touchscreen-gloved hand.  “It’s Ashley.  She’s bringing… him… to our gathering tonight.”

The man needed more information.  “Him who?” he asked.    

Dhargey clenched her teeth.  “Smokey Doolittle.”

Freddie’s eyes lit up.  “Wow, we get to meet the infamous Smokey Doolittle tonight?  ¡Qué chido!  This ought to make for a most fascinating evening!”  

Out of his peripheral vision, he could sense his wife glaring at him.  “Or not,” he concluded.

Dhargey was reapplying her lip gloss, and Freddie was making a brief check of his social media feed, when the odd couple approached the reserved firepit.  

“Evening, friends!” cried Ashley.  “So happy you made it!  I’m so excited to introduce the both of you to my new friend, Smokey Doolittle!  Smokey, these are two of my bestest friends, Freddie and Dhargey Escarra!”  

Smokey walked around the firepit counterclockwise and shook the man’s hand first.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Freddie Escarra,” he said.  “Cómo estás?” 

Freddie nodded his head in approval.  “Oh.  Muy bien, gracias.”

“And a pleasure to meet you as well, Mrs. Dhargey! … Nepal?”

“Bhutan,” Dhargey replied.  Her handshake was as limp as a wet noodle.  

Smokey straightened up his posture.  “Oh, wow.  Again, an honor.  I’ll admit, my Dzongkha is a bit rusty-”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to try,” she shot back.  

Ashley’s cell phone pinged.  “Oh, golly, looks like he just got here,” she said to her guests, after reaching into her hip pocket and reading the new text.  “I’ll be right back.”

As Ashley reentered the food court, and back down the indoor stairs, Smokey planted himself on the seat directly opposite of the Escarras.  Freddie’s eyes remained undecided between the old man and the ground, while Dhargey was already preparing her interrogation, as her steady gaze remained locked on the new acquaintance.  

Freddie went first.  “So.  Where are you from, sir?” he asked.

Smokey grinned.  “Alaska.  Pretty much spent my whole life there until last year.”

“Ay.  Winters must be brutal up there.  All those dark time hours… at least here in Montana we still have about ten hours of daylight on the darkest day of the year.”

Dhargey stepped into the conversation.  “I’m curious, Mr. Doolittle.  What do you think of Ashley?”

Smokey seemed befuddled by the question.  “Ashley?”

“Yes… you know, Ashley.  Blonde hair, blue eyes, talks like she’s from 1965…”

Smokey let out a nervous chuckle.  “Oh, yes.  Yes, I think she’s an extraordinary woman.  I am honored to call her my friend.”  

“Mm-hmm…”  Dhargey’s upper and lower lips kept rubbing past one another repeatedly.  She was going to need a third coat of lip gloss shortly.  

“We’re all friends here.  Right, dear?” said Freddie, stretching out his arms to either side.  “We’ve all known each other, literally, since kindergarten.”  

“Wow,” replied Smokey.  “Those kinds of relationships are rare and precious things.  Cherish them.”

“What do you do for a living, sir, having now moved to Montana?” asked Dhargey.  “I mean, besides going up ski lifts and nursing bears back to health?”  

“Um, I’m a grocer.  I bag people’s groceries and carry them to their cars for those who need it.”  

“Oh.  That’s nice…”  Dhargey’s arms were crossed.  Smokey didn’t recall her crossing her arms or how long they’d been that way.  

Just then, Ashley returned with her final guest.  Smokey took one look and smiled in surprise and delight.  The other man’s expression did not reciprocate the same emotions.

“Sorry about that, friends,” said Ashley.  “Smokey Doolittle.  I want you to meet one of my other best childhood friends, Jake Evanrise!”

“This is your surprise guest??” cried the second-year resident from Logan Health.  

“We’ve… met before!” exclaimed Smokey.  

“Really?” said Ashley.  “Golly, Jake, you never told me you’ve met Smokey…!”

Jake was fidgeting.  “Well, I really couldn’t, Ashley.  Doctor-patient confidentiality, you know,” he replied.  

“This man was a patient of yours?” exclaimed Dhargey.  

Jake scratched his neck.  “I… I can’t really talk about it-”

“Jake… and the other doctors, they saved my life,” said Smokey.  “And that’s the only thing that matters, right?”  

“Hear, hear,” said Freddie, pointing at Smokey with both hands.  

Ashley shrugged in blissful obliviousness.  “Well, come and sit down, Jake,” she said.  “There’s a chair right next to Smokey near the railing on the other side there.  You guys can catch up.”

Jake plodded over to the place he had been instructed to go.  A greenish flush spread over his face as he sat down, two seats away from Ashley.  He leaned forward, slowly turned his neck to look at Smokey, and began his own interrogation.  

“So, Mr. Doolittle… talk to any new chickadees lately?”

Like Ashley, Smokey was being oblivious as well.  “Well, as a matter of fact, I-”

“He’s graduated to bears now,” interrupted Dhargey.

“Bears,” said Jake.

Ashley’s posture began to suffer.  “It’s a long story.  I’ll tell you later,” she said.  

“Why later?” exclaimed Jake.  “We’ve got plenty of time now!”

“Yeah, Smokey!” said Dhargey, sarcasm running down her jacket.  “Tell us all about this bear you’ve been helping!  What’s his name?”

Ashley had had enough.  

“Her name is Adelaide, and she is one of the sweetest and kindest creatures I’ve ever met!” she cried.

Her outburst was like pouring gasoline on the firepit.  Dhargey’s fists clenched, and her eyes shifted to the right.  “And how exactly would you know that unless you…”

Ashley’s face turned the color of the snow on the railing.  “Uhhh…”

Dhargey’s expression went from snarky to deeply hurt.  “Ashley!”  

Only the whistling of the icy breeze and the flapping of the wisps of fire could be heard for a long time.

“Well!  Who wants s’mores?” exclaimed Freddie.

“I do!” chirped Dhargey.

Fortunately, the awkward introductions and painful confessions did not doom the small party to a premature disbandment, although tensions did run high for the duration of the evening.  Five soft, white confections of sugar and gelatin hovered over the flames.  Five hands held the sticks they were attached to, by five quiet individuals with five varying degrees of discontent written across their five faces.

Only the grocer and the lawyer seemed to be in any sort of talking mood at the moment.  

Smokey’s stick lurched upward out of the fire, as he blew out his marshmallow for the second time.  “I must say, I’m not very good at this,” he said.  

Freddie laughed.  “Happens to the best of us, Smokey.  Some people even do it on purpose.”  

“I’m so excited.  I’ve never had a s’more before.”  

Smokey’s new friend nearly dropped his marshmallow prongs.  “You’ve never eaten a s’more before?” Freddie cried, reaching for ingredients.  “Oh, Smokey, lo siento!  You have my deepest condolences for your deprivation!  It would be my deepest honor then, to prepare for you, the very first s’more of your life!”

The old man beamed in approval, getting partially up out of his seat to deliver his marshmallow across the way to Freddie.  The young man peeled off the sticky treat, affixed it to an obliging graham cracker square and placed two chocolate rectangles on top.  With a sly grin, he then took a third cocoa rectangle and shoved it straight into the core of the mess and then sandwiched the masterpiece with a second graham cracker square on top.

Smokey held the finished item in his hand, consumed with curiosity as to what it would taste like.  Taking a clumsy bite, he pulled the remaining stickiness away from his face and pondered the sensations that were developing in his mouth.  He looked up at Freddie in incredulity, his eyes twinkling.  

“This… I don’t know what to say,” Smokey began.  “I… I…”

“You like it?” asked Ashley. 

“Like it?  I love it!” 

“Yeah?” said Freddie, his smiling face nodding in a fast rhythm.  

“I never realized that there was food on this planet that tasted this good!” cried Smokey, taking in another bite of a different marshmallow-to-chocolate-to-graham-cracker ratio.  “This is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced!”

Dhargey rolled her eyes, but held her tongue.

“I’m so glad it brings you so much joy!” exclaimed Ashley, placing her hand on Smokey’s free hand.  

Jake glanced over for a second and then snapped his head the other direction, looking out at the darkness beyond the railing.  

Casual conversation continued until the reservation deadline on the firepit approached.  Another group would soon arrive to take over the space for the late-evening appointment slot.  But Smokey Doolittle had one last thing to say before the current party was adjourned.  

“I just wanted to thank you, Ashley, for inviting me here tonight.  And for all of you here:  Dhargey, Freddie, Jake, for making me feel so welcome.  A month ago, I would never have imagined myself in the company of such… vibrant and alive young men and women like yourselves, filled with such hope, optimism and joy.  It’s been an honor, learning a little bit about each one of you tonight, and just… being accepted by you in this place, despite being the incongruous old man you see before you.”

Ashley’s eyes were misty.  “There will always be a seat open for you at our table, Smokey, with this circle of friends,” she replied.  

“Thank you,” said Smokey.  “All of you.”  

Farewells were traded around the fire by all for the final time that evening.  Dhargey said goodbye as well, but then remained seated, arms and legs crossed, her face turned away toward the food court.  Smokey walked over to the Bhutanese woman, looked down at her and smiled.  She looked up in displeasure.

“I hope you have a blessed and restful night, my lady,” he said, in perfect Dzongkha.

Dhargey’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened as she froze, like a sculpture in a wax museum.  Her husband approached her and, like the gentleman he was, guided her to her feet.  Meanwhile, Smokey was already back inside Base Lodge and was heading down the stairs toward the exit. 

“Told you, I did,” Freddie exclaimed to his wife.  “This has made for a most fascinating evening indeed!”

Chapter 10

Ashley’s work day at the ticket counter was over, but the ski lodge employee had one side trip she needed to make before heading home.

A new drop of fresh powder earlier in the day had made the roads treacherous to travel on that afternoon.  Knowing her vehicular limits, Ashley gauged the commute to be within acceptable parameters, as she entered the Whitefish city limits and navigated her car to The Avenues Animal Shelter.

The lobby was empty when Ashley walked in.  But still, she nonchalantly strolled past the receptionist desk, as she always did.  Arriving at the office around the corner, she peeked in at the Staff Veterinarian, head down in some paperwork, and knocked on the open door.  

Dhargey looked up.  “Hi, Ashley!” she exclaimed, happy to see her bestie.  

“Did you forget something?” Ashley replied, giggling and swaying the ski goggles by their strap. 

The dedicated animal helper got up and embraced Ashley.  “Thank you so much for bringing those back to me,” Dhargey replied.  “I just don’t know how I left those behind!”

“I was passing by the Lost and Found this morning, saw them right on the top of the box and immediately knew who they belonged to,” Ashley replied.

Dhargey beamed with delight.  “Well, thanks again.  Let me walk you back out.”  

“You’re the only one working here today?”

“It’s been Tuesday slow, so I let Olivia off early.  It’s her mom’s birthday in a couple of days, and she still needed to get a present for her.”  

The besties entered the front lobby, and the veterinarian’s jaw dropped.  

“Good afternoon Dhargey!” exclaimed Smokey, waving like a trained seal.  

Dhargey tried to muster a smile back, but couldn’t.  Instead, she growled, but only loud enough for Ashley to hear.

“Wow, this place is amazing!” he continued.  “I’ve never been in an animal shelter before…!”  

“Right.  Of course you haven’t,” said Dhargey.  “Can you give us a moment, please, Mr. Doolittle?”

Dhargey dragged Ashley to the other end of the room.  “What is HE doing here?” the bestie exclaimed.  

“Um, he was coming down the mountain when I was leaving the lodge, preparing Adelaide for her upcoming hibernation cycle, and he asked me for a ride back into town!” Ashley replied.  

Dhargey was incensed.  “We need to talk.  Now.  In private.”

“But… I can’t just leave Smokey by himself in the lobby!”  Ashley exclaimed.  

“That didn’t seem to be an issue for you a couple minutes ago,” hissed Dhargey, her right cheekbone quivering.  “I don’t like this at all.  Not one little bit.  You hear horror stories about innocent, young women getting sucked up in scenarios like him all the time!”  

“Look, I realize what you’re getting at here, Dhargey.  But I know what I saw.  He’s not gaslighting me or anything.  I won’t end up in a situation where I would come to harm.  Besides.  I never leave home without my pepper spray…”

“I need you to stay safe, Ashley, that’s all.  I care for you.  Deeply.”  Dhargey looked back across the room.  “Hey!  Where did he go?” 

The women returned to the hallway, walked past Dhargey’s office and turned another corner.  There, just outside the locked dog facility, was Smokey.  He was still on his feet, but he was cowering and trembling in the far corner of the hall, next to the door.  

Ashley bolted forward.  “Smokey, what’s going on?  What’s wrong?” she cried.

“It’s the animals,” whispered Smokey.  “So many voices.  So many layers of emotion.  Can’t… think… straight.”  

Ashley looked back at her bestie.  “I think I need to get him out of here.  I’m so sorry about this, Dhargey-”  

“No, no, it’s okay, Ashley,” interrupted Smokey.  “I’m okay, I’m okay.  But… I think there’s something wrong behind that door.”  

With a great deal of reluctance, the head vet opened the dog facility and allowed her two guests to walk in.  While a humane and well-kept facility, the room’s temperature was noticeably warmer, with the disagreeable odor of canines filling the air.  Multiple animals were barking at once.  

“Hmph.  I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” said Dhargey, folding her arms.  

Smokey pressed his fingers into his temples and squeezed his eyes shut.  “I hear something in the midst of all this barking.  A voice.”  

Dhargey wheeled to her right.  “Ashley…”

“Just give him a minute!” Ashley cried back.  

Smokey Doolittle had learned to manage the overwhelming cacophony of outdoor nature sounds in his head over the past year.  But this environment was five times worse.  Part of him thought about puking and then fleeing in terror.  But he shoved the impulse back down his gullet and took a couple of small steps forward.  The barking intensified, but there was one cry he was intent on focusing on, whose cadence was just a wee bit higher than the rest.  

“No.  No, please.”  

Smokey identified the animal who spoke.  It was a golden retriever toward the back, in a black, wire pet crate on the floor level.  With renewed confidence, the man forced his mind to block out the other voices and walked straight ahead toward the distressed animal. 

“Oh, no.  No, please.  Don’t hurt me.  Please don’t hurt me,” whimpered the animal, pressing the full length of her body into the back of the crate. 

Smokey knelt down and began to speak in fluent Canis.  “Shh, shh, shhhhh…. I’m not going to hurt you, miss.  I’m a friend,” he replied.  

The dog pawed her face repeatedly with her left paw.  “Please.  I don’t know where I am, I’m so lost, I don’t know what to do-”

“Shhhhh.”  Smokey was fully locked in.  “I want to help you.  All these nice people here want to help you!  What is your name, my dear?”

The canine sniffed.  “Sunny.  Oh, I’m such a bad dog, I’m such a bad dog-”

“Sunny.  It’s okay.  Everything’s going to be… alright.”  Smokey looked to the side for a moment and noticed a glint of metal off the neck of another dog.  “Why don’t you have a collar?” the man asked.

“I wrenched it off.  Oh, I’m such a bad dog.”  

Smokey froze.  “What do you mean, ‘you wrenched it off?’”  

“Two days ago,” sobbed Sunny.  “In the alley behind the diner.  I did it on purpose.  I got it caught on a piece of metal on the back of the dumpster and wrenched my neck and head out of it.”

“Does it have your owner’s information on it?”  

“I think so.  It jingled when I walked.  Oh, I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do.”  

Smokey slapped his thighs and nodded.  “Okay.  Just sit tight and relax for awhile, Sunny.  I might be able to help you,” he said.

“Please help.  I’m so sorry.  I’d do anything right now to get back home to my family,” cried Sunny.  

The old man began the somber walk back toward the ladies.

“Everything alright?” asked Ashley.  

Smokey shook his head.  “No, I’m afraid not.  Can you help me with something, Ashley?”  

Leaving the car parked in front of the vet, the two friends walked down the main boulevard of downtown Whitefish and entered a prominent delivery street entrance to many of the businesses in the heart of the city.  

“Whitefish has many restaurants and diners.  But not too many with an alleyway,” recalled Ashley, pursing her lips to one side.  “I don’t know what day garbage pick-up happens downtown…”  

“We just have to try,” replied Smokey, looking ahead.  “That’s a pretty big dumpster down at the end there.”

The woman nodded.  “Yeah, I know that diner.  I also wish it hadn’t snowed last night.  If the collar is there, it’ll be more difficult to find.”  

Smokey took a large step forward.  

“No, I’ll go look, Smokey,” said Ashley, trudging toward the back of the large trash container.

“Careful on any sharp edges back there,” cautioned the old man.  “Sunny said it would be a pink collar with a gold, metal tag with a jingle bell and some writing on it.”  

“Found it.”  

Smokey blinked a couple of times.  “What?”  

Ashley emerged from behind the dumpster.  The delayed reaction of shock hit her at that moment like a ton of diner bricks.  The collar was in her right hand.  

“I found it, Smokey!” she exclaimed.  

Back at the animal shelter lobby, Dhargey had her cell phone up to her ear, while Smokey conversed with Sunny, her collar securely back around her neck.

“That was the mom,” said Dhargey to Ashley.  “She was just picking her daughter up from school, they’re coming straight here now.”

Ashley sighed.  “I wish I could speak fluent Canis, Dhargey.  I want to know what they’re saying so badly right now…”  

“Well, from a veterinarian perspective, this is the calmest I’ve seen Sunny since she was brought in.”  Dhargey’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

A few minutes later, a well-to-do mother and her daughter entered the business.  The reactions were immediate.  

“You found her!” cried the little girl, sprinting up to her precious pet.  “Oh, Sunny!  Sunny, you’re okay!”

Smokey released Sunny, and the dog was immediately on top of her young owner, licking and pawing her with abandon.

“Sunny, we missed you so much!” the girl continued.  “We love you so much!  How you doing, girl?  I’m so happy to see you!”

“We’ve been worried sick,” said the mother to Dhargey.  “I was convinced we would never see Sunny alive again.  Not in this weather.”  

Dhargey was still numb from disbelief.  “It was that man over there,” she muttered, “who identified her and then notified the shelter.”  

“Thank you, sir,” said the mother, walking over to Smokey.  “You have no idea how much this means to us.”  

“An honor, madam, to be of service to you and your daughter,” Smokey replied, placing his hand on his heart and bowing slightly.

“Are you Santa Claus?” cried the girl.

Smokey shook his head.  “Ho, ho, ho.  No.  I’m just a friend.”  

“Well, whoever you are, thank you kind sir!  You just saved my dog and my Christmas!”  

The old man bit down on his lower lip, but managed to keep his composure.  Sunny bounced over to him one more time, licking his hands and wrists.  Smokey gave her a final, vigorous pet on her forehead and whispered, “Go in peace, Sunny.  You’re a good dog.”

“Let’s go home, Sunny!” cried the young girl, skipping toward her mom and the exit.  “I’ve got so many yummy treats waiting for you when we get back!”  

The moment the family was gone, Ashley wheeled around and ran over to Smokey, wrapping her arms around his back and leaning into him in a full body embrace.  

“Smokey, that was incredible!” she exclaimed.  

“It was?” he replied.  

“Uhh… yeah…!  You were absolutely amazing!”  

The celebratory mood was interrupted by the sound of intense, human sobs.  Ashley let go of Smokey and turned around.  “Dhargey?” she asked.  

Dhargey was bawling.  

She walked up to Smokey, tears cascading down her face.  “Mr. Doolittle,” she cried.  “I am so… so… sorry… for the way I’ve treated you!  I’ve been acting like a witch with a ‘b’ toward you, ever since I learned your name!  And in return, all you’ve ever been is nice to me!”  

Smokey reached up and brushed away the lowest teardrop from her jaw.  “It’s alright, Dhargey!  You had every right to be skeptical of me!  And please, call me Smokey!”  

“Okay, Smokey,” sobbed Dhargey, turning to Ashley.  “And you.  My bestest bestie.  I’m so sorry I doubted you, thinking you’d been brainwashed!”  

Ashley pulled her bestie in for a healing, restorative hug.  “Gosh, Dhargey, you were just doing what any best friend would do, looking out for my well being!  How can I possibly be angry at you for that?”  

“Oh, Ashley…” wept-whispered Dhargey.  “And you too, Smokey.”  

Giving the moment the time and attention it deserved, Smokey soon remembered that he was supposed to be somewhere.  “I hate to do this,” he said, “but I’m running late for work.  But I want you two to know that this has been the most marvelous, unbelievable afternoon!”  

“Indeed it has,” replied Dhargey, reaching out and grabbing his hands with hers.  “Thank you again, sir.  Sincerely.”

Chapter 11

“This is Adelaide’s last checkup?” said Ashley.  

“Should be,” replied Smokey.  

Ms. Sleddingbaum had offered to pick up Mr. Doolittle on Thursday, on her way to work.  As they stepped out of the apartment, Smokey notified Ashley that if everything from the last visit turned out as expected, that he hoped to find a hibernating bear, sleeping in comfort and tranquility and out of danger from her previous injuries.  It was to be his final visit until spring.  

Having reached the bottom of the stairs, Ashley heard a dog barking.  Without warning, she grabbed Smokey’s arm with enthusiasm and pressed her cheek into his shoulder.  

“Teach me to speak Canis,” she begged.  

Smokey crinkled his eyes.  “Canis.  What, with that dog across the street?”  

“Uh-huh…”  

The man shrugged.  “Okay, I guess.  We can try a basic salutation to start.  Listen to my voice and repeat how I say it.  ‘Good morning, sir.  How are you?  My name is Ashley.  Nice to meet you!’”  

From deep down in her lungs, Ashley reached to find the whimpers and barks that could effectively convey her interest in a canine’s well being.  “Good morning sir.  How was maple?  Our name is Ashley.  Nice to meet you!”  

Smokey laughed.  “Almost.  Let’s fix the middle part.”  

They practiced a couple more times, until Ashley felt like she was ready to try it for real.  As the couple crossed the other side of the road, the normally rambunctious dog calmed down at first, as he tilted his head in curiosity at the approaching humanoids.  

“Good morning sir.  How are you?  My name is Ashley!  Nice to meet you!”  

“Yip!  Yip!  Yip!  Bowooooooooooo!  Arf!  Arf,” replied the dog.

Ashley was taken aback.  “Wait… I… I don’t…”  

“It’s okay, I got this,” said Smokey, turning back toward the dog.  “Whoa, whoa, easy, Durango!  She’s new at this language!  This is literally her first attempt at canine communication!” 

“Oh?” replied Durango.  “Sorry.  I thought you’d found your soulmate for a minute there.  The only two humans in the world who can talk to dogs.”  

“No, she’s just a really good friend.”  

“Well, tell her she did an amazing first attempt with me.  Even got her ‘Canis’ tongue in the right position.”  

“She’ll be delighted to hear you said that about her.”

“You SURE you two weren’t meant to be together?”

“What’s he saying, Smokey?  Tell me!” cried Ashley. 

“Durango says that you did an amazing first attempt at speaking his language.  He’s really proud of you,” replied Smokey.

The woman blushed.  “Tell him, ‘thank you’ 

“You tell him, Ashley.  Tell him, ‘Thank you.’”  The old man articulated the phrase in Canis.

Ashley looked at Durango, huffed a couple of times and barked out, “thank you.”

“Anytime.  Nice to meet you!” exclaimed Durango.  

Ashley’s eyes got wide as saucers.  “Nice to meet YOU!” she repeated back in Canis, turning to Smokey.  “Heavens to Betsy, I understood him!  He said, ‘Nice to meet you’ back to me, like I said to him earlier!”

“Ho, ho, ho!  Yes, he did!” exclaimed Smokey.  “You’re a natural, my dear!”  

Ashley wrapped her arms around Smokey’s neck and placed a firm, lipstick-drenched kiss against his bare cheekbone.  “Thank you so much, Smokey!  You’ve opened my eyes up to a whole new world I never even knew existed!”

The women skipped to her car like an overjoyed first-grader, despite the potential slipping hazard from compact ice on the asphalt.  The old man remained frozen for just a moment longer, before ambling in that direction as well.  

Oh dear, I shouldn’t have done that, he thought.  

Smokey needed to hurry.  Another storm was predicted for that evening, and he didn’t want to be stuck on a mountaintop without transportation back down to Base Lodge.  

Finding his patient sound asleep, the old man smiled in satisfaction.  Holding his medical bag in one hand, his free hand reached out for the handle of the snow bucket, the last human item still left in the cave.  As he turned to leave, the large ball of brown, living fur stirred one more time.  

“Smokey,” she purred.  

“Adelaide,” he replied, bending down to place a kind hand on her shoulder.  “How are you feeling?”  

The bear inhaled and exhaled with a slow rhythm.  “I can breathe again.  My ribs… so much better.”  

A wave of emotion shot through Smokey’s body, but he held it together.  “That is good to hear, my ursine friend,” he replied.

He paused, gazing intently into his empty wooden bucket.  “The irony is not lost on me, you know…”  

“You claw yourself up so much, my human friend,” whispered Adelaide, a small tear forming in one eye.  “You saved my life.  I will never forget it.”  

“It was an honor and a pleasure.  To serve and to get to know you,” was Smokey’s humble reply.  “But now.  You must hibernate now.”  

Adelaide nodded.  “I know.  I will.”   

The weary animal placed a gentle paw on Smokey’s wrist.  Her eyes shot up toward the roof of the cave and beyond, as she placed a gentle paw on the man’s arm.  

"You have redeemed yourself, Smokey,” she began, holding her upward gaze for a couple of seconds, before resuming eye contact.  “Whether you believe that or not… you redeemed yourself.”  

Smokey Doolittle looked away, toward the entrance of the cave.  “Thank you, Adelaide,” he replied.  “But there’s only one way to know that for sure…”  

Chapter 12

That weekend’s Base Lodge fireside gathering was a complete turnaround from the disjointed mess that it had been the week before.  The sound of young joy could be heard across the entire terrace.  Ashley.  Freddie.  Dhargey.  Jake.  The sound of their innocence and laughter radiated even the coldest of hearts around them.  And, of course, s’mores were circulated with exuberance and frivolity.

In spite of all this, Smokey Doolittle was unusually reserved.  He celebrated with the young adults, without a doubt.  But the realization of approaching “the most wonderful time of the year” again weighed heavy on his soul, for the second year in a row.  The s’mores, while still delicious, did not produce the jubilant reactions of the first experience.  And looking over at Ashley’s beautiful, smiling face, all of their faces, made Smokey wish that he was as young as they were again.  

After everyone had seconds on hot chocolate, and thirds on graham cracker goodness, the sugar buzz gradually began to fade, signaling the end of the evening once again.  Dhargey and Freddie went back into the food court to stay warm.  And Jake told Ashley he had to get back to the hospital to cover for someone.

Two friends remained.  Smokey remained seated at the firepit, prompting Ashley to walk up next to him.

“Gosh, our time is up again, sweet friend,” she said.  “It’s time to give others a chance to make new memories around this fire.”  

“Of course, Ashley, of course,” he replied, accepting the woman’s two outstretched hands and rising to his feet.  But before Smokey could make his final goodbye and return to the solitude of his own apartment, Ashley stopped him.  

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” she said, her hands still holding his.  “Next Saturday, instead of meeting here at the lodge, I’m hosting a Christmas party at my place.  Same good friends, same warm atmosphere, but with a spacious, alpine home as our setting.  I would love to invite you to my party, as my newest friend.”

Smokey let out a murmur of indecision.  Whether Ashley heard it or not was unclear.  

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “Maybe Dhargey’s right.  Maybe we are being seen together too often.”

“But, that was before!  She trusts you now!”  

“I’m… just not sure about my work schedule yet for next weekend?”

“Just tell them to give you an earlier schedule and leave in the afternoon!  Party doesn’t start until six…!”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m just not sure.”  

Ashley’s tone became high pitched and earnest.  “Smokey, I thought you’d be delighted to come!  You… you’ve sown so much joy into my life and to my friends’ lives in the short amount time we’ve known you!  Golly, it just wouldn’t be a proper party anymore without you!” 

Smokey nodded with reluctance.  “Okay.  Let me see what I can do about my work schedule for next Saturday.  Like… pencil me in?”

“Okay,” she replied.  But before Ashley walked away, she put her hand against his face, its sweet warmth seeping into the skin behind his beard.

“I do hope you’ll come… my dear friend.”  

Chapter 13

“Bring a torch, Jeanette Isabella

Bring a torch, to the cradle run!

It is Jesus, good folk of the village

Christ is born and Mary’s calling.

Ah!  Ah!  Beautiful is the mother!

Ah!  Ah!  Beautiful is her Son!”

With her heart full of joy and gladness, Ashley’s voice rang out like a songbird, as she cooked and prepared the night’s bounty of food.  The smell of fresh-baked apple and pecan pies wafted throughout the spacious, wood-framed, Montana abode.  Placing the desserts aside on the counter to allow them to cool, she moved on to the charcuterie board on the kitchen island, first placing fresh ham, turkey and salami slices in a row, followed with exquisite French and English cheeses on the second half of the plank.  With a carefree hum, she smiled as she then arranged carrot and celery sticks neatly in a large bowl.  

There was a knock at the door.  Balancing on one foot, Ashley spun around one more time on the tiptoes of that foot, her grin undeniable, as she repeated, 

 “Ah!  Ah!  Beautiful is the mother!

Ah!  Ah!  Beautiful is her Son!”

Standing at the entryway was her new friend.

“Smokey!  You came!” Ashley cried.  

“If it’s still alright with you, Ashley,” replied Smokey, blushing and looking down at his feet.

Ashley laughed in innocent delight.  “Well, of course it’s alright, my friend, welcome!  You’re about thirty minutes early, but come on in!”  

Smokey loosened the snow off of his soles first, using the provided boot scraper just outside the door, before entering the beautifully-furnished and holiday-decorated dwelling, where he then removed his boots altogether.  

“Let me take your coat, sir!” said Ashley.  “How did you get here?”  

“I walked.  It wasn’t far,” replied Smokey.  Ashley ran to a back bedroom to drop off the coat and was back with her guest in less than twenty seconds.  “Wow, beautiful home you have here, my dear!” the old man continued.  

Ashley did a swift scan of her surroundings.  “Thanks.  Actually, my parents own this house.  I house sat for them last year, while they live and work down in Houston during the winter months.  They said I did such a great job, they offered me the gig every winter I was willing to do it!”  

Smokey looked back down at the reusable bags he had placed on the ground while he had removed his shoes.  “Oh, hey, I brought you some food for the party!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that, Smokey!  Did you get these from your work?”  

“Uh-huh…!”  

Smokey put down the groceries on one end of the island counter, while Ashley took inventory.  “Wow, seven layer dip,” she began.  

“That’s from my store’s delicatessen,” gushed Smokey.

“I see that!  Golly, tortilla chips, three kinds of cookies, and a two-liter of cranberry ginger ale!  This is awesome!  Thank you!  Go ahead and put them down by the other two-liters and the pies I made, I’m just getting everything wrapped up now.”  

Smokey did what he was asked, getting a whiff of the heavenly apple pie a few feet away.  “Are all your friends from the lodge coming?” he asked.  

“You know it!” Ashley replied.  “Freddie’s got his world famous lasagna on its way.  And Dhargey has this dish called Ema Datshi that’s you’re absolutely going to love!  Jake will… bring… something, I’m sure!”

Just then, Ashley’s phone on the counter trembled and buzzed.  “Speaking of friends… hey, what’s up?” she said, taking the call and putting the device up to her ear.  

Dhargey was calling from her hands-free car phone.  “Hey, I’m just leaving our place now to pick up Freddie from work, we may be just a couple of minutes late.”  

“Gosh, no worries, thanks for checking in!” Ashley replied.

“Of course.  Man, I can’t wait to get there, my new two-piece looks amazing on me!”  

“Hmm?  Oh, that’s right!  Oh, no, Smokey’s here!” 

“Smokey’s there?  He came after all?”

“Yup.  Anyway, looking forward to seeing you guys soon.”  

“Awesome.  Will be there shortly.”  

Smokey noticed Ashley’s red face and downtrodden expression as she ended the call.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.  

“Dhargey just reminded me that we all planned to go hot-tubbing outside in back!” Ashley replied.  “But I forgot to tell you to bring swim trunks if you decided to come!  Do you even own a swim suit?”  

“No.”  

“Golly, now I feel just awful, knowing you’ll be the only friend left out without one.”  

The old man tried to console his friend.  “Oh, don’t feel that way, Ashley.  Even just being invited to your party is more than I could have ever-”

“Wait.  I got it!  My dad has a pair of trunks and a swim shirt in his dresser!  He’s about your size and weight, you could just borrow his!”  

“Gee, I don’t know… do you think he’d mind?”

“Of course he wouldn’t mind!” replied Ashley.  “Let me go find them and put them on their bed when you’re ready to change!”  

A short time later, Freddie and Dhargey arrived at Ashley’s home.  As promised, they brought the tempting main courses they had prepared in advance.  It was also about that time that Jake phoned in to Ashley that he was running about 45 minutes late at the hospital, but would be there just as soon as he could.  

Dinner was ready, and without further ado, four famished friends dove into the impressive spread.  Smokey uttered the most flattering compliments about each and every friend’s culinary offerings, each commendation bubbling over with sincerity, wonder and gratitude.

After The Escarras had completed their portion of main dishes and appetizers, they fled into the back bedroom together to change into their swimming attire, with the exuberance of love-struck teenagers.  Dhargey’s laughter and Freddie’s Spanish compliments about “la belleza de su esposa” could be heard all the way back to the kitchen.

“They really love each other, don’t they?” asked Smokey, taking his last sip of cranberry ginger ale.  

“I’ve never seen two people that much in love before,” replied Ashley, a rare tone of personal longing in her voice.  

Smokey walked into Ashley’s parents’ room to change into the borrowed swim shorts and swim shirt kindly offered by his young friend in her father’s absence.  The attire was a bit snug, but in no way uncomfortable.  Meanwhile, Dhargey’s and Freddie’s gleeful exaltations could now be heard just outside the shuttered window, as they became the first to brave the sub-freezing temperatures and splash into the tantalizing sauna.  The old man tied his trunks tight around his waist and was about to make his way barefoot to the frigid back porch as well, when something caught his eye.

Displayed on the top of the bedroom dresser was a framed 5 X 7 sepia photograph of a man and woman praying on either side of a hospital bed, where an unconscious little girl lay.  Also contained within the frame, below the photograph, was a gold placard that read:

“Thank you, God.  For sparing our only child.”  

Smokey tilted his head.  There was no need for speculation.  The message was clear, the subjects were obvious.  The old man raised his left hand and pressed his thumb against the glass where the young lass’ gold locks were.  

“Ashley,” he whispered.  

  

The Escarras were immersed in the jacuzzi and looked up with delight at seeing Smokey’s timid approach to the unit, a quizzical look on his face.  

“Smokey!  Come join us!  Don’t be shy!” cried Dhargey.  

Like two bronzed towers of Atlantis resurfacing out of the ocean, Freddie and Dhargey rose up out of the water simultaneously, their beautiful, toned bodies glistening from the deck’s warm mood lighting.  The husband and wife waded to the entrance of the hot tub on either side, each one extending a hand out to the old man.  

“There’s something you two should know,” began Smokey.  

“You’re about to say you’ve never been in a jacuzzi before.  Right?” asked Freddie.  

“No, sir.  Is the water really hot?”  

“It’s just like taking a warm bubble bath, Smokey,” replied Dhargey, her voice gleeful and bright.  “You get used to the temp right away.  Come.  Sit with us.”

Smokey accepted their hands and stepped into the water, a mix of excitement and trepidation all wrapped into one.  As the bubbles surrounded the old man, his expressions nearly mimicked the expressions he made when biting into a s’more for the first time.  The Escarras watched in elation.

“You’re about to say ‘this is incredible,’ am I right?” asked Dhargey.  

“This is incredible, my dear!” cried Smokey.  “And now we just sit and… have wonderful conversations with one other?”

Freddie laughed.  “I know, right?  No phones.  No computers.  No schedules.  Just genuine human interactions with other human beings, making memories.”

Dhargey waited for Smokey to acclimate himself with the water temperature before speaking again.  “Oh hey, Smokey.  I really wanted to talk to you about something,” she said.  

“Of course, my dear.  What is it?” Smokey replied.

“That thing you did last week at the animal shelter.  I just can’t stop thinking about it.  It was beyond extraordinary.”

“You would have done the same thing, Dhargey.”

Dhargey chuckled, lowering her face and peeling back a long strand of black, waterlogged hair from her high cheekbone.  “Well sure, if I could talk to dogs,” she replied.  The woman took a deep breath.  “I’ll be frank with you.  I think you’re in the wrong line of work.  You should be a veterinary assistant, working at the shelter.”  

Smokey furrowed his brow.  “But, I already have a job.”  

“I know you do.  But… do you really want to be a grocery bagger until you retire?”

“Well… not really…”

Dhargey leaned in, her gaze mesmerizing and inviting.

“You have a gift, Smokey.  An amazing, miraculous, incredible gift.  Consider all those poor animals you could help, not just from time to time, but every day you work at my shelter.  My staff and I know how to care for them, but you know how to directly communicate with them.  Think of the possibilities!  You and I both know that Sunny is not the only animal that’s lost her family!  Think about it!  Think of all the human sons and daughters you could reunite with their precious, furry friends!”  

The woman’s words got stuck in her throat for a second.  

“Think of all the lives you could save.”

Dhargey was as manipulative as she was beautiful.  Her deep, soothing tone, sprinkled with just a hint of her Bhutanese heritage, washed over Smokey with a wave of tranquility.  And yet, there was also honesty and earnest sincerity in her voice, forged by years of genuine love for her animals, her customers and her occupation.  The old man stared at her for a moment longer, watching the tears well up in her eyes, and understood exactly what she was saying.  For a few seconds, he could actually envision himself being that veterinary assistant, working in that environment.  “I do admit, seeing the joy in that little girl’s face,” he pondered out loud.

Smokey’s voice dropped off.  “I would need some time.  To consider your job offer,” he said.

Dhargey nodded.  “Of course, Smokey, of course.  Have through Christmas, if you need.  But please, let me know soon.”

Right as their conversation concluded, Ashley emerged from the house in her green, one-piece, ruffle swim dress.  This time, it was Smokey who rose up out of the water and guided his friend into the jacuzzi.  She smiled at him as their faces passed by each other at close range.  Smokey relished the fresh scent of her reapplied eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick, as it lingered in his nostrils.  Ashley sat down at his side and informed the group that Jake was on his way.  

Casual hot tub conversation ensued until the second-year resident arrived, the fifth and final member of the intimate get together.  Jake walked through the front door and headed straight to the back deck jacuzzi.  He was still in his scrubs and holding a bottle of wine.  

“Oh.  It’s you,” were the first words out of his mouth, looking down at Smokey and nearly dropping his beverage.  “You showed up.”  

“A good evening to you, Jake,” replied Smokey.  

“Welcome to the party, Jake,” exclaimed Ashley.  “Come!  Grab some food, get your swim trunks on and join us!”  

With all now assembled, and each member in the jacuzzi, friendly conversation commenced deeper into the night.

“Okay, I got a topic,” said Ashley.  “Most obscure Christmas tune.”  

“You mean besides, ‘Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella?’” replied Dhargey, laughing.  

“Alright, what about ‘I Saw Three Ships?’” said Freddie.  

“Ehs” and “Hmms” replied back all around the circle.  

“Well then there’s ‘Here We Come A-Wassailing,’” suggested Dhargey.

“That’s not bad,” said Ashley.  “Smokey, you got any ideas?”

Smokey thought about it for a moment.  “I’ve never been much of a Christmas music aficionado,” he replied.  “However… ‘Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle.’”  

“Come again?” said Jake.

“It was a Christmas song my father sang to me, after a trip he took to Italy,” said Smokey.  “It’s been around for nearly three centuries.  One of my earliest and fondest memories of my father.”  

“Can you sing it for us?” asked Ashley.  

Smokey did.  And what came out of his mouth was the voice of an angelic, tenor opera singer.  Each note was in perfect pitch, sung with a perfect Italian tongue.  Dhargey laid her head on Freddie’s naked shoulder, holding him close as she listened to the lullaby.  Ashley was biting down on her lower lip without even realizing it.  Her face was flushed.  

Jake’s face, meanwhile, was also quite red.  It might have been the hot water from the jacuzzi which caused it, perhaps. 

When the song was over, only the bubbles and the sound of the hot tub motor could be heard for nearly ten seconds.  Then, everyone began clapping in unison.  

“Bravo!  Bravo!” shouted Freddie.  

“Encore!” exclaimed Dhargey.  “I want to hear more!” 
“That was beautiful!” cried Ashley.  “So heartfelt and passionate!”  

“Thanks, everyone,” replied Smokey.  “That song definitely has a special place in my heart.”  

He looked like he was about to cry.  Ashley leaned in and put her hand on his shoulder.  

“I take it your father’s no longer with us.  You miss him very much, don’t you?” she asked.  

Smokey nodded, barely able to keep it together.  “Yes.  Very much so,” he managed.  

Dhargey and Freddie swam over, placing their hands of comfort on Smokey as well.  Jake remained motionless, looking up into the sky.  He eventually reached out his right hand, his arm stiff as a board, and touched the old man’s back, offering his disingenuous support.

“You sure I can’t drive you home, Smokey?  It’s awfully late…” said Ashley.

Smokey shook his head.  “I appreciate the offer.  But my apartment’s only about two kilometers from here.  I can walk it.”

“Out of the question.  We’ll take him home, Ashley.”  Dhargey’s commanding voice could be heard in the kitchen, as she and Freddie were packing up.  

“Okay.  Be extra careful out there, you guys,” replied Ashley.

“I had a great time tonight, my friend,” said Smokey.  “Thank you for having me.  And once again, for making me feel so welcome.”  

Only two humans remained.

“He’s so great,” said Ashley.  “Did you see how happy Smokey looked tonight?”

Jake folded his arms.  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately, I’ve noticed,” he replied.

“I mean… yeah.  He’s a fascinating man.  Full of intrigue and secrets.  But also this kindness and compassion for other people and for animals.  That’s somebody I’d like to get to know.”  

“Well, you’ve obviously got to know a lot about him so far.  How much further is this going to go?”  

Ashley froze.  “What?  Oh, no.  No, no.  Look, what is your problem?”  

“I don’t have a problem,” Jake replied.  “I’m just saying you’re spending a lot of time with him, that’s all.”  

“Smokey is my friend!” exclaimed Ashley.  “He… he’s old enough to be my grandfather!  Do you realize how utterly creepy you sound right now?”

“Oh, c’mon, Ashley!  I saw the way you two were looking at each other in the jacuzzi!”

The smell of Jake’s breath hit Ashley’s nostrils like ferment from a dilapidated vineyard.  

“Oh man, you’re intoxicated,” she coughed.  “You know, you’re really something, Jake.  You come to my home half-drunk already.  You bring one bottle of red wine to the party, which no one else touches, and then you end up drinking all of it yourself!  At least Smokey put in an effort to bring something we all could share!”

“Well why don’t you just marry the guy, then!” Jake shouted back.

Ashley’s face contorted into anger and exasperation.  “Get out.  No.  Don’t get out.  You’re too drunk to drive, you might get in an accident.  I’m driving you home, you can come back and get your car in the morning.”  

Ashley stormed toward the front door, then wheeled around.  

“Oh, and another thing, Jake!  Any chances you ever thought you had to go out with me have just gone out the window!”

Chapter 14

Ashley’s words were still lodged in Jake’s skull a day-and-a-half later.  The taste of burnt coffee lingered in his mouth, as he stared into the empty paper cup.  All of the other residents had already left the lounge and were preparing for their respective workdays.  He knew it was time for him to stand up, but he just didn’t care.  

I don’t care if I ever get up out of this seat again.  

“Jake.”

How Doctor Ellis managed to come in to the room and stand that close to him without him noticing, was anybody’s guess.  Jake’s torso shot up, while his crossed arms fell to the side of his body, bouncing off the armrests first as they fell.

“Doctor!” he managed, leaping to his feet.  

“You forgot to sign in this morning,” said Evie.  

“I’m… I’m so sorry, boss.  I… I must’ve lost track of time.”  

Evie cocked her head.  “Everything alright?  You look awful.” 

Jake faked a smile.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Well, buck up, kid.  I have a new resident coming in today around lunchtime, and I’m going to need you to show them the ropes around this place.”  

“Understood,” replied Jake.

Evie’s phone dinged.  “Ah.  My husband’s texting me.  I’ve got to get over to Henrietta’s pediatrician for her three month check-up.  Doctor Gomez will come find you to make the new resident introductions when they get here.  Now hurry up and get signed in.”

Jake nodded.  Great.  Now we add “babysitter” to my list of responsibilities, he thought.

Three hours later, Jake was back in the same lounge, in the same chair, in the same posture as when he first arrived.  Hospital activity had been light so far that day.  Jake had performed his daily, mundane tasks without incident.  But his motivation was still at zero percent, and he had almost no recollection of what work he had done.  The young resident sighed as he crinkled his used string cheese wrapper on the table and then drummed his fingers on top of it.  He could hear Yon’s voice in the distance, getting closer.  With every ounce of resolve he had left in the tank, Jake got onto his feet, still facing away from the open entryway.  

“Ah, here he is,” said Yon, hustling into the room.  “Jake, I wanted to introduce you to our new resident transfer from Chicago, Nafasi Howell.  Nafasi, this is our second-year resident, Jake Evanrise.”

Jake casually turned around.  His jaw dropped before his mind could process the command.  A short, high pitched sigh followed, also too late to give his mind time to offer reasonable discretion against doing that.  He could still hear the background noises of the hospital, but they were distant and distorted now, like he was twelve-feet underwater at the local swimming pool.       

Coming into focus under the proverbial waterline was the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on.  The woman’s black skin glowed golden under the room’s iridescent lighting.  Her wild, untamed, wiry locks, pulled back in a ponytail, sprang forth in imperfectly perfect places.  The woman’s captivating, mahogany eyes were speaking to Jake all on their own.  And a subtle, ebony birthmark just above her left cheekbone and below her coarse hairline carried an even more salient message for him:  “I am Nafasi.  I am like no other.”

Meanwhile, Nafasi’s legs started to tremble, as she stood directly in front of Jake.  She briefly lifted her hands up from her sides.  But then she returned them to their original position, otherwise they would have ended up squeezing Jake’s hips.  Her lips parted slightly as she took in a sharp inhalation, followed by a subtle nod of her head.  Her eyes darted down to the man’s chest, then his lower body, before rebounding back up to his eyes.  

Jake remained frozen.  But in his mind, he felt like his body had just careened into the tables immediately behind him, pierced by twenty Cupid’s arrows.  

“Uh, hi,” he gulped.  

“Hi,” gasped Nafasi, biting down on her lower lip in the same motion as her salutation.  

Somewhere in the exchange, Yon had teleported to the far side of the room, where he was pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee.    

  “You’re a woman,” muttered Jake.  

Nafasi looked down at her torso.  “Last time I checked…”  

Jake cleared his throat and held out his hand.  “Pleasure to meet you.  I’m Jake.  I… I work here.”  

  The woman smiled and accepted his gesture, in what experts would describe as the perfect handshake.  “Nafasi,” she replied.  “I’m so happy you work here.”  

Their eyes locked.  There was electricity in their touch.  Nafasi’s perfume hit Jake’s olfactory receptors at that instant, causing his pulse to skyrocket.  Her expression suggested approval of his masculine attention.

“I work here too now, by the way,” she added.

“Really?”  

  “Yeah.”  

Her lips were quivering.  

Yon came back over with his coffee.  “Say.  Have you two met before?” he asked.  

“No,” Jake and Nafasi chirped in unison, their tone breathy and abrupt.  Their eye contact between one another remained unbroken.

Yon raised a brow and took one large step backwards, toward the long corridor behind him.  “Well,” he said, “I’m going to go check on my patients.  Just make sure she knows her way around, Jake.” 

Jake’s voice was distant.  “I will,” he replied, eyeballing Yon until he was out of sight. 

Nafasi smiled, the flushed apples of her cheekbones tightening.  “So how ‘bout it?  Will you show me around Jake?”  

The woman’s slight grammatical alteration to Yon’s orders was not lost on Jake.  He just didn’t care.  Those gorgeous lips! his mind screamed.  I want mine sandwiched between them!

“Oh, sorry about this mess,” he said abruptly, as he looked behind him and stared at the refuse on the table.  “I grabbed an apple and a cheese stick from the cafeteria for lunch half an hour ago.  Let me throw these away, and then I can show you around-” 

“Actually, I’d love to have lunch with you, doctor.  If that’s okay…” said Nafasi.

Doctor? Jake thought.  I’m not a… oh, never mind.  With a voice like yours, you can call me anything you like.

Jake alternated glances between the apple core and Nafasi’s optical vortexes.  “You know what?  I am still a bit hungry,” he replied.  “Why don’t you and I go to the cafeteria and eat lunch there?  Get to know each other better.”  

The woman arched her back, lifted up both hands and massaged the back of her neck, showcasing her bare elbows.  “What did you want to know about me?” she asked, pressing her lips outward into a seductive purse.  

Jake paused.  “Everything,” he replied.  

Nafasi smiled from east to west, taking the second year resident by the hand and leading him out of the break room, like she already knew where the cafeteria was.  Walking side by side down the hallway, hand in hand, felt like the most natural thing ever for Jake.  People were staring.  Let them stare, he thought.  As the couple descended in the elevator, he could feel her fingers sliding in between his, until they were fully interlocked.  Not another word was spoken between the two of them again, until Jake was sitting down in the cafeteria with his second lunch and Nafasi was sitting next to him, their thighs touching the entire time, as they talked and ate.  

 

“No Smokey tonight?” asked Dhargey, the reflection of the fire in the firepit dancing in her eyes.  

“No,” replied Ashley, “he texted he had to help close the store this evening.”  

“What about next week?”  

“Well, one week from today is Christmas.  So I booked our regular spot for next Friday, Christmas Eve, instead.”  

“And Smokey?” asked Dhargey again in earnest.  

Ashley shook her head.  “I’m having trouble even getting him to pick up the phone now,” she replied.  “I have to be honest.  I feel like he’s going back to reclusiveness again, shutting us out more and more, the closer we get to Christmas.  And I don’t know why.”

Dhargey pondered the predicament.  “Perhaps you need to get together with him again before then.  Try to get him to open back up to you.  This week’s Christmas Market downtown, perhaps?  There’s still another full day of it tomorrow.”  

Ashley shrugged.  “That could work, maybe,” she said, as she looked around.  “Hey, speaking of disappearances, where did everybody go?  Where’s Freddie?  What happened to Jake and his new friend?”  

Dhargey patted her bestie’s knee.  “Relax.  Freddie’s right over there at the food court.  He just discovered it was chicken strip Saturday and decided to order a couple of baskets.  And Jake and Nafasi just took a walk around the side of the patio to discuss something.”

Ashley leaned in.  “Just who is this mystery woman?” she whispered.

“Details are sketchy,” murmured Dhargey.  “Jake said she’s a new resident transfer from Chicago, and he’s been showing her the ropes at work every single day this week.  I talked with her for a couple of minutes before you arrived.  She seemed nice…”

“Gotcha.  Well, I’m going to take these two cocoas over to them.  Don’t want them to get cold…”

The two warm beverages brought a momentary reprieve to the pads of Ashley’s chilled fingers, as she walked to the far end of the patio and turned the corner.  

Jake was slammed up against the wall of the lodge, and Nafasi was pressed up against him.  Both of their winter coats were unzipped and open.  Their mouths were moving.  But they most definitely weren’t talking.  

Ashley’s eyes popped open.  Her jaw dropped and then bounced back to its original position.  She hunched up, did a 180 and tip-toed it back out of there again, with as much stealth as her petite legs could come up with.  The two cocoas remained in her hands.

They never even noticed her.  

“Okay!  So!  Who wants Clucks and Fries?” exclaimed Freddie, bringing out a tray of fresh goodies to the reserved section.

Ashley also strolled back to the firepit and sat down, still in a slight bit of shock.  

“So, did you find them?” asked Dhargey.  

“Umm… estan ocupados?” replied Ashley.  

“Oh.  Ohhhhhhhh.  Oh, I’m so sorry.”  

Ashley reached for a fry.  “Sorry for what?  Dhargey, it’s not like we were… I mean, we weren’t… going… out or anything…”

Dhargey shrugged her left shoulder.  “For some reason, I just saw you and Jake eventually getting together, that’s all.”  

“I mean, yeah, there were some of those crossroads at certain times in our lives,” Ashley explained.  “But no, we’ve always just remained friends.”  She adjusted the pom pom on her hat.  “I hope this doesn’t come across as conceited, but I actually feel like this huge weight has just been lifted off my chest.”  

“What do you mean?” asked Freddie.

“Well, golly, think about what would have happened, had Smokey never come to my ticket counter.  Had my attention been undivided, I easily could have ended up dating Jake at the start of the holidays this year.  Only to have our relationship torn apart by Nafasi’s love-at-first-sight strategy.  At least this way, we all remain friends, and I don’t get my heart broken.”

“You and your multiverses,” chuckled Dhargey.  

Ashley laughed.  “Well, you know, science fiction has always been my guilty pleasure.”  She paused.  “Was your romance like that for you guys?  I mean, once you… knew?”

“Suffice to say, it was not,” replied Freddie, pointing to his blemish-free forehead and looking over at his beautiful bride.  “My childhood bangs prevented me from getting a clear line of sight most of my pre-adult life.”  

The Escarras laughed in playful harmony.  “It took a professional saloniste, and a whole new hairstyle, to get Freddie to see what was right in front of him the whole time,” added Dhargey with glee. 

“Pero, seriously though,” he continued, “I think our love story is like the morning sun rising over the hills of San Miguel de Allende.  Our friendship was the dawn.  The warmth of love broke through with the first rays of sunshine.  And the warmth continued to build until the blazing heat of the noonday sun shone brightly over everything.”  

“Freddie!  How elegant!” cried Dhargey.  The couple shared a short, sweet kiss.

“A toast,” said Freddie, picking up a chicken strip from the basket and then handing one to Ashley and Dhargey.  “To old friendships and new ones!  May each and every one last a lifetime!”

“Here, here,” said the ladies.  All three friends clinked their chicken strips together and took a respective bite.

None of them knew just how much their friendship demographic would change in the upcoming days.  

Chapter 15

“Hello?”

“Ashley.  It’s Smokey.”  

Ashley breathed a sigh of relief.  “Smokey.  Thank you for returning my voice mail.  I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for-”

“I can’t talk long,” interrupted Smokey, his voice dry.  “I have to get ready for work.  You wanted to ask me something?”

“I just wanted to invite you to the Christmas Market this evening, after work.  It’s supposed to be amazing.  Their peppermint hot chocolate is divine.”  

There was a long pause.  “I told you before, I don’t do Christmas well,” said the old man. 

“Smokey, I don’t know why this sudden change in you.  If there is something I said or did or-”  

“It’s not you, Ashley.  It’s me.”  

Ouch, thought Ashley.  

The woman put her phone on speaker, placed it on the counter, hiked up her jeans with both hands and spoke with authority.  “Listen, my friend… I’m going to pick you up at 6:30 this evening and take you to the Christmas Market, whether you want to or not!  We may not see each other again until after Christmas, and this event has been very special to me every year since my birth.  I wish to share that joy with you.”  

There was an even longer pause.  “Yes, ma’am,” Smokey replied.  

Ashley smiled.  “See you at 6:30 then?” she replied.

“I’ll be ready.  Hey, Ashley?  Can I ask you a question before you go?”  

“Of course.”  

“… Why do you trust every single person you’ve just met, knowing inevitably that some of them are certainly going to let you down?”  

The woman thought about it.  “Golly, I guess it’s because if, maybe if I trust everyone implicitly from the beginning, the ones who would have otherwise done evil at my expense might see my untarnished trust in them and then turn away from any wrong they were about to do.”  

“And when your trust in someone does become… tarnished?” Smokey continued.

“Then I forgive them,” Ashley replied, without hesitation.  “I don’t want to collect those loathsome burdens within me.  I want to remain pure, loving and fruitful, as long as there is breath in me.  But, why do you ask?”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds.  “… I’ve got to get to work,” was the reply.  

“Have a good work day, Smokey.  See you tonight.”  

Smokey’s apartment was close enough to the street festivities that the bustle could be heard from his front door.  Ashley arrived promptly at 6:30PM and was let inside by the tenant.

“Hi Ashley,” said Smokey, his voice sounding a bit more upbeat than it was on the phone earlier.  “I just have to get my coat and boots on.  Be right back.”  

Ashley nodded, as she silently mourned the sad state of the non-festive living quarters.  Pedestrian at best, it was absent of any Christmas lights or displays.  She had hoped some of her Christmas cheer would have rubbed off on the man in previous visits, that things might have become more decorative this time around.  They had not.  

Sighing, the woman paced around the main room, passing by the dining table and accidentally brushing past Smokey’s laptop, where one corner had ended up extending past the table by a couple of inches.  The laptop got pushed back into the mouse.  the default screensaver vanished and was replaced by a standard home page with one document up.  Ashley wrapped her hand around the nearby cordless mouse, to try and put things back the way they were before.  

Her index finger got frozen in mid-click. 

Smokey’s open document captivated Ashley.  It felt like an arctic shelf of ice was enveloping her insides unlike any proverbial winter storm that had ever dared challenge her bubbly and joyful personality before.  With each new line she read, it felt like a new arrow had been fired, piercing her heart repeatedly, hardening it from deep within.  Her breath became shallow and irregular.  She fought to form the tears she wanted to cry, but the tears never materialized.  

And then… she froze solid.  And became numb to the world.

“So sorry about that,” said Smokey, coming out of the bedroom and finding his laptop’s default screensaver just the way he had left it.  

Ashley was sitting on the sofa, her fists between her knees.

“Ready?” he asked.

The woman’s eyes remained fixed straight ahead.  The light had gone out of them.  

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she murmured.  

Smokey blinked.  “What are you talking about?”  

The woman got up.  “Maybe I should just go home.”  

“Wait, I thought you said you loved this festival!  That every year was a great memory for you!”  

“That… that was in the past.”  

The old man walked toward the entrance.  “C’mon, Ashley.  We’re already in our warm clothing.  Let’s just go down the street for a little bit and make a new memory together!”  Smokey flung the door wide open.  “Plus, you promised me delicious, peppermint hot chocolate!”

Ashley burst toward the exit, not because Smokey was convincing, but because she didn’t want to spend another minute in that apartment.  

The Christmas Market was in full swing, packed with residents and guests alike.  Twinkling holiday lights, decorated Christmas trees and tempting art and food vendors lined the main street of Whitefish.  Smokey’s eyes spotted the peppermint cocoa booth within seconds of entering the festivities, and he took Ashley by the hand. 
“My treat this time,” he said.  “For everything you’ve done for me.”  

“Yeah,” mumbled Ashley.  

Smokey paid cash for the beverages and handed one to his friend.  “Mmm, this is really good,” he said.  “How’s yours?”  

The woman shrugged.  “It’s fine.  Little watery.”  

“That’s weird.  I don’t taste that at all.  Maybe if you mix your whip cream in better-” 

“I know how to drink hot chocolate, Smokey!” she fired back.

The old man’s eyes narrowed.  “Sorry…!”  

Ashley bared her teeth.  “Look, you got what you came for.  Why don’t we just call it a night?”

“But… we’ve barely begun!  We… we’re not even halfway through the vendors!  And what about these side streets of festivities?”  

Before Ashley could respond, Smokey shot off to the street on his left, down one of the spurs of the festival.  A multitude of people blocked his view of what was directly ahead.

Ashley choked down another sip of cocoa.  She was several steps behind, as she called out to the old man, “Oh.  Wait, I know what’s down here.  Wait up, sir.”  

Enough people had parted one direction or another, giving Smokey clear sight of the holiday activity.  His left boot fell like an anvil onto the icy ground and held.  His right hand clamped around his cocoa cup like a vice, while his left hand hardened into a fist.  

“No,” he gasped.  

Two reindeers were in a makeshift pen, one block down from the main vendors.  Smokey had gone in headlong, before realizing what was down there.  He slowly tried to back away, but his foot slipped on some black ice.  One of the reindeer caught sight of it and alerted the other reindeer.  Both moved toward the close end of the fence with an awkward jolt to see what was the matter, causing the old man to lose his footing even more.  The lid popped off the old man’s hot chocolate as he crushed the lower part of the cup with this fingers.  Smokey crashed to the ground, brown liquid exploding all over his winter jacket.

“No, please no, stay away!” he cried, his tailbone and lower back throbbing in pain from the fall.  

Ashley ran up to his side.  “What’s happening?” she cried.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it!” Smokey shouted, shuffling his feet as he pushed himself backwards along the icy ground.

“Smokey, get ahold of yourself, you’re making a scene!  They’re just reindeer!  They’re not going to hurt you!”  

Smokey grabbed Ashley’s wrist with the grip of a machine, cutting off the circulation to her hand and fingers.  

“Ow-ooo!” she wailed.

“Take me… take me home,” Smokey wheezed, the lights above him swimming around his head like a holiday nightmare.  

Having gotten her appendage back, Ashley got Smokey back onto his feet, wrapped her arm around him, and the two limped back the opposite direction toward his apartments, in full embarrassment mode.  

“What was that all about?” asked the first reindeer to the second.

“No clue,” the second reindeer replied.

As soon as they were inside, Smokey’s vital signs began to stabilize, even though his pulse was still flying at a reindeer’s pace.  Ashley nearly dropped him onto the couch.  Then she stepped away toward the dining area.  

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I ruined this for you,” Smokey whimpered.  

A scarlet-faced Ashley slammed her fist down on the kitchen counter, nearly cracking it, causing Smokey’s head to lurch forward.  

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the festival this evening!  I told you!” she shouted.  

The old man’s reaction was equally as volatile.  “Well, my dear, as I recall, I was the one who suggested not going in the first place!” he cried.  “At least now we’re in agreement, since you never told me there would be live reindeer there!”

“How was I supposed to know you have a reindeer phobia?!”  Ashley sobbed, burying her face in her hands for a moment.  “You know what… this is too much.  I’m going to look up the medical hotline 800 number for you.”

Smokey began waving his arms.  “You don’t have to-”

“Oh, I’m afraid I must insist.  I’ll go look up the number on your computer,” she replied, as she stomped toward the dining room table.  

“Ashley, wait!  No!”

The woman stopped shy of the laptop and wheeled toward Smokey, flailing her hands and stomping her foot.  “This isn’t normal!” she cried, grabbing the mouse and sliding it frantically back and forth along the pad.  The document popped up on the monitor, and Ashley rotated the laptop so that it faced Smokey.

“This… isn’t normal!!” she cried again.  

Smokey’s heart grew faint.  “Oh no,” was all he could manage.

***

To my dearest Ashley, the best friend I have ever known,

If you are reading this, it is almost certain that you will never see me alive again.  In time, you may not remember that I even existed.  

Please believe me when I tell you that my departure was never intended to hurt you.  Your friendship and the friendships of your friends, Jake, Freddie and Dhargey have been the best thing that has ever happened to me.  I have so appreciated the kindness, hospitality and especially, love, you and your friends have shown to me. 

It has been a true honor and a blessing to have been considered your friend and part of your circle of friends.  Please do not lose your joy and innocence over my departure.  Nor lose your ability to love others unconditionally.  Do not let your heart grow cold.  Keep living and loving as you always have, as your incredible life moves forward.  Be left with the small comfort that you have impacted my life most profoundly, in ways you cannot even begin to understand.  I swear I will never forget you, Ashley, even though my time spent in your beautiful world is now over.   

Sincerely, with all my love, 

Smokey

***

“You pre-scheduled this email to be sent to me on December 26th at 6AM,” continued Ashley, her fists and teeth clenched.  “I’m assuming you set it for the 26th so that it wouldn’t ruin my Christmas Day?”

Smokey could not form a word in reply.  

Ashley was visibly shaking, a primal rage forming in her heart.  “Smokey, this is the part of the conversation where you’re supposed to interrupt me and say, ‘I can explain, Ashley,’” she wept.

Smokey opened his mouth, but no words came out.  

Ashley snapped.  “What?  Christmas goose got your tongue?  Just how long have you been planning to disappear out of my life and out of my friends’ lives by taking your own?!”  

The old man couldn’t even look his friend in the eyes, he was so ashamed and embarrassed.  He tried to form a sentence.  

“Ashley, I… wait, what??”

“I can’t stand by and let you commit suicide, Smokey, I won’t let you!!” she screamed.  Ashley’s ice dam broke, and the waterworks could no longer be held back.  Tears poured down her cheeks.

Smokey was flabbergasted.  “Suicide?  I have no desire to commit suicide!” he exclaimed.

“You… you don’t?”

“No!  That’s not what this letter’s about!”

“Well then what is it about?”

Caught in the spotlight, Smokey realized that there was no other choice now, but to take Ashley into his confidence.  

“I… I’m not the man you think I am,” he began.  

“Yes, yes, you’ve said that to me many times.”  

“They’ll be coming for me this year for certain, Ashley, I just know it!”  

“Wha… Who’s coming for you?” Ashley sniffed, wiping the tears from her face and coming over to sit down next to him.  “Look, if you’re in some sort of trouble, let me help you!”  

Smokey’s neck went limp.  “You can’t help me.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  

“Try me.”  Ashley’s anger tried to rekindle itself, but she extinguished it.  Instead, she placed a hand on Smokey’s hands and adjusted her tone to gentleness.  

“I can see you’re hurting inside, Smokey.  Please tell me what’s wrong.  I’m your friend!  And I want to help lift this heavy burden that is weighing you down!”  

A long time passed.  The young woman’s silence demanded an explanation.  The old man’s breath slowed, as he passed the point of no return.  

“I… I hurt Dancer,” Smokey whispered.  

Ashley twitched.  “You… hurt a dancer?”

“No, I said, I hurt Dancer, the reindeer Dancer!” cried the old man.  “Okay, so what I did led to a chain reaction of having my title as Santa Claus revoked, prompting me to steal a sleigh to escape from the North Pole, losing control in last year’s winter storm, and crashing into a wooded field!”

Ashley squeaked in disbelief and pity.  She covered her mouth and shook her head.  

“You know, you’ve shown me some pretty incredible things this holiday season, and you’ve always backed it up,” she began.  “I know you can talk to animals.  I’ve seen you tend to them and nurse them back to health.  I can even picture you as some sort of department store Santa Claus in your past…

“But I also know that Jake finally opened up to me and told me that you were in some sort of terrible accident last year.  And the things you think might be real may be incredibly mixed up for you in your head.”

“No, Ashley-”

“Dancer is a fictional character from a fictional place.  And there’s no way you could possibly be the real Santa Claus.”  

“Ashley-”

“You can’t be the real Santa Claus, Smokey!” she cried.  

“Just… tell me one thing,” said Smokey.  “If there was a way that I could prove to you that what I say to you is true, would you be willing to listen to me then?”  

“I can offer you this,” promised Ashley, “if there is any way I can ease your hurting, through listening, actions, or just by simply being your faithful friend, I will do it.”

Smokey thought long and hard before speaking again.  “Alright, then.  Maybe you can help me.”  He ran to his bedroom and brought back out an item, returning to his place on the couch.  “This bag.  Was one of the only items in my possession when I was discovered at the crash site.  What does it look like to you?”

Ashley sighed.  “Like a Santa sack.”

“Anything in it?  Inspect it.”

The woman shook it and put her hand inside.  “No, Smokey.  It’s empty.”

“Okay.  Now I want you to pretend that I’m the real Santa for just thirty seconds.  Can you do that for me?”

She cringed.  “I don’t know.  This all seems really… only thirty seconds?”

“Thirty seconds.”

“And then I can call the medical hotline?”  

“Thirty seconds is all I’m asking for.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”  Smokey clapped his hands together.  “Imagine I’m Santa, and I just asked you what you wanted for Christmas.  Tell me that you want the original case file for Santa Claus the Seventh.”

“The original case file for Santa Claus the Seventh,” repeated Ashley.  

“That’s it.”  

“Okay, fine… I… uh…”  Ashley shifted her weight uncomfortably.  

“You can just put your hand on mine, Ashley,” said Smokey.

“Okay.”

“Now.  What is your name?”

“I’m Ashley.  Ashley Sleddingbaum.”

“And what would you like for Christmas this year, Ms. Sleddingbaum?”  

“I want the original case file for Santa Claus the Seventh.”  

Smokey smiled.  “Well, Santa will certainly try and get you what you asked for, Ashley Sleddingbaum,” he said.  

The sudden, red glare from the computer screen lit up Patarra’s lenses, making her look like a momentary cyborg with the scarlet eyes of a malfunctioning toy soldier.  

“Get me the Office of the Chief of Inventory!” she exclaimed into her computer speaker.  “Sir!  I have a report of an unauthorized export from the main campus!  Something has left Polus Septentrionalis!”

  

Chapter 16

The apartment fell silent.  There were no flashing lights after Ashley’s petition, no claps of thunder.  Just two friends sitting on a used sofa, one friend deeply concerned about the mental state of the other one.  

“See, Smokey?” exclaimed Ashley, lifting the bag off the ground once again.  “The sack is still… oh my word.”  

The Santa sack was at least five pounds heavier in her grasp and was now balanced askew.  “No,” she gasped.  “No, this has got to be some sort of magic trick, now I know that sack was empty just a few seconds ago!”  She reached into the bag and pulled out what appeared to be a large, gilded album, masterfully bound and crafted.  “Is this your case file?”  

Despite his overwhelming despair, Smokey looked over.  His eyes widened.  “It is the case file!” he exclaimed.  

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because I didn’t think it was going to work!”

Ashley sprang to her feet.  “Didn’t think it was going to work?!  And you were going to just let me think you were crazy if it didn’t??”  

“But it did work!” Smokey exclaimed.  “I guess no one ever severed the connection between this sack and the backup generator!”  

“Santa sacks have backup generators?” she asked.  

Ashley didn’t wait for an answer, as she began pouring over the tome.  “Gosh, this is absolutely gorgeous!  Like some exquisite scrapbooking binder!  Smells like… pine!  This… this foreign lettering… what is this language?”  She slammed the cover.  “Okay, I am officially freaking out at this point.  Are we going to get in trouble for this?”  

“Well, you’re not,” Smokey replied.  “If my suspicions are correct, they’ll probably try and make it so that you and your friends won’t remember that I ever existed anyway.”

“You can’t be serious.”  Ashley ran her fingers through her hair.  “Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?” she whined in dismay.  “How much time do I… we… have left?”  

“What is today?”  

“December 19th.”

“Then we have just over five days,” said Smokey.  “The Council isn’t going to risk altering earth’s timeline any further by executing additional incursions before Christmas Eve.  Ashley, if Freddie is available, we need to consult with him at his law office as soon as possible tomorrow!”

“Wait.  Hold on a second!” cried Ashley, starting to get angry again.  “You were just using me this whole time?  Just so you could gain my trust and get your hands on this book?!”  

“No, no, Ashley!  What I said and wrote to you is the truth!” exclaimed Smokey.  “Your unexpected friendship means everything to me!  These last five weeks of being accepted into your young, beautiful circle of friends have been the best five weeks of my entire life!”

“Who are you?”  Ashley folded her arms.  “I demand you tell me who you really are and what you want from me!”  

Smokey’s face began to tremble.  “I want my life back!” he cried.  I want back the decades that were stolen from me, warping me into this twisted old man you see before you now!”  

“What have you found, Patarra?” 

The question was posed by Jaroslav, The Chief of Inventory.  

The Swing Shift Manager readjusted her large, dark-rimmed, circular glasses and then typed a few more key strokes into her computer.  “Report’s back from The Toyshop, sir,” Patarra replied.  “Every single toy in their warehouse and on the assembly line is accounted for.”  

Jaroslav folded his arms and looked out the window at the snowy blizzard.  “What about the sack?”

“Right where it should be.  Besides, sir, why would one of our own risk immediate termination of employment by stealing that?”  

“Okay, then.  What about the decommissioned sacks?”  

Patarra adjusted her glasses yet again, this time pushing them back onto the bridge of her nose.  “Umm… I suppose we could have someone check those-”

“Don’t bother,” Jaroslav replied, pausing for a moment.  “I have an idea.  Pull up real-time global Earth map of the Northern Hemisphere.”

“Yes, sir.”  

“Now.  Override planetary grid localized to this section of the United States.  Scan for any decommissioned sacks that may still be active there.”  

Patarra looked up at Jaroslav in noticeable confusion and discontent.  “Sir, won’t that knock out wireless communications to the entire Pacific Northwest?” she asked.

“Just momentarily,” replied Jaroslav.  “Lower universal time dilation to .01% and then conduct the scan.  The damage should be negligible.  Do it.”  

The woman sighed.  “Yes, sir.”

As the command was entered into the computer, the humming of heavy equipment began a short distance away.  Patarra gave a subtle shake of her head, the healthy, smooth ends of her brunette hair brushing against the shoulder straps of her green, rayon overalls, with the gold, snowflake-inspired addition sign on the front, as she watched the number drop on her monitor.

Patarra had just slowed the rest of the universe to .01% its normal rate of time passage.

“Dilation complete, sir.  Scanning,” she continued, bringing up the Earth map app to the forefront again.  “One active sack coming in from northwestern Montana, sir.  Signal’s very faint.”  

“Any items detected in that sack that we can trace back to Polus Septentrionalis?”

“Negative.  The sack appears to be empty.”

Jaroslav nodded in approval.  “Understood.  Deactivate that sack immediately, and then cease time dilation.”

The woman couldn’t complete the order fast enough.  But her superior wasn’t finished with her yet.  He angrily swiveled his subordinate’s chair ninety degrees in his direction.

“It is your team’s responsibility to deactivate those sacks once a year, Patarra,” barked Jaroslav.

“We do, sir,” protested Patarra.

“Do you sever connections to the backup generator as well?”  

“Santa sacks have backup generators?” she asked.

“The two previous Christmases we’ve had backup generators!” cried Jaroslav.

Patarra slapped her thighs with both hands.  “Well that nugget of information would have been nice for upper management to clue us in on before now!” she exclaimed, over enunciating every syllable. 

Jaroslav put up his palms, attempting to dial down the conversation.  “Okay, okay, let’s not start kedge gutting just yet.  Any other data collected on the decommissioned sack?”  

Patarra batted her eyelashes at the screen.  “Very little, sir.  However, this is definitely the sack that was activated immediately before the alarm went off.”  

“Who set off the alarm?” asked Jaroslav, pointing to the app ribbon on Patarra’s screen.  “Pull up the Earth World Directory of every living boy and girl.”  

“Time to find out who’s on the naughty list,” mumbled Patarra.  A few seconds passed.  “Scan complete.  No matches.”  

Jaroslav rubbed his peppered beard between his thumb and forefinger.  “Hmm.  Expand the search to include adults that would have been children ten Earth years ago.”  

“Sir, they’d be too old to-”

“There have been anomalies in the past.  Innocence being the most common denominator.”  

Patarra expanded the search.  “I do have a match now, sir.  Name of Ashley Sleddingbaum.”

“Bring up her bio, Patarra.”

 After a quick download, “Ashley Sleddingbaum.  22 years of age, Whitefish, Montana.  Perfect childhood record:  13 out of 13 ‘NICE,’” read Patarra, rolling her neck to the left.  “Permission to speak frankly, sir?”  

“Am I going to be able to stop you?” replied Jaroslav.  

“Even with a backup generator, which no one told us about, you still can’t activate a Santa Sack without a Santa being in close proximity!”  There’s something else you and upper management aren’t telling us!”  

Jaroslav’s jaw tightened.  “Deal with it,” he replied, as his eyes widened.  “Now.  I need you to get me access to the National Archive.”  

Patarra slumped down in her chair even further.  “What?”

“Put in an Emergency Request Form, Level 4, as in four calling birds, and get me both of Santa’s keys to the archive!” shouted The Chief of Inventory.  

Smokey poured over the pages of the case file as he stood at the dining room table, still in shock that he had pulled it off.  

“It’s all right here,” he said.  “The original contract, then the grievances start rolling in, my served papers… my severance papers.”  

“This is crazy!” cried Ashley, pacing back and forth like a frenzied French hen.  “You’ve created an entire fantasy cosplay for yourself with these documents!”

“Everything I told you is true, I give you my word!”  

Ashley looked around the doors, walls and ceiling of the apartment.  “You sure you’re safe here tonight?  The Elf Mafia isn’t going to be kicking down your door any minute, are they?”

“I’m sure.  The Council isn’t going to risk an additional Earth incursion this close to Christmas.  Oh, and by the way?  There were never any elves.  That 1857 poem was cute, but filled with half truths.  Your media perpetuates that myth every year with its incessant commercial advertisements and TV shows.”

Ashley cocked her head.  “Well, who runs the place then?  Besides Santa, of course…”

Smokey froze on the page he was studying, realizing that another line was about to be crossed.  He didn’t care at this point.  

“We call ourselves ‘Homo Dares,’” he replied.  “For all intents and purposes, biologically and mentally, we’re just as human as you are.  But having dropped the ‘Homo Sapiens’ title altogether.”  

“Clear as mud, Smokey.”  

“Okay, we live longer, we’re physically stronger and we heal faster.  And we’re about 400 years ahead of you in quantum mechanics.”  The right half of the old man’s mouth curled upward.  “I’m afraid what you’ve been taught, about the magic of Santa and the North Pole, is a lot more scientific than you’d like to believe, Ashley.  Personally, though, our race’s interpreted meaning, ‘Giving Human,’ has always been a beacon of hope for me.  Of our civilization’s true potential.”  

Ashley’s eyes were fixed on the case file page Smokey had stopped on.  “May I see?  Is this you?” she asked. 

Smokey nodded, moving his hand away from the photo completely, so that Ashley could see his full image.  

The woman tilted her head at the mug shot.  The young man staring back at her was clean shaven, with hair color consistency like auburn wood grain, and a listless expression on his face.  Even under the layers of festive clothing, his physique was like that of a seasoned gym member.  Ashley felt a small flutter in her stomach, as she exhaled for a prolonged period of time.  

“How long ago was this picture taken?” she asked.  

“Um, about two years?” Smokey replied.

“Two years ago.  Two Earth years?”  

“Yeah.”  

Ashley wasn’t even shocked anymore at the revelations that were being fired at her in rapid succession.  Her index finger stroked the man’s hair in the image, then slid it down his well-defined jawbone.  Then she looked at Smokey, the old man, matching the shape of the two faces, the noses, the ears, the eyes… 

His eyes.  His eyes were different.  They were no longer listless.

“Smokey,” said Ashley.  “No more secrets.  You have to be completely open and honest with me, my friend.  We need to sit back down, and you need to tell me everything.  And I promise to listen with an open mind to what you have to say.”  

The old man made a long face.  “But what if you don’t believe me?”

Ashley turned to Smokey, cupped her hands over his cheeks and bent forward, pressing her forehead against his.  Both pairs of eyes locked onto each other at extremely close range.

With serenity and tenderness in her voice, she whispered.   

“But what if I do?”  

Chapter 17

Smokey told Ashley a tale.

“The township of Polus Septentrionalis, ‘The North Pole,’ is actually a remote outpost from another planet in this galaxy called Centrum Spatium.  A constitutional monarchy, like many of your countries here on Earth, but a global one.  In this Alaskan town, Santa Claus is king mayor, and there is a family succession to the throne when that individual passes away.

“I was a king mayor’s son.  The next in line to be Santa Claus, at the close of The Sixth Dynasty.  But I was a wild young man.  Untamed.  Undisciplined.  Through my folly, I disgraced and dishonored my family.  I partook in pretty much every shameful act my kingdom forbade, short of murder and adultery.  I foolishly believed I had decades to live out my rebellion, before leadership was finally demanded of me.  

“One day, not long ago, my father was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive form of cancer, one not found in Homo Sapiens, only Homo Dares.  Within six month’s Earth time… he died of his cancer.  A man who should have had forty or fifty more years of life, ruling our hamlet as Santa Claus, was no longer with us.  

“My father and I rarely spoke.  And yet, his death hit me so hard.  And worse, not long after he died, they told me I had the same carrier gene that killed my father.  Not only had I now inherited the leadership responsibility I never wanted, but because of my father’s premature death, they would now have to accelerate my aging process, to be made old like the iconic figure, subsequently accelerating any future cancer diagnoses that might befall me.

“I tried to convince people I was the wrong man for the job.  I drank to excess the night of my father’s death.  I intentionally showed up drunk to Santa orientations, to ‘prove’ my unworthiness.  I even tried reason a couple of times, pointing out that there were other members of the Royal Family that were far more qualified, and would be much more eager to assume the role.  But The Council was adamant.  Rules were rules.  This was the way it had always been done.  They voted unanimously in favor for me to take over the kingdom, and that was that.  

“It took four men to force me into that machine.  That… infernal machine.  When the glass closed down all around me, I pounded my fists on the wall, screaming and begging for them to let me out and to reconsider.  But they didn’t listen.  Afterwards… exhausted, old, fat, bald, breathless and unable to move at first, I was dragged into the next room by my ankles, and dressed into the Royal Santa Suit and accessories.  I was then placed in near isolation, denied any real food for days, only cookies and reindeer milk to eat and drink.  

“Having Santa’s personality overlaid on my own was like a dissociative identity disorder at first.  Part of the Santa transformation was intended to vanquish the angry, selfish and self-righteous tendencies within me.  Just like it had been for the Santas before me.  For them, it was a complete transformation.  Their previous identities all but erased.  But it never became that way for me.

“When I was released from isolation, my Santa orientation resumed unabated.  I was inducted in an extravagant ceremony and was given all the non-humanoid gifts found in the song, ‘Twelve Days of Christmas.’  Next, I was introduced to the bustle of the Toy Shop, the Candy Shop and all the other inner workings of what most humans envision the North Pole to be.  During my orientations, I grumbled, forgot half of what they were instructing me on, made some bitter and condescending remarks.  Still, everyone was convinced I was the one and only man for the job, and Christmas was just around the corner. 

“A week after my transformation, I was given a tour of the reindeer stables.  My pre-Santa reputation was already well-known to the animals, compounded by my continued lack of deference to the task after my physical form changed.  I was disrespectful to my subjects, so they had no respect for me either.  That night, the reindeer called me names.  Like ‘The Reluctant Santa.’  ‘Kris Kringeful.’  And another one I won’t say out loud, but it rhymes with ‘Saint Nick.’  

“I was on one corner of the stable, while the reindeer were at the opposite corner, mocking and taunting me.  It was like the straw that broke the reindeer’s back.  There was this… sturdy, wooden bucket on the ground right in front of me.  In one giant outburst of anger and rage, I kicked it, toward the center of the enclosure, with the toe of my boot.  Not at anything or anyone… I just… did it.

“I didn’t mean to kick it as hard as I did.  I swear I didn’t, Ashley.  But the bucket went airborne like a projectile, way past the middle of the pen, and straight into the herd, striking Dancer right in the abdomen, bruising several of her ribs.  

“I will never forget the next few moments for as long as I live.  

“You know how certain animal groups will protect the individual members of their herd at any cost?  Well.  Nobody, not even Santa Claus, can override that instinct.  All of the other reindeer came at me with an aggression I never thought possible in domesticated animals.  I was knocked to the floor.  I retreated backwards toward the exit on my feet and elbows through straw and manure, my stomach quivering like a bowlful of jelly, the herd pressing in even closer to get to me.  I couldn’t get the latch open from where I lay.  Three stable hands on the other side managed to get the gate open and drag me out of there, right before the first antler was set to impale me.

“That little incident finally convinced The Council that, maybe, I wasn’t fit to be Santa Claus.  You think animal cruelty is aggressively prosecuted here in America?  In Centrum Spatium, the crime is like one level below manslaughter.  I was cuffed, led away covered in poop and hay, and placed back in confinement once again.  

“The Council was quick to decide my fate.  They had to be.  Christmas was now just days away.  I was stripped of my Santa title, but not my transformation.  My punishment was to spend the rest of my natural life under house arrest, imprisoned at the North Pole.  But housed inside the most lavish estate you could ever think of.  Being waited upon and given whatever food and amenities I asked for.  

“But I resisted, yet again.  My captors escorted me toward the detention house accompanied by only a light garrison, thinking they had broken me.  I caught them off guard, broke free, managed to escape, making my way to The Sleigh Garage.  I commandeered the actual Santa sleigh that was meant to be used for last year’s global visit, complete with a Santa sack that was already on board.  The only other possessions I had to my name were the 5 Golden Rings from my Santa induction.  

“After escaping, I hadn’t thought about what I would actually do, once I reached Homo Sapiens civilization.  As I traversed across our border into yours, I decided that my goal would be to blend in with your culture, your people.  Start a new life for myself as one of you.  My hope was that, by associating with as many humans as possible, my captors would not dare come after me, for fear of exposing our people’s presence to your world and altering the intended timeline even further.  

“Then I crashed my sleigh in the storm.  If not for Jake and Yon just happening to be driving by at that exact moment, I would have certainly died.  I was now at the mercy of the Homo Sapiens.  After your people tended to me and I recovered, I sold my rings, roughly a year’s wage, to help start my new existence, find an apartment, get a job.  But I never expected to fall in love with this place.  The animals and the people, seeing the good in things for the first time in my life.  

“The longer no one came to ‘take me back’ to Polus Septentrionalis, the longer I was convinced that I was in the clear.  I became more and more content to simply live out the rest of my natural days as an old man, in this beautiful nation I now found myself adopted into.  But then, as a new winter approached, I started asking myself, ‘Am I being short-sighted?  Are they simply waiting to collect me the following Christmas Eve, at the same time my successor Santa makes his yearly journey?’  

“And then, around that same time, you happened. 

“I never dreamed I’d meet somebody like you, Ashley.  That I would get, even just a taste, of what true, twenty-something love and camaraderie felt like, with you and your circle of friends.  But I realized I’d taken things too far, if I am to be taken back this year.  The closer we got to Christmas Eve, the more paranoid I’ve become.  I realized that my disappearance would probably leave you bitter and confused.  Or worse, that The Council could wipe your minds clean, you and your friends, so that I never even existed in your thoughts and memories any more.

“That’s why I’ve been staying away so much lately.  Hence the email I wrote.  I felt, should the worst happen, at least you would always have something to remember me by, knowing just how much you’ve meant to me.  

“Yet, the harder I’ve tried, the more you’ve stayed.  When you discovered my email early, I realized there was just no more hiding the truth from you.  But tonight… seeing just how hard you’re willing to fight for me… something just clicked in me.  Makes me want to fight back too.  For my freedom.  My youth again.  Fight to not see my new friends have their precious memories of our times together wiped from their brains.  And in doing so, I took advantage of you tonight.  By tricking you into telling me you wanted this case file for Christmas.  To aid in my defense against The Council, who took so much away from me.  

“I’m so sorry, Ashley.  I never meant to hurt or mislead you.  I didn’t want this season to ever end.  Now, I fear… matters are even worse.”

Ashley pursed her lips, looked away for a brief moment and then looked back at her friend.

“I forgive you,” she said.  

“What?” replied Smokey.  

“I forgive you.  And I believe you.”  The woman took in a deep breath.  “Despite what seems impossible, what goes against all human rationality and reason… something deep inside of me… believes you.  I’ve witnessed the goodness in you, the good man you have become.  You’re not that person you used to be in that story.  Not anymore.”  

“I will help you,” she continued.  “I will help you get back the years that were taken from you.  Starting with discovering the secrets contained in that book.” 

“Ashley, I don’t know what to say-”

“Shhhhh,” Ashley replied, guiding Smokey’s hand and placing it on her chest.  “Don’t say anything.  Just sit with me awhile.  Feel the beat of my human heart.  Feel your burdens lifting.  And rest in the knowledge that I care deeply for you, Smokey.”

Smokey nodded and rested his head on her shoulder, as Ashley sang a softened version of “Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella.”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking-” said Jaroslav. 

“That you’ve lost your mind?  If so, then yes,” replied Patarra.

“Just help me get this file drawer onto the table!”  

With their emergency request form approved, the pair had now infiltrated the core of the National Archives of Polus Septentrionalis.  The accumulated dust was stifling.  

“Oof.  This thing is heavy,” coughed Patarra.  “I’ve never been this deep in the archive before.”

“Consider yourself privileged.  Very few have seen what you now see,” replied Jaroslav, rummaging through the documents that were placed before him.

“Sir, if by some Christmas miracle you’re right, and something in here is missing,” the woman pondered, “then someone in upper management is going to be kedge gutting and wassailing something fierce pretty soon-”  

“It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?”  

Jaroslav straightened up.  “The file.  That’s it.  The case file is the missing item that set off your alarm.”  

“Who?” asked Patarra.  “Whose name was on that file?” 

Jaroslav’s face contorted into an angry, Scrooge-like expression.  

“Smokey Doolittle!” he snarled.  

Ashley’s sweet lullaby was over, and a few more minutes passed in silence.  

“Sir, can I ask you a question?  What is your real name?” she asked.

Smokey’s brow furrowed.  “I was destined at birth to become the next Santa Claus.  So I was titled ‘Santa Claus The Seventh, of The Seventh Dynasty’ from the moment I left my mother’s womb.”  

Ashley lowered her eyebrows.  “That’s not a name.”

“No.  It’s not a name.”

The woman waited for more information, but got nothing.  

“So you’ve lived your entire life like that,” she concluded, more saddened than angered.  “Not having a real name.”

“Until last year,” replied Smokey, a faint smirk forming on the right side of his mouth, “thanks to the efforts of a precocious chickadee named Saw-Whet.”  

Several more seconds of quiet ensued, save for the ticking of the wall clock on the other side of the room and the faint buzz of festival frivolity down the street.

“Can I tell you something?” said Ashley, sporting a far-off expression.  “No matter what happens from here on out, to me, you will always be Smokey Doolittle.”

Ashley’s words were the last things to hit the side of Smokey’s emotional dam before it burst.  Sobs came out in deep, painful heaves, as his face twisted into an earth year’s worth of anguish, captured in one moment of time.  Ashley’s lips parted, compassion washing over her.  She pressed his face up against her bosom and placed a small, sweet kiss on the top of his bald head, as the flood of tears continued to roll down the man’s face and onto her lap.  

Words were over.  This was enough.

Clutching two National Archive keys between his fist, Santa Claus The Eighth, of The Eighth Dynasty, stood staring out the window at the torrential storm, his back to his two employees.  His bright eyes twinkled, his nose wrinkled, but he was anything but merry.  

“Santa Claus The Seventh,” he chortled.  “The shortest Santa dynasty of all time.  Couldn’t even make it to his first Christmas.”  

“Actually, he goes by the name ‘Smokey Doolittle’ now,” clarified Jaroslav.

The old man craned his neck around.  A deep, belly laugh came from the darkest part of him, like a cobra surveying its prey, just before it strikes.  “Heh, heh, heh, heh!  I like it!  It’s clever!  Kinda rolls off the tongue.”  Santa’s gaze returned to the blizzard outside.  “So now, he has a classified file of his own records in his possession because…?”  

“Because some naïve, meddlesome, Homo Sapiens female asked him for it for Christmas,” replied Jaroslav.  

Santa Claus The Eighth swiveled around, annoyance written across his face.  The cobra struck.  

“I already know that…!  But why does he want it?”  

“He must be trying to find some sort of loophole to seek revenge and regain control of Polus Septentrionalis,” concluded Jaroslav.

“He won’t find any,” the man quickly added, before Santa could react.  

Santa Claus smirked, as his rosy cheeks turned fire engine red.  “Yes, well, I should hope not.  So.  You bring me this… news… five days before I’m to disembark so that I can… have words with him when I get to his place?”  

“I don’t believe The Council had any sort of contingency plan for this exact event occurring, Mr. Kringle.  We are in uncharted territory here.”  

Santa shook his head.  “So you really did come up here without a single plan or idea on how to address this slip-up.  No matter.  Fortunately for you and your staff, I do have a plan in mind.  You ready for it?”  

Jaroslav hesitated for a second, not realizing at first that Santa was awaiting an actual answer.  “Yes?  Mr. Kringle?”  

“We’re going to do nothing.”  

“Sir?”  

Santa Claus The Eighth elaborated.  “Just step back for a moment, Jaroslav, and put yourself in Smokey’s shoes.  He knows what he’s done, he knows we’ve been alerted, he knows he has five days maximum before a confrontation occurs.  Is he going to wait it out?  Not a chance.  Not while he still has a working sleigh in his possession.”

Patarra swallowed hard and spoke up.  “Sir, pardon my ignorance-”

“I told you not to speak!” cried Jaroslav.

“I’m sorry,” she continued.  “But shouldn’t the stolen sleigh have been deactivated immediately upon it being reported stolen a year ago?”

Santa’s head bobbed a couple of times.  “Weeelll… vehicular theft works a bit differently than small claims court, Miss…” 

“Cranbury, sir,” replied Patarra.  “Patarra Cranbury.  Swing Shift Manager, Planetary Surveillance.”  

“Ms. Cranbury.  Jaroslav, could you please enlighten our inquisitive, young prodigy?”  

“Yes, sir,” replied Jaroslav.  “By the time the theft was identified, and the disarray that The Council was thrown into, the Homo Sapiens had already placed the sleigh in one of those storage units they built.”

“And, as everybody knows, my dear Patarra,” added Santa, “Polus Septentrionalis command signals can’t penetrate through steel.”  

Patarra’s eyes widened.  “Ah!  So, you won’t go to him, he will come to us!  Of his own free will, no less!”

Santa looked to the guards, dressed like toy soldiers, who stood at attention against the far wall.  “Somebody give that woman a promotion to Director!”  He then snapped his head back toward Jaroslav.  “Yeah, I’m not kidding about that, by the way.” 

“Yes, Mr. Kringle,” replied Jaroslav.

“And would you please stop calling me ‘Mr. Kringle?!’  I sound like balled-up wrapping paper!  I’m just… plain… Santa.”  

“What will you do when he gets here, Santa?” asked Patarra.  

The king mayor of Polus Septentrionalis returned to his position at the exterior window.  “Well, Director Cranbury, as much as I am not looking forward to arguing legalese with a rogue Homo Dares, I’d much rather get it over with sooner than later.  And here, at my own home office.”  Santa’s eyes narrowed.  A crooked, dastardly smile emerged from his face.

“You just keep doing what you do best for the next few days, my dear.  I’ll take it from here.”  

Chapter 18

The following morning, Freddie agreed to meet with Smokey and Ashley at the law office where Freddie worked for his father.  His father was in court all day, leaving only the son to run things at the small firm.  

After a few introductory pleasantries between the trio, the documents that Smokey translated into English and Ashley printed, were plopped down in front of the young man.  

“What’s this?” asked Freddie.

“It’s a story,” replied Smokey, opening the book to a specific section.  “A story in which… I’m looking to write the next chapter of.”  

Freddie took a brief scan over the pages in front of him, each line invoking more confusion and curiosity than the last.  

“A fiction story?” he asked.

“What we need to know, Freddie,” said Ashley, “as preposterous as this all looks and sounds, is how a defense lawyer like you, would attempt to handle a case like this.  Hypothetically, of course.”

Freddie flipped through the rest of the pages and then put his hand face down on the whole document.  “Look, why are you asking me to review this?” he asked.  “I’ve so much work to do before Christmas-”

“Smokey… asked for you by name,” replied Ashley.  “Because he considers you his friend.  And he needs your help.”  

The young man opened his mouth again to speak. 

“And Freddie,” Ashley continued.  “I’m asking you to do this.  For me, as my friend.  Without understanding why for the immediate moment.”  

That was enough for Freddie.  “In that case, of course, Ashley,” he replied.  “I’ll have an answer for you two by the end of work day today.”  

“Thank you,” said Ashley.  

“Thank you, Freddie,” agreed Smokey.  

The three stood up.  Smokey shook Freddie’s hand with a firm, confident handshake, and Ashley hugged her elementary school friend in a warm embrace.

After work, Ashley picked up Smokey from the grocery store, where the two proceeded toward the law firm to pick up the original printed documents and Freddie’s legal evaluation.  While still confused, skeptical and highly concerned, the young defense lawyer was also optimistic, believing that “a case” could be made, especially surrounding the harsh and excessive sentence that was being demanded by the prosecution.  

“Where to now?” asked Ashley, sitting back down behind the wheel of her small but luxurious 2027 sedan and turning to Smokey.

Smokey instructed the woman to drive toward Whitefish Lake.  There, he said, they would find the sleigh he confiscated, which was locked up in a car and RV storage facility.

A cold front was predicted for that evening.  The wind and snow had picked up, and temperatures were dropping fast.  Conditions were beginning to get treacherous again.  Visibility had deteriorated by the time they reached the gate to the facility.  Ashley entered the gate code as Smokey instructed, and it opened with an icy grinding of gears.  Taking the first right, the sedan fought against the icy surface, making its way past several units, until reaching its final location.

Smokey stepped out of the vehicle and made his way to the locked door, snow now blowing hard enough to freeze his face in moments.  Ashley parked the car and ran over to where he was, and the two pulled up on the unit door together.  Even in the insufficient light, the beautiful brass railings, red plush seating, and sleek design of the sleigh could be made out.  

“If we work together, we should be strong enough to get this out into the open!” shouted Smokey over the storm.  

“What about the snow?” cried Ashley.  “The standing snow is several inches high as it is, with more coming down by the second!”  

Smokey grabbed the snow shovel at the back of the unit.  “Don’t know why I bought this on clearance last summer, but I’m glad I did!  Just give me a minute!”

Soon, Smokey had cleared enough area to make it possible to get the sleigh into the alleyway.  The two pushed it from behind with relative ease, sliding it completely out into the storm.  

  “Don’t we have to have reindeer first to make this thing work properly?!” exclaimed Ashley, talking into the wind.

“No, they do that mostly for effect!” replied Smokey.  “Just help me turn this thing ninety degrees, so that I have a runway to takeoff down this alleyway!”  

“Wait!  Wouldn’t shutting down this stolen sleigh remotely been one of the first things the North Pole would have done last year?”  

“Well, no, by the time it would have taken The Council to vote in favor of doing that, the sleigh would have been stored in this unit already!  And, as everybody knows, North Pole command signals can’t penetrate through steel!”  

“Right!  Everyone knows that…!” snarked Ashley.  

The woman pranced back to her own vehicle, opened up her trunk and pulled out a fully-packed, powder pink weekender duffel.

“What are you doing?!” exclaimed Smokey.  

“I’m coming with you!” cried Ashley.

“Out of the question!  They won’t let you past the Arctic Circle, much less The North Pole!”

Ashley put her fists on her hips and barreled out her chest.  “Look.  If they’re just going to scramble my brain anyway to make me forget you, then you better believe that I’m going to support you and help in any way I can, as your friend, while I can still remember!  If they don’t want me there, they’re going to have to send me back themselves!”  

The wind howled even louder in defiance.  

“I’m not asking, Smokey,” she added.

The old man was speechless.  “Yes, ma’am!” he replied finally.  “But first, you should park your car inside the storage unit where the sleigh used to be, so it’ll be safe!”  

“Promise you won’t leave without me!”  

“I give you my word, Ashley!  I will not leave without you!”  

Smokey took a long, hard, reconsidering look over at the sleigh, as Ashley reentered her car, restarted it, then drove it into the now-empty storage unit.  

Then she emerged from the unit.  A confused look formed on her face.  

Smokey’s form could still be seen through the storm, reaching for something in his pocket as he approached.  The woman slammed the storage door with a metallic clang, and rejoined her friend.  The old man handed her his only key to the shed.  

“In case you never see me again!” he shouted over the screaming winds.  

Ashley sniffed and pouted, her lower lip protruding into a crimson arch.  She wanted to reply, but no words came to mind.  

The old man snapped his head to the left.  “Hop in!” he said.

The dashboard of the sleigh was a maze of foreign characters mixed with alphabet letters, dials, switches and a large lever.  Smokey operated the startup procedures with proficiency, but then seemed to become lost in his thoughts.  He hesitated.  

“Smokey?” asked Ashley.  

“I got this, I got this,” Smokey replied, clicking several buttons already being buffeted by snowflakes.  “Okay.  Shields.  Cabin temperature.  Cloak.”  

Nothing happened.  The temperature was dropping even faster.

“S-s-so how do you start this thing?” asked Ashley, shivering.  “Night Before Christmas-style?”

“Uh… yeah.  Okay, here goes… uh… now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and… and…?”  

Ashley craned her neck to the left in disbelief.  “Vixen?!”

“Right.  Vixen.”

“Oh my goodness…” Ashley whispered, cupping the right half of her face with her right hand and placing her freezing left hand under her warm, right armpit.  

Smokey continued.  “On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen!”

The sleigh remained parked in the alleyway.  

“M-m-m-maybe it’s something different,” said Ashley, her teeth chattering.  

Smokey turned to her.  “Do you happen to know the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne?”

But before Ashley could express her incredulity, the front of the sleigh lurched upward, powered by some sort of mechanism underneath.  Smokey tapped a few buttons to right it, and the vehicle was now elevated a couple of feet off the ground.  

“Main power is back online,” said Smokey, as he clicked the Shield, Cloak and Cabin Pressure buttons again.  An invisible barrier enveloped them, suitable for travel and climate comfort.  “70 degrees fahrenheit okay for you, my dear?”  

“71,” replied Ashley.  “I run c-c-cold.”  

Smokey chuckled.  “71 it is, my dear.  You’re going to want to sit down.  Prepare for takeoff.”  

With a few more muscle memory button presses, Smokey pulled the main lever, and the sleigh blasted forward down the makeshift runway, picking up speed and altitude.  

“Next stop, Polus Septentrionalis!  The North Pole!” cried Smokey.  His companion nodded in astonishment, her eyes filled with wonder that what was happening was truly happening. 

Patarra was already on her third cup of capulus, on that evening of anticipation, when the king mayor approached her desk.  

“You called me?  Is Mr. Doolittle on his way?” asked Santa.  

Patarra nodded.  “Affirmative, sir.  Our radars have just picked up an unauthorized sleigh signature, now leaving Whitefish, Montana.  He’s activated the cloak, but I was able to upload his shield harmonics before he did.  We can track him all the way to landing.”

“Good job, director.  That’s definitely our man.  It won’t be long now.” 

A new alert popped up in the middle of the director’s monitor.

“Santa!” cried Patarra.  “There is another life form on the vessel!  A Homo Sapiens!”  

Santa lifted his chin.  “Is it the same woman from your Missing Items Report?”

“It is.  Ashley Sleddingbaum.”

The old man seemed surprisingly cavalier.  “Understood, director,” he replied.  “Just stay the course.  Let them both come without interference.”

Patarra’s eyelashes blinked several times in succession, but her lips remained sealed.

“Let me know again when they’re within ten minutes of our city limits,” Santa concluded.  “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Yes, sir,” muttered Patarra.

The director typed in a few more strokes onto her keyboard, as she thought long and hard about her next move, and if she should really do it.  She rose from her desk and headed in the direction of the king mayor’s office.

Santa Claus The Eighth had barely plopped his posterior back into the seat of his chair, when a knock came at the door.  “Come in?” he said.  “Yes, Patarra.  What can I do for you?”

“May I talk to you for a minute, Santa?” asked the woman.  

Santa sat up straight.  “Yes.  Of course.  Shut the door.  What’s on your mind?” he asked.

Patarra took one long, deliberate breath.  “Sir, I realize this will probably get me fired, after only just being promoted,” she began.  “But I must question your wisdom of allowing a Homo Sapiens to enter Polus Septentrionalis!  These are uncertain times we live in.  And in response, you’ve chosen to break one of the oldest rules since our city’s founding!  And worse, this action runs a terrible risk of wreaking even more damage to Earth’s currently patched-up timeline!  For a year now, ever since the fall of The Seventh Dynasty, we’ve all been anxious and nervous out there, Santa!  And I believe I speak for all my employees when I say that I just think we need some sort of explanation from you, to make us feel assured and confident that this Christmas train is back on track!”

The response was slow and chilling.  “Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh…”  

Whether it was meant to sound diabolical or not, Santa Claus The Eighth’s laugh could certainly have been interpreted as such.  He got up and approached his subordinate with a menacing gait, his fiery eyes reflecting the glow of the hearth.  Patarra tensed up, her petite frame dwarfed by his taller, stouter one.  

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and questioning me in this fashion…” he snarled.

The air was sucked out of the room.  For a few seconds, it was so quiet, you could hear a mouse stirring.  

“… But you can keep your job, Director Cranbury.”  

Patarra’s right hand shot up to her bosom.  A huge sigh of relief exited her lips.  

“These are indeed uncertain times we live in,” Santa continued.  “And in uncertain times, I need people right now who will give it to me straight.  Not ‘yes-men’ like Jaroslav and the rest of the absurd Council.  Yes… now I am absolutely certain I made the right choice by promoting you to director.”

“Thank you,” gasped Patarra.

Santa placed his hands behind his back and began pacing.  “Do you know why I prefer talking with children over talking with adults?” he asked.  

“No, sir,” she replied.  

“Because kids say what’s on their minds with no filters.  They’re innocent, direct, painfully honest… most of the time.  Except when they’ve accidentally broken their mama’s favorite cookie jar.  Adults on the other hand.  They never say what they really mean.  They speak in subtexts and half-truths, expecting others instead to pick up on their visual and verbal clues.  Well, if you ask me, subtext and nuance are for saps.  In my world, say what you mean, mean what you say, and you’ll experience a long, fulfilling career in my organization.  Just like I know you will, Patarra.  

“I say all this to you, because I want to provide you the reassurance you so desperately seek.  I read up on Ms. Sleddingbaum this afternoon.  And I gotta tell ya, this woman is incredible.  She displays the innocence, the honesty and the courage that I would only expect to find in humans half her age.  And the fact that she is willing to dive headlong into the unknown to help stand by her friend, tells me she will be more valuable to us in solving this problem, rather than exacerbating it. 

“How will my decision play out?  That remains to be seen.  Even Santa Claus doesn’t know the outcome on this one just yet.  But I’m asking you, and your employees, to take a leap of faith with me on this.  Because I have a feeling, by the time this nightmare is over, that woman is going to surprise us in ways none of us ever saw coming.  What do you say, Director Cranbury?  Do I have your support?”  

Patarra’s entire outlook and countenance had completely turned around.  “Yes, Santa.  You do,” she exclaimed, beaming with pride.

Santa touched his nose.  “Excellent.  You just wait and see.  Santa’s got your back, my dear.  Now, back to work, your employees need your support.”

The director was about to open the door again, when Santa called out from behind.  “Oh, Patarra?”

“Yes, sir?” she replied.  

“We have a digital copy of Smokey Doolittle’s records on file, do we not?”

“We do…”

“Shoot me over an email with those records.  I’d like to get reacquainted with my predecessor’s previous indiscretions before he arrives.”

“Right away, Santa.”  

Chapter 19

“Tell you more about me?  Golly, my life’s pretty plain, compared to yours, Smokey.”  

“Tell me anyway, Ashley.  Tell me how you became the extraordinary woman you are today.”  

The sleigh moved invisibly through the nighttime sky.  Ashley sighed, as she looked out over the dark countryside miles below, trying to readjust herself in her seat.  

“My very existence on this Earth is by the grace of God, and Him alone.  My birth was an unexpected blessing for my parents.  My mother was told that she would never be able to bear children, right around the time of my parents’ courtship.  My folks were devastated, of course, and yet my dad still loved my mom and married her all the same.  Not long after they wed, her condition worsened, and the doctors recommended that she get her parts taken out immediately.  Hysterectomy.  

“Two days before the scheduled surgery, my mom just got this strange feeling that she needed to take one last home pregnancy test.  The test came back positive.  She went to the doctor, and he confirmed.  She was pregnant.  I was born exactly nine months after she conceived, down to the doctor’s exact due date prediction.  There was no morning sickness.  No difficult pregnancy.  No premature labor.  The physicians told my mother it was a best case scenario pregnancy from start to finish, right down to the natural delivery.  Almost like I was meant to exist.  I was their miracle baby.  Healthy, strong and fully alive.

“That all changed the summer between my kindergarten and first grade years.  I became very sick and had to be hospitalized, down in Missoula.  My parents were wealthy.  But no amount of money could fix what ailed me.  I was dying.  My dad once told me that he and mom had been marginal Christians, but that event really propelled them to get serious about their faith, praying constantly for God to spare their only child.  

“I remember the night I was at my lowest.  I was by myself in my hospital bed.  I was awake, but I could feel myself slipping away.  And then it happened.  No clap of thunder.  No bright lights at Heaven’s gate.  Just this still, small voice calling out to me.

“Live.  I need you to live.  

“I fell asleep after that, and didn’t wake up again for a day and a half.  When I opened my eyes two mornings later, Dhargey, Freddie and Jake, my classmates from kindergarten, were standing over my bed, wide-eyed and smiling.  Dhargey’s parents had rented a van in Whitefish and brought them and their families down to see me.  You know those two-foot-by-three-foot Get Well cards?  Well, they and their families had gone around to all the kids that had been in my kindergarten class the previous school year, gotten them to sign my card, make doodles and drawings, and then brought it to me.  I knew right then and there that those three would become my forever friends, friends for life.  

“The rest is basically history.  My parents rededicated their lives to following Jesus, we all got baptized as a family at a local church.  I fully recovered from my sickness, regained my strength and them some, never got deathly ill again, and grew up into the healthy, God-fearing woman who sits next to you now."  

Smokey was mesmerized.  “And you didn’t think that was a worthy story to tell?  I mean, like… that’s amazing!  You’re amazing!”  

Ashley looked down and shook her head.  “It’s not about me, Smokey.  It’s about the great God that I serve and about the things He’s done for me.  This is my testimony.  I am the woman I am today, because I chose to believe in God and to follow His son, Jesus.  Don’t you understand?  Christmas isn’t about visits from Santa Claus and getting what you want!  Christmas is about Jesus and His birth, the very reason those all over the world celebrate this holiday every year!”  

Smokey Doolittle didn’t talk for a long time.  

“I want to try and understand,” he said finally.  “Tell me more about this God you serve.”  

Time passed.  Ashley had dozed off into a light slumber, while Smokey guided the sleigh manually toward their destination.  Then, in an instant, his com system lit up in the darkness.  Air traffic control had just deactivated the metropolitan shield, allowing the sleigh to cross the border into Polus Septentrionalis.  

“I thought you said there would be resistance,” yawned Ashley, coming to.  

“I thought there would be,” replied Smokey.  

The old man pointed ahead, recommending that Ashley fix her eyes on the massive patch of ice and bare earth that lay in front of them.  

The woman gasped.  

As they passed through an atmospheric cloak, an entire suburbia materialized out of thin air where bare ice used to be.  It was Christmas Town times twenty.  They were low enough now in elevation to make out twinkling lights of every color and brightness, not just on select structures, but on every structure.  Even the sparse, undecorated trees in that previously barren space seconds before were now filled with Christmas illumination and decorations.  It reminded Ashley of being on an airplane at night, watching the flight make its final approach into a winter wonderland.  Smokey spotted the lights of the runway he was authorized to land at.  Yellow, orange and red bulbs, Christmas tree lights large enough and powerful enough to alert descending aircraft, guided their way to a successful arrival.  Smokey landed the sleigh with ease.  

Once parked, the vehicle was swarmed by eight of Santa’s guards, all dressed in identical toy soldier uniforms.  An order was shouted by one of the soldiers for the intruders to shut off all engines, lower the climate control shield and depart the vehicle.  The night air hit Ashley’s face with ferocity, with frigid temperatures similar to the Montana winter scape they had just escaped from.  Ashley shuddered, placing her right hand on Smokey’s left.  

“Are they going to separate us?” she asked.  

Her question would be answered momentarily.  Smokey was taken into custody, leaving Ashley standing alone.  The head soldier glanced over at the woman and commanded her to accompany them to a yet-undisclosed location. 

As they were being led away, an incredulous Jaroslav stood at a distance, behind the window of a warm, first story, baggage handling room.  He folded his arms upon seeing the unprecedented pair of travelers, one being a Homo Sapiens.  

“It would appear that The Eighth Dynasty has taken leave of his senses,” The Chief of Inventory muttered to himself.

Chapter 20

On the snowy avenue just outside the airstrip, awaited two large, horse-drawn, covered sleighs.  Smokey was tossed into the first one with haste, followed by half a dozen of the guard, while Ashley was politely escorted into the second, accompanied by the remaining two sentries.  

Shields and climate controls were activated, like the ones on the flying sleigh, and the woman found herself readjusting once again to a much more agreeable temperature.  She dared not speak, for fear of unknown danger for her or her friend if she did.  Decorated houses and businesses zoomed by the traveling vehicles in a blur, buildings much like the decked-out neighborhoods childhood-Ashley and her family used to fancy.  It was a feast for the senses, but also a bittersweet enjoyment in dire circumstances.  

Ten minutes later, the horses arrived in the heart of Polus Septentrionalis, a large, seven block by seven block metropolis of government and commerce.  It highlighted the “corporate side” of Santa’s yearly pilgrimages into the dark world of the Homo Sapiens.  Smokey and Ashley disembarked their respective sleighs, at which time, Ashley ran over and latched onto the old man’s arm like a vice.

Reunited, they were next led to the entrance of one of the larger facilities, with a sign above the door reading:  “Santa’s Toyshop - Primary Center.”  Two more sentries stood watch at the pair of solid oak doors that led into the bustle of toy-making and gadget-forming.  The head guard of the entourage gave the signal, prompting the security team to turn and clutch the handles, pulling them back and exposing the brilliant lights inside.

All clanking, hammering and chiming came to a grinding halt the moment Smokey Doolittle entered the room.  Dozens of Santa’s workers were frozen in intrigue and amazement at the disgraced icon who had returned to their fair city.  The outcast slowly plodded his way toward the opposite end of the room.  Up three steps higher led to the velvet throne of Santa Claus The Eighth, who sat in his elevated perch and eyed his predecessor with an intrigue and curiosity similar to his workers.  While Smokey was making his way to the front, he felt a warm pair of delicate hands wrap around his right upper arm, as Ashley accompanied him, stride for stride.  Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, her moral support undeniable.  The progression did not come to a standstill until The Seventh Dynasty and The Eighth Dynasty were only inches away from each other.  Santa Claus The Eighth rose in a slow, menacing motion, meeting his predecessor eye to eye.  

“Welcome to Santa’s Workshop, Smokey Doolittle,” he said, a distrustful smile forming across his face, as he took in a deep inhalation from his corn cob pipe.

“Thank you, Santa,” Smokey replied.  

Santa Claus stretched his arms out wide, showcasing the room and its holiday brilliance.  “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?”

“Yes,” replied Smokey.  The shorter and conciser the answers, the better. 

The king mayor of Polus Septentrionalis turned his stiff neck slightly to the left.  “And what about you?  Lady Sleddingbaum of Whitefish, Montana?” he asked.  

“This place is more incredible than anything my childhood imagination could have ever dreamed it to be,” exclaimed Ashley, her face flushed, her pulse visibly pounding.

The king’s face beamed with delight.  “Well said, my dear!  My most earnest hope was to make it so.” 

The conversation paused for just a moment.

“So what now?” asked Smokey.  “Do I go straight to house arrest?”

Santa chuckled.  “Heh, heh, heh.  First, we talk.  I mean, after all, I haven’t seen you in a year.  And I’m sure you must also be famished, after skipping an Earth dinner to come here.  Come.  We’ll feast and chat in my Grand Dining Room at City Hall.”

The iconic, jolly figure took a step to his right.  The arrest guards approached, to resume their duties.  But Santa The Eighth waved them off, opting instead to take full responsibility for the monitoring and well-being of his “guests.”  

As the two old men and one young woman made their way outside, back into the heart of the city, Ashley’s senses reignited once again.  The sounds of Christmas carols could be heard in every which direction.  Yet, each cluster of carolers were singing the exact same song as all the other clusters, providing an otherworldly chorus unlike any she’d ever heard before.  As the trio walked a short journey, Ashley’s sense of smell went from fragrance to delicious fragrance, from the fresh scent of cinnamon and apples, to the savory aroma of vegetable stew, to the fragrance of peppermint sticks just beginning to cool.  And each business high rise and skyscraper was decorated to the nines in warm, inviting Christmas displays.  

In the exact geographical center of town was Santa’s Abode, a large, twenty-five-story structure, by far the tallest building in the city.  Santa narrated that there is where corporate employees worked, records were kept, and of course, where he himself slept, ate and ran his business.  Ancient Roman-esque columns rose up from ground to roof on all four corners, where boughs of pine needles, embedded with colorful lights and supported with hooks, circled the proud structures from top to bottom.  Each window was bordered with lights, while various, illuminated images of the Christmas season were displayed in many of them.  

Santa coughed, as he led the guests through the gilded front doors into the lobby.  Smokey shuddered at the familiarity of it all, while Ashley gawked at yet another wonder of architecture and holiday flair.  Arriving at the awaiting elevator, the trio entered, and Santa pressed “8” on the control panel, immediately next to a small, oak carving of a maid milking a cow.  

When the doors opened again, several Homo Dares employees of the Culinary Department were bustling through the main dining room, preparing for Santa’s arrival.  The head waiter bowed his head low and escorted the three to the King Mayor’s Table, an enviable location at the far end of the room, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the hamlet.  Upon sitting, Santa ordered the waiter to bring three waters and three hot, spiced, apple ciders, which the waiter promised to retrieve with haste. 

“I must admit, I’m a bit surprised to see you in this role, uncle,” said Smokey.  

“You shouldn’t be,” Santa replied.  “If you had actually ever read The Nicholas Rights, you’d know exactly that this is the way the line of succession should have gone.”  

The iconic old man took a deep sigh.  “Ah, Smokey… whatever are we going to do with you now?”

Before the conversation could continue, the head waiter and his server were already back at the table, placing down six coasters bordered with bronze, twisted wreaths.  With care, three water flutes were presented by the staff, along with three piping hot apple ciders, carried in steins covered with intricate holiday engravings.

“Don’t burn your tongue on the drink, dear,” Santa warned Ashley.  “You’re going to want every taste bud you have at the ready for this marvelous beverage and upcoming meal.”

“I can tell already,” replied Ashley.  “This cider smells divine.”  

Santa nodded to his staff to inform the chefs to begin preparation of the three-course feast.  As soon as they had retreated, his cell phone buzzed with an incoming call.  

The leader of The Eighth Dynasty sighed.  “My work here is never done.  Forgive the interruption for a second,” he said, taking the call.  “Santa Claus here.”

“It’s Jaroslav, sir,” replied the emotionless voice on the other end of the line.  “The sleigh has been impounded and will now undergo a full tune-up and restoration of its scrapes and dents.”

Santa smirked at his guests, as he muted his phone for a moment.  “‘Impounded.’  Why can’t he just say ‘returned?’  It’s not like the sleigh belongs anywhere else but here…”  He reestablished communications.  “Understood.  Santa out.”

There was a pregnant pause, as if nobody knew which one of them should speak next.  

“Are you going to erase my brain after this?” asked Ashley.  

“Ashley!” exclaimed Smokey, in morbid surprise.

Santa pursed his lips, but then relaxed his face muscles again, as he glanced over at Smokey.  “Lady Sleddingbaum doesn’t mince words, does she?  Good.  I like that in a person.  Well, my dear.  We don’t ‘erase brains.’  Everything you experience here in the next couple of days will be retained in your memory bank in some fashion or another.  Like a vibrant, lucid dream.  How you will eventually perceive your time here, however, has yet to be decided.”  

“Actually, my question was focused more toward remembering my friend,” clarified Ashley.  

The king mayor paused, to carefully consider his next words.  “Smokey will always be a part of you,” he said finally.  “No matter what his real-life, final verdict might be.

“Oh, but listen to me, getting ahead of myself again.  My prodigal nephew!  Why, now, have you returned to Polus Septentrionalis?”  

Santa Claus didn’t mince words either.  

“Surely you must already know, uncle,” said Smokey.

Santa gave a pedestrian nod.  “Ah, yes.  Yes.  Acquittal.”  He leaned forward.  “It’s a bit premature to guarantee that outcome, as I’m sure you are already aware.  Cruelty to animals is a highly serious offense, not to mention the lesser crimes you are accused of.”  

All three members of the party took a sip of water at the same time, unintentionally.  

The king mayor’s voice became grave.  “But acquittal is not the only reason why you came back, is it?” he asked.  

A shiver went down Smokey’s spine.  “Look, I just want to get back my previous life, and I think we’ve found evidence that would-”

“You want your old job back.”  Santa cut him off.  

Smokey blinked.  “No, sir.” 

“No?” 

Smokey’s head tilted to the side.  “No, sir…!” he repeated.  “I don’t want to be Santa Claus again!  No offense…”  

“None taken,” replied Santa, still appearing extremely confused.  “So then… why…?”

Smokey looked over at Ashley.  “I want my youth back again.  I want to be the young man that was thrown into that infernal machine against his will and transformed into something he was not!”  

Santa squinted.  “And…?”  

“After that, I wish to be returned to Earth.  To continue my exile, to live among the Homo Sapiens for the rest of my natural life, free from the fear of Homo Dares retribution and retaliation!”

“So you have returned, not to dominate, but to assimilate.  Into the Homo Sapiens culture.”  Santa Claus The Eighth stroked his ivory beard, with his eyes moving rapidly, processing the information he just received.  “What you ask may be an even greater improbability.  No Santa, no Homo Dares for that matter, has ever requested voluntary exile among the humans!”

“I’ve learned so much from them over the past year, uncle,” Smokey continued.  “In spite of the way most Homo Dares perceive the human race to be, I have come to realize the depths of their potential and their manifest goodness.  I mean, for all intents and purposes, I’ve pretty much assimilated proficiently into their culture already!”  

Santa fidgeted in his seat.  “I have a question for you, Smokey Doolittle,” he grumbled.  “Assuming you got your wish, what was your plan in explaining to people how you left Montana as an old man and then returned to Montana as a young man?”

There was yet another awkward pause.

“Golly, I… I really never thought that far ahead,” replied Smokey.

Santa Claus crossed his arms.  “Hasn’t that been your problem from the very beginning, nephew?  That you never think ahead?  That you never consider the potential consequences of your actions?”

The head waiter returned to the table, handed each person a course menu, and notified them that the very first course would be brought to them in just a couple of minutes.  The king mayor nodded approvingly, and the waiter was dismissed.

“Enough of these acrimonious banters and misunderstandings for the immediate moment,” said Santa.  “It is nearly time to feast and be merry.”  

Ashley was scouring over the fixed menu.  “You’re vegan?” she asked.

Santa put down his mug of cider and swallowed the sip which was in his mouth.  “Impressive observation, my dear!” he exclaimed.  “Yes, indeed.  In fact, every Homo Dares who lives here on Earth is either a fully-devoted vegan or a lacto-ovo vegetarian.”  

“How are you able to grow your food in such a harsh climate as this?”  

“Heh, heh, heh.  I love your inquisitive and curious nature, my dear.  Still so much like a child’s.  The food we grow here is able to withstand even the wildest of windstorms and deluges in the summer and frostiest of blizzards in the winter.  It thrives on the chaos, bringing forth the most bountiful harvests anywhere in the known universe, save Centrum Spatium.”  Santa paused.  “Some of the foods and ingredients you’re about to eat are not native to your home planet.”

And just at that moment, the first course was brought.  It was Winter Vegetable Soup, containing parsnips, carrots, leeks and a certain type of blue celery that Ashley had never seen before.

The woman’s eyes nearly teared up.  “Golly, sir.  I… I am so humbled, to be one of the only humans ever to be considered to partake in such a rare and exotic meal.  May we pray first?”  

Santa was taken aback by the request.  “Uh, of course, dear.  Of course.”  

The prayer Ashley prayed was heartfelt, earnest and sincere.  She prayed that God would bless the food to their bodies, giving them nourishment and strength.  She prayed for Smokey, that he would find favor with the people who would be determining his fate, and that he would find forgiveness from the people and the creatures he had hurt in the past.  And she prayed for Santa, for wisdom and loving leadership over those he presided over.  “Amen,” she concluded.  

“Amen,” repeated Smokey.  

“So be it,” replied Santa.  

About halfway through her Winter Vegetable Soup, Ashley began to notice a change in herself.  With every bite, it seemed like her mind was becoming sharper, more focused.  The warm sensation spread down to her face, beginning with her eye sockets.  She has always had perfect 20/20 vision, but even that appeared to be inexplicably improving.  She focused in on some tiny Christmas writing at the end of the banquet room, and the spoon nearly fell out of her hands when she realized she could read it perfectly.  The utensil collided with the side of the bowl, resulting in an unbecoming clatter.  

“Something the matter?” asked Santa.

Ashley’s face was flushed, but in a good way.  If there was a way to describe the polar opposite of alcoholic intoxication, she was experiencing it now.  

“It’s difficult for me to elucidate, Santa, but I feel like I’ve never felt this nourished before!  I am seized by the notion that my physique feels this much alive with vitality and efficiency!” she exclaimed.

Santa grinned.  “Yes, it’s true.  The foods grown on Centrum Spatium and here, at Polus, are of the most pure, the most natural, in the known galaxy.  99.8% of what you’re eating is gladly absorbed into your body as nutrients, with very minimal waste.”

“Surely, the dietary sustenance from your world exceeds any endeavors my neighboring microcosm could attempt to equal.”    

Santa was in awe.  “I have to admit, my lady.  Until tonight, I was not fully aware what effect Homo Dares food might have on a Homo Sapiens mind and body.  Hearing the increased eloquence of your native language suggests heightened activity in the Wernicke’s area of your brain, as a direct result of this meal.  Seeing you respond in this way, Ashley, reminds me of what we Homo Dares take for granted, each and every day.”  

Ashley attempted to tone down the increased eloquent language.  “This food is extraordinary, Santa.  Quite extraordinary.  Are your candies and cookies the same way?”  

The king mayor laughed out loud.  “Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!  Nice try, my dear!” he chortled.  He then turned to his nephew.  “And what about you, Smokey?  How’s real food taste after an entire year?”  

Smokey’s face showed irritation, almost offense, by the question.  But he kept his composure.  “Real food?  Oh.  You are quite mistaken, sir.  During my time away, I’ve had Homo Sapiens delicacies unlike any other I’ve ever tasted!  Originating from places as far away as Mexico and Bhutan!  I’ve never been left longing in that department, uncle.”  

Santa nodded.  “Fair enough.  But probably not as good for you.”  

 

The main course came next.  Santa Claus referred to the dish as “CS Wellington,” a vegan variation of Beef Wellington, whose filling consisted of a marriage of Centrum Spatium lentils and Earth mushrooms.  

“How are you feeling now, Lady Sleddingbaum?” asked Santa in passing, about halfway through the second course.  

Ashley’s eyes widened in anti-intoxicated glee.  “I can see the intricate textures on the walls on opposite side of this chamber, clearly, like they’re only a few feet away,” she moaned, her eyelids fluttering.  “If I focus…I can see the thread counts on this tablecloth with my naked eye now, like I can literally count them thread by thread… horizontally and vertically…”

“Astonishing,” commented the king mayor.  “What else?”  

“Honestly, I feel like I could run a marathon right now.  And my confidence is boosted… like I could make even the hardest of hearts to become a friend of mine.”

“And again, the food is so nutritious for you, my lady.  No ghastly addictions.  No long-term detriments to the human body.”

“Is this what being a Homo Dares feels like?” she asked, her eyes closed, a blissful grin on her face.

No one at the table had an answer.  No Homo Sapiens had ever eaten a Homo Dares meal before.  So there was nothing anybody could compare it to.  

Santa chuckled.  “We should name this phenomenon you are experiencing, Ashley.  Something that resonates with the exact opposite of intoxication and impairment.”  

“Jucundesobrius,” replied Ashley.   

“Come again?”

Even her accent was perfect.  “I noticed you use a lot of Latin terms,” the woman explained.  “‘Sobrius’ is Latin for ‘sober,’ while ‘jecunde’ is ‘delightfully.’  I am ‘delightfully sober.’”

Santa Claus laughed even harder, as he raised his cider stein.  “So be it,” he exclaimed.  “Here’s to being… jucundesobrius!”

The three clinked their steins together in a fleeting moment of solidarity.  

For dessert was Gelidare Root Millefeuille, another interstellar mashup, featuring French culinary gallantry and esculent Gelidare Roots from Centrum Spatium’s southern colonies.  

Gradually, the merriment began to wind down.  “I can’t eat another bite,” admitted Santa.  “I’m going to have to pace myself, if I have any chance of partaking in the Midwinter Day Brunch tomorrow.”

“Brunch?” inquired Ashley.  

“Mid Winter Day is a yearly tradition,” explained Smokey, “just like many of your countries celebrate it, Ashley.  The darkest day of the year, but with the hope and promise of brighter tomorrows.”  

“The entire city celebrates, my lady,” added Santa.  “And every year, Santa Claus hosts a lavish brunch and ball over at the Guthree Brinfalcon Banquet Hall, just a few streets over.  You and Smokey are invited, of course, in spite of his… detainment… awaiting his tribunal.”

  Smokey’s smile turned into a frown.  Almost as if on cue, he saw two toy soldier men enter the dining room and position themselves directly behind his chair.  

“Detention curfew?” grumbled Smokey.  

The soldiers nodded.  

Ashley objected.  “Is this really compulsory, Santa?  I mean, golly, would Smokey really come back here to face justice, just so that he could try to escape again?”  

“My loyal guards are only acting in accordance with our laws and regulations, Lady Sleddingbaum,” was Santa’s dry response.  “Believe me, if there was another way…”  

“It’s okay, Ashley,” interjected Smokey.  “I’ll be okay.  Think of the most luxurious hotel suite you can come up with, then multiply it by a factor of five.  That’s where I’ll be, until I am a free man again.”

As the prisoner turned toward the exit, Santa tensed up.  “I want you to think long and hard about something, nephew,” he said.  “The only reason you were a ‘free man’ for a year, and not swept away from that hospital bed by The Council last Christmas Eve, is because The Council said ‘no.’”  

Smokey was then led away, back into the elevator car they came in on.  He turned around to face the remaining two dinner participants across the room.  Ashley’s still-enhanced vision could see the unrest on his face.  The effects of the meal were still causing some unexpected variances in her normal conduct and demeanor.  Smiling, she used her two hands to make the sign of a heart against her bosom.  Smokey returned the hand gesture, just long enough for Ashley to see, before the elevator doors began to close.  She then appeared to mouth out some sort of endearment to him, but he couldn’t quite make it out before the doors shut completely.  

“‘Free man again,’” grumbled Santa.  “Just as arrogant as ever.”

Ashley noticed the old man’s face had turned the color of a freshly-painted fire hydrant.  

“Smokey is not arrogant,” she snapped, coming to her friend’s defense with an uncharacteristic outburst of overconfident defiance.  It was the Gelidare Roots talking, perhaps.  

“Consider it from my perspective, my dear.  First he renounces his title, and now he wishes to renounce his Homo Dares heritage?  To my face?”  

“No, it’s not like that at all, sir, he-”

“He needs to bridle his tongue.  If he wants the outcome he so desperately desires.”  The king mayor leaned in close to the Homo Sapiens female.  “There is so much you do not understand about us, Ms. Sleddingbaum.  I can especially sense that you don’t trust the Homo Dares legal process.  You need to.  And you need to trust me.”

Ashley bowed her head.  “Yes, Santa.  I will try.”

Santa pursed his lips.  “Your escort to your own living quarters will be here shortly.  I trust you will find your accommodations… incredible.”  His tone was dry and static.  All business.  

Before long, a young woman, not much older in appearance than Ashley, entered the dining room and made a swift journey toward Santa’s table.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” asked Patarra.

Santa leaned back in his chair.  “Yes, Ms. Cranbury.  Report.”  

Patarra was taken aback for a moment, but recovered nicely.  “Okay, um, we have no new anomalies on the global map.  My department’s final preparations are precisely on schedule for this year’s superincursion and maximum time dilation.”

“Excellent.  Thank you.”  

“Anything else, sir?”  

Santa got to his feet and directed Ashley to do the same.  “Yes.  Can you also please escort Lady Sleddingbaum to her guest housing?” he asked.  “I’ve arranged for her home to be the one all decked out in baby-blue Christmas lighting, near the bakery, in your home district.  You can’t miss it.”

“You want… me to escort her?” repeated Patarra.

“Yes.  Please.  That’ll be all, director, thank you.”  

“Yes, sir.  Um, Ms. Sleddingbaum?  Right this way?” 

Ashley was still feeling quite jucundesobrius from dinner, as she stepped back outside into the winder wonderland.  The previous cacophony of the city choir had now concluded for the night, leaving only a faint, musical rendition of “Silent Night” playing on some unknown Homo Dares stereo system throughout the entire city.  Ashley’s escort was quick to don her coat and point her finger to the north.

“The guest housing is only a short distance away from here, Ms. Sleddingbaum,” she said.

“Please, call me Ashley,” Ashley replied.  “And what is your first name, Ms. Cranbury?”

Ms. Cranbury rolled her shoulders in an awkward fashion.  “Patarra.”  

“It’s so nice to meet you, Patarra.  So, you work directly under Santa?”

“Not directly under, no.  I mean… not normally reporting… directly… to him.  I’m…  Director of Planetary Surveillance.”  

Ashley’s chin lifted up.  “Oh, wow.  Golly, you must be a busy woman around this time of year.”

“Well… yes, I…” Patarra looked over at the Homo Sapiens.  “My job title doesn’t bother you?”  

“Why should it?  It sounds like it’s your job to look after people.  To take care of them.  Isn’t it?”

“Well… yes, I suppose it is.”  The director pushed back the rim of her glasses.  “Wow.  Nobody’s framed it quite like that to me before.”  

They turned right at the next street and, just as Santa had promised, Ashley’s temporary residence stood proudly in all its dazzling, azure splendor.  Patarra tested the handle of the front door, and pushed it inward.  Festive lights immediately switched on at the presence of the two women now entering the dwelling.  

“Golly, this whole house is for me?” exclaimed Ashley.

“Yes,” replied Patarra.  “Fully furnished.  Everything you need is here.  Phone’s on the desk, if you need anything.  Linens, food, toiletries, clothing…”  

Ashley plopped her duffel down.  “This is amazing.  Thank you.”  

The director made a beeline for the door.  “Have a nice evening, Miss Sleddingbaum… I mean, Ashley.”  

“Thanks, Patarra.  Hey, before you leave.  Would you like to be my friend?”

Patarra froze in the entryway, halfway inside, halfway outside.  “What did you say?” she exclaimed, spinning completely around.  

“Would you like to be my friend?” Ashley repeated.  

“Why would you ask me a question like that?” cried Patarra.  “Th-This may be the only time we ever cross paths!  Plus, I’m… I’m different than you!”

Ashley shrugged.  “There’s nothing wrong with being different!” she replied.  “I just try and make friends with everyone I meet!  Sometimes, all you have to do is ask.”

Patarra’s face and neck twitched, as her brain attempted to process information that came across as completely foreign to her.  “No one’s ever outright asked me to be their friend before,” she said finally.  “Yes.  I think I would like that.”

Ashley beamed with delight.  “Me as well.  So, I have something for you.  Like you said, in case we don’t see each other again.  You’ll always have this to remember our friendship by.”  

The Homo Sapiens female bent down, unzipped the side pocket of her duffel and produced a quaint piece of jewelry she had made herself.  

“It’s called a friendship bracelet,” Ashley continued, pulling back the cuff of Patarra’s coat and placing the stretchy, beaded bracelet upon the Homo Dares’ wrist.  “Yours says, ‘TRU FRIENDS PROV 18:24.’  It’s short for ‘Proverbs,’ like in the Bible.”  

Patarra was speechless.  “Thank you,” was all she could manage.  

“You’re welcome,” replied Ashley.  “Have a warm and restful night, Patarra.”  

“You too, Ashley.”  

As the cottage door closed behind her, Patarra’s bracelet hand shot up to her bosom.  She was an intelligent woman, heart still malleable for new revelations.  She realized that when she got home, it might be necessary for her to reevaluate every prejudice she ever held about the human race.

Chapter 21

It was now December 21st.  There was no sunrise, no daylight, to greet the residents of Polus Septentrionalis on that day.  

In the darkness, a computer monitor blinked on.  A pair of fast-moving fingers pattered over the keyboard, like heavy rain on a tin roof.  

The king is mad, the monitor displayed.  Even having just typed this sentence into reality sent a twisted dopamine rush throughout the individual’s body.  

This insanity must end, starting today.

Ashley’s vanity mirror contained fifteen LED lights imbedded within the reflective surface, flanked by nineteen decorative gumdrops in various colors, including licorice, contained within a gingerbread-style frosting colored border.  Ashley was deep into her daily makeup routine, having just put down the mascara wand.  She applied a shimmering, silvery eyeshadow along her lids, before moving to write a dark gray pencil curve across her upper lash lines.  

She had just completed the final application of her berry-stained lipstick, when there was a ring at the door, bells chiming to the introduction of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”  

“Be right there!” Ashley cried, wondering if she had lost track of time.  

The woman opened the door, not to see the escorts that were to take her to the brunch, but The Director of Planetary Surveillance.  

“Patarra!” cried Ashley.  “Wha… Good morning!”  

“Good morning, Ashley,” Patarra replied, wearing her collared white work shirt and green overalls.  “Sleep well?”  

“Yeah!  I’m surprised to see you again so soon!  Golly, come in, come in!”

Patarra’s shoulders hunched up a bit as she stepped inside and held out a package.  “I brought you something.  A dozen candy canes, handmade from the local candy shop adjacent to Junior Employee Housing.  It comes from what I think is the best candy shop in town.”  

Ashley’s hand shot up to her bosom.  “Aw, for me?  That’s so thoughtful of you!”  

“They’re made with 100% Centrum Spatium Peppermint, grown locally here within the village.”

“Gosh, what an honor!”  Ashley opened the lid and gave the box a light shake, causing the closest confection to fall out into her free hand.  She broke off a small piece and placed it in her anticipating mouth.  “Mmm!  This is so yummy!” she exclaimed.  “It’s like I’m experiencing peppermint again for the very first time!”

Patarra blushed.  “I was hoping you’d like it,” she replied.  “Thought I’d stop by before heading to work for the day.”  

“Wait,” said Ashley.  “Aren’t you allowed to go to Santa’s Midwinter Day Brunch?” 

The director shook her head.  “No.  Wait, yes!  I’m a director now!”  But then Patarra shook her head again.  “But… no.  Wasn’t planning on it, it’s not really in my comfort zone.”  

Ashley was incredulous.  “But, Patarra, it’s your first opportunity as a manager to attend a real, actual, live ball and banquet!  It’s the stuff Jane Austen novels are made of!”

The Homo Dares’ eyes lit up.  “I’ve read those novels…!” she exclaimed.  “But still, I really don’t-”

“You could be the belle of the ball!  Wear a beautiful dress, make your face up all pretty…” 

Patarra cringed at the mention of cosmetics.  

“What?  You don’t like makeup?” asked Ashley.  

”I try to avoid it,” Patarra replied.  “The Homo Dares are more advanced than Homo Sapiens in most things, but cosmetology isn’t one of them.  The lipstick is always cherry red, and the eyeshadow only comes in three colors:  green, pine tree green and nebulae green.”

“What’s nebulae gree-”

“Eyeshadow so bright and shimmery, it blinds your guests.”

“Okay, but what about earthy tones that enhance your natural beauty?” asked Ashley.  

Patarra squinted.  “Earthy tones?  I’m not sure I understand you.”  

Ashley grinned, reaching for her makeup palette.  “I could show you right now… would you allow me the honor of doing a makeover for you?”  

“I… I don’t know…”  

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?  We have time.  The party’s not for a couple more hours, right?”  

“Yes…”

Ashley was kind, as always, but insistent.  “Sit down with me, Patarra.  Let me give you a makeover.”  

“Almost done, my friend,” said Ashley, reaching for the soft-rose lipstick.  “When I’m all through, you’re going to have every eligible male suitor in the city wanting your number.  Unless… you… already have that special someone in your life…?”  

Patarra sighed.  “Not really.  I mean… I don’t know… there is this one man…”  

Ashley’s eyes lit up.  “Ooh.  Go on…”  

“He’s the eleventh piper piping,” Patarra explained.  “Thom was the last one picked in the most recent draft, but he’s always radiated this grateful and humble attitude of just being chosen in the first place.  I think he’s also drawn to me.”  

“And are you drawn to him?”  

Patarra’s eyes shot upward.  “Well… when I think of him… my face gets warm, especially my cheekbones.  And something deep in my stomach… flutters.”  She looked away.  “But I don’t think it would work, Ashley.  My work schedule interfering with his full music rehearsal schedule…”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” replied Ashley.  “And there’s never been a better time than today to see where things go.  Have a look, see what you think.”

Ashley held up the compact in front of the director’s face.  It only took one glance in the mirror for Patarra to confiscate Ashley’s compact with both hands and hold it up to her face.  A sweet sigh of disbelief escaped her lips.  She batted her hazel eyes with the soft-brown eyelids shade, sensing the added weight of her voluminous, mascara-kissed eyelashes.  She moved her lips around in various positions, attempting to ascertain if the woman staring back at her was actually her.  A girlish squeak, and the brightest smile that Patarra had ever seen on herself, came next.  Her eyes became misty, not enough to form tears, but enough to unearth feelings within herself that had been buried since adolescence.  

“Well?”  asked Ashley.  

“He’s not going to know what hit him!” exclaimed Patarra, prompting chuckles in both ladies.  “I’m… beautiful!” she continued.  

“You’ve always been beautiful, Patarra,” said Ashley.  “All I did was enhance your natural beauty just a little bit.”  

“I… I have to write this makeup recipe down, so that I can do this for myself again and again and again!  I don’t know how to thank you!”  

“Say you’ll go to the brunch!”  

“Oh, I’m categorically going to this brunch, Ashley!”

The two laughed out loud, like they had been friends for years.  And when the escorts arrived to take Ashley to the boutique, so that she could be fitted for her dress for the lavish gala, Patarra tagged along one step behind her, eager to choose her own festive wear as well.  

On the complete opposite side of town, another individual was preparing for the Midwinter Day Brunch.  But there were no friends to greet Smokey, no banter among guys.  Only the guards and the pedestrian tailors who were obligated to be there, to prepare the prisoner for a momentary reprieve from his detention.  

The lack of conversation was deafening, after so many weeks of hearing the laughter and camaraderie of young voices around the Montana fire pit.  About halfway through being measured for his tuxedo, the old man asked, “How is Ashley?” to anyone who would acknowledge him.  One of the guards turned completely around, made an inquiry on his cell phone and then turned back around with nothing more than a nod.

“Hang in there, Ashley,” Smokey said to himself.  “We will be together again shortly.”  

The morning trip to the banquet hall was nearly identical as the night before, and just as dark.  Ample guards flanked the prisoner, while the horses knew the way to carry the sleigh.  Smokey let out a tired sigh.  More pomp and circumstance ahead, he thought, recalling the last several weeks once again.  The simple pleasures in proxy Homo Sapiens life had made an even greater impact on him than any life he had left behind in Polus Septentrionalis.  

Pomp and circumstance indeed.  No expense was spared to deck out the hall in gold and silver splendor.  No hyperboles could be assigned to the grandeur of what was the Midwinter Day Brunch.  It was factually breathtaking.  The arriving lords, ladies, dignitaries, directors, department heads, VPs and senior leaders of The Council and of royal lineage were dressed to the nines in the most regal of garments.  

Santa Claus the Eighth had already left explicit orders to the banquet participants not to confront his predecessor in any negative way, to treat him as an honored guest, just as they were Santa’s honored guests.  Even then, the room temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees, spurred on by many an icy stare, the moment Smokey entered through the oak double doors.  A traitor.  An enemy to animals.  A sluggard and a glutton.  A wretch. 
An outsider.  

“Welcome, my dear nephew!” cried Santa.  “How was your night?”  

“Restless,” was Smokey’s brutally honest reply.  

“Ah, well, of course!  Who can sleep when there is a banquet such as this just over the horizon?” the king mayor said with a coy smirk.  

“Where’s Ashley?”  

“Most peculiar decorum your friend has,” replied Santa.  “Lady Sleddingbaum went up the staircase a while ago and began mingling with the second-floor food staff.  Once she heard that pies would be prepared, she hurried off to see if she could assist in that occupation.  I tried to tell her that the pies would most likely be in the ovens by then, but she didn’t listen…”  

“I am so sorry for my friend’s conduct, king mayor,” began Smokey.  

Santa shot up a hand.  “Actually, I find her highly refreshing,” he replied.  “Lady Sleddingbaum is an everyman’s lady.  Elitism is not in her vocabulary.  And yet, if she were a Homo Dares, even a commoner, I’d still make her an honorary royal myself.”  He pointed up and to his left.  “Ah.  Here comes the lady now.”  

Smokey took one look at Ashley, and the outside world faded away.  She had just reached the port stairs leading down to the main ballroom.  Her exquisite, velvet, forest-green top matched perfectly with her maroon, brocade fabric, crinoline skirt with gold and silver accents.  Around her neck was a simple diamond necklace with a gold chain, not gaudy in design or carat number, as she would not have it so.  Descending the staircase in heels and crinoline was not an easy feat, but she glided down in slow, careful steps, making sure not to stumble.  

“I’ll leave you to your party,” said Santa to a thunderstruck Smokey.  The king mayor retired to another section of the ballroom.  

Ashley was prim and proper in her descent, but once she reached solid ground, she ran up to her friend and wrapped her arms around his neck.  “Smokey,” she breathed, giving no additional salutation.  

The old man sighed in relief, wrapping his arms around her waist.  “Ashley,” he replied, before his eyes migrated a few inches downward.  “Ashley,” he said again.  

“Yes.  It’s me.  What is it, Smokey?”  

“You’ve got flour on your neck.”  

Ashley blushed.  “Oops.  Guess I should have checked one more time before leaving the kitchen.”  

Smokey reached into his tux pocket and pulled out a silver handkerchief.  “With your permission, my lady?”  

“Permission granted, my liege.”

A couple of dabs with the dry cloth, and the offending ingredient had been removed.  It was right at this time that the orchestral music changed as well.  Smokey’s and Ashley’s arms were already in the perfect positions.    

“May I have this dance?” asked Smokey.  

“You may,” replied Ashley, beaming.  

Smokey Doolittle had never slow danced with a woman before.  He was unable to take his eyes off of her flawless visage.  Meanwhile, Ashley’s expression was one of curiosity, intrigue and a bit of unrest, not toward her dance partner, but in regards to the goings on about the party.  

“What’s happening over there?” she asked, her eyes darting to the numerous ladies flanking The Eighth Dynasty.  

Smokey rolled his eyes.  “A couple of the milk maids and dancing ladies,” he replied.  “Trying to drop hints at wanting to become the next Mrs. Claus.”

Santa Claus The Eighth appeared to excuse himself as politely as he could, before leaving the ballroom altogether.  

“Your uncle’s not like Santa Claus,” Ashley commented.  

“He is Santa Claus.”

“I mean, not like the one we see in books and sing about.”

Smokey bobbed his head a couple of different directions.  “He’s… not displeased with the arrangement, I don’t think.  More shock than dismay, I gather…”

“Is he a Royal?” asked Ashley.  “Like you?”

“A Royal?”  Smokey laughed out loud.  “No, he was a janitor!”

“A janitor?”

“Head Day Custodian over at the aviary.  Swans, Geese, French Hens, Turtle Doves…”

“Partridges?”

“Exactly.  His choice, his free will to take up that occupation.  Nevertheless, I studied up on our North Pole bill of rights last night, and he’s correct.  He is the rightful successor to the Santa dynasty in these circumstances.”  

Smokey’s face fell.  “I am 100% to blame for his predicament,” he continued.  “I didn’t consider or care who took over for me, I was only thinking of myself and my desires to get away from this place.”  

“Do you think he preferred his job as custodian, to this?” asked Ashley.

Smokey pondered.  “I don’t know…” he said finally.

Just then, Ashley’s eyes met Patarra’s several yards away.  She was dancing with a tall, dashing musician, in full marching uniform and with a shiny brass instrument in the holster of his belt.  They were swaying to the music, cheek to cheek.  The female Homo Dares’ eyes widened just a millimeter or two, her countenance brighter than the room itself.  Her mouth grinned wide toward her new Homo Sapiens friend one more time, before she returned her gaze to her enamored, male admirer.  

“Way to go, girl,” murmured Ashley.  

“Who’s that?” asked Smokey.  

“That’s Patarra Cranbury.  The new friend I made last night.  And I’m pretty certain that’s Thom, the guy she has eyes for.”  Ashley batted her eyelashes, looked down and sighed.  “If they do decide to wipe my brain, at least I can feel assured at this moment that I made a difference in at least one person’s life, regardless.”

“The tribunal hasn’t even started yet, Ashley.  This could turn out better then either of us could have possibly dreamed.”  

“Don’t say ‘dreamed,’” interjected Ashley.  “Dreams is what Santa insinuated my perception of these moments will turn into.”  

“You just have to keep praying and hoping for the best.  While you still can in the now.”  

The young woman pressed her quivering lips together.  “Right.  Gotta focus on why we came here.  Have to keep praying and hoping.”  The trembling that was in her lips had now spread to the rest of her body.  

“Smokey, I can’t stand to think of the alternative if we fail.”  

Smokey shuddered too.  “Ashley, we have to prepare for all possible outcomes-”

“No.”  Ashley’s voice was beginning to carry.  “I don’t want to forget any of this, especially you!  No, I would fight back.”  

“Ashley-”

“I’m strong.  Even if they ruled against you, I would fight back with every last ounce of strength I had… to remember you, Smokey.”

Smokey could feel his partner’s body stiffen up like a board.  He tried to bring the volume back down.  “As much as I don’t want this dance to end,” he said, “you’re right, Ashley.  We need to fight.  We need to start preparing now, for what’s about to happen to us.”  

“What do you propose?” asked Ashley.  

“Santa the Eighth has retired to his office for a time.  Maybe right now is a good time to seek an audience with him.  Maybe he can help us.”  

 

Chapter 22

“Smokey!  Lady Sleddingbaum!  Come in, come in!”

Smokey detected the deceptive cheerfulness in Santa Claus’ tone the second he walked through the door, as The Eighth Dynasty eyeballed the entourage.  Smokey was flanked by his two detention guards, who had crept up behind him somewhere between the ballroom and Santa’s office.  Slightly behind them and to the left was Ashley, scraping her fingernails along the brocade fabric of her structured ball gown skirt.  Smokey and his guards entered the room with no difficulty, while the beautiful, blonde maiden attempted to traverse the doorway with a crinoline that was wider than the width of the entryway.  And yet, she somehow managed to make clumsy look elegant.  One guard moved to the opposite entryway of the study, while the Whitefish Montana defendants stood in the center of the room.  

“I take it your stay in Polus Septentrionalis continues to go well, my lady?” said Santa, remaining on his side of the desk with the computer.  

“Golly, it’s been like sensory overload, ever since I arrived!” exclaimed Ashley.  “Great food, amazing people…”  But then her countenance fell.  “I just don’t like the way you’re treating Smokey.”

Santa frowned and nodded his head.  “I apologize that the… arrangements… for my honored visitors are less than ideal.  The good news, however, is that this arrangement won’t last for much longer.  I’ve just been informed by Triginta, my Chief Legal Aide, that the tribunal has been set for this evening, 5PM, Alaska Standard Time.”

“Today?!” exclaimed Smokey.  

“Yes.  Your reemergence, nephew, so close to Christmas once again, has caused a fairly big stir in our quaint little hamlet.”  The glare of the monitor magnified the cracks and crevices of Santa’s aged face.  “So.  What is it I can do for you two?”

“We were wondering if we could borrow your computer,” replied Smokey.  “Especially now, that I know we have so little time.”

Santa cocked his head and puckered his lips, resembling the image of an aged pufferfish.  “I see,” he said.  “Well.  It’s not really customary for Santa to give unfettered internet access to someone awaiting his tribunal.  But… of course.  I’m certainly willing to help look up any information you think might be beneficial for your defense.”

The king mayor beckoned for his two guests to join him on his side of the desk.  Smokey stood to the right of him, while Ashley stood behind, between the back of Santa’s chair and the towering window behind her, the only place where her crinoline would fit.  Smokey made a recommendation of which internet document he wanted to begin with.  Santa entered a few keystrokes, and The Constitution of the Kingdom of Centrum Spatium appeared on the screen.  Ashley would have to take Santa’s word for it, because the document was in the same beautiful, but completely foreign text as Smokey’s case file.  

Roughly half an hour passed by on just one document, and Smokey’s tone was becoming irritated.  

“There’s got to be some sort of loophole we could use,” he grumbled.  

Santa sighed.  “Our constitution is over 850 years old.  If there were any loopholes, they surely would have been found out and dealt with at this point.”

“What about The Nicholas Rights?”

Santa snapped his head to the right.  “The Nicholas Rights is the contract between the current Santa Claus and the Homo Sapiens!  How is that supposed to help you?”

Smokey’s hands shot up.  “Okay, okay!” he exclaimed.  “I’m just grasping at peppermint straws here!”

The king mayor scratched his long, coarse, white whiskers.  “Perhaps there’s some merit in the defense your Homo Sapiens lawyer friend wrote up,” he said.  “Let me summon someone who’s not already tied up with this legal proceeding, and get their honest opinion.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Santa grinned.  “How’s your legalese, Jaroslav?”

Jaroslav looked around the room, taking inventory of who was in it.  “It’s been awhile,” he replied.  “I did have some cross training in Legal, before locking in my preferred profession at Inventory…”

“You can read English characters, yes?”

“Of course…”

“Take a look at this.  See what you think.”

The Chief of Inventory accepted the short stack of papers.  “I don’t understand,” he said.  “Shouldn’t documents like this go directly to Legal?”  

“We’re not sure how much of this could be entered as valid defense,” Santa replied.  “That’s why I want you to look at it first.”

“Sir, forgive me, but… aren’t you supposed to remain neutral in legal proceedings?”  

“Eh… grey area.  I’m invoking Vested Interest Protocol.”  

Jaroslav closed his eyelids for a brief moment, so that he could roll his eyes without being detected.  “V.I.P.  Ah.  I see,” he replied.  He opened his eyes, took one look at the title and smirked.  “I see.  More Smokey Doolittle shenanigans.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call them shenanigans,” began Santa.

“Sir, he’s filing a countersuit to try and get his previous age back.  You don’t find that preposterous?”

“Why should Smokey have to remain old?” Ashley chimed in.  “Why can’t he have his youth back as well?”  

Jaroslav directed his attention at the Earth woman, a feeling of contempt tightening in his gullet, which his professional nature labored to fight back.  He replied, “My lady, let’s assume, by some Christmas miracle, he’s allowed out of Polus Septentrionalis ever again.  And then, on top of that, got his wish to be made young again.  How would you then explain to your fellow Homo Sapiens how a man in his seventies is suddenly substituted with the younger version of himself in his twenties, at one specific inflection point in your Earth’s timeline?”  

Ashley folded her arms.  “Because my friends trust me enough to believe that what I tell them is the truth!  Don’t yours?”

“Ashley…” warned Smokey.

“Santa,” exclaimed Jaroslav, becoming increasingly less professional, “this man is accused of committing several crimes, hurting innocent people, then fleeing to avoid consequences and has been living as a fugitive ever since!  And now that he’s turned himself in, you’re suddenly treating him like he’s your prodigal son!” 

Santa’s face was flushed.  “Will you look at the document or won’t you?”

Jaroslav lifted the papers back up to eye level.  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

Over a half minute passed.  Jaroslav’s face was unreadable.

“Well?” asked Santa.  

Jaroslav plopped the papers back on Santa’s desk.  “As compelling as these arguments are… Legal’s not going to go for this,”

“Why not?” asked Ashley.  

Hearing her impertinent tone twice was quite enough for Jaroslav.  This time, he walked over to the woman, fuming as he came.  

“You bring a Homo Sapiens defense to a Homo Dares tribunal,” he replied.  “Would your US justice system consider case arguments based on the constitution of another country?  As much as I appreciate the effort you put into this defense, my lady, there are rules to this game.  And you, Ms. Sleddingbaum, are an ineligible player.”  

Jaroslav glanced over at Santa.  “Anything else sir?”

Santa looked down at his belly.  “No, Jaroslav, you’re dismissed,” he said.

The disgruntled Homo Dares had almost made it to the exit, when he heard Santa speaking to Smokey again.  

  “Smokey, why couldn’t you have just left well enough alone?  You obviously integrated into their society beyond proficiently.  You could have lived out the rest of your life on Earth without repercussion.”  

Jaroslav could not extricate his hand from the door knob of the closed door.  He yearned to leave, and had the permission to do so.  But something within him was urging him to stay.  Not that he cared about the outcome of the tribunal, he figured that was a forgone conclusion.  It was more personal than that.  If he walked out that door now, knowing what he knew, there would be no going back to being the man of integrity he once was.  Another second passed.  In another few seconds, his statuesque stance would appear awkward.  

Jaroslav spoke up.  “That’s not what I heard,” he said.

Santa looked up.  “Oh?”

The Chief of Inventory turned back around.  “King Mayor.  There is something you have not been told.  In addition to your Christmas Eve superincursion to Earth this year, a side mission has been prepared by The Council.  It was to be piggybacked to the main event, using the same slipstream as the standard global package deliveries,” he said.  

“I don’t understand,” replied Santa.  “A side mission to do what?”  

“The complete mission details were not revealed to me.  But an official Council request was made to my department earlier this month, for the supplies needed to initiate large scale Dream Protocol on an unusually sizable number of Homo Sapiens.”  

“I’m sorry, large scale?”  Santa’s face was beginning to turn rosy again.  “Dream Protocol’s use is for Santa and Santa alone!”  

Jaroslav pursed his lips.  “Not anymore, sir.  After Christmas last year, The Council held a special assembly during your post-Christmas slumber, regarding Smokey’s little escapade.  A resolution was introduced and passed.  In summary, the use of Dream Protocol was also to be granted to senior leaders of The Council, should a mission to repatriate Smokey back to Polus Septentrionalis be considered.  My department was not included in those proceedings, I only found out about them afterwards.”

Smokey was aghast.  “So I was right to be nervous,” he murmured.

“Is ‘Dream Protocol’ the fancy term for ‘erasing human memories?’” asked Ashley.  

Smokey nodded, then turned to Jaroslav.  “But then, why didn’t The Council just decide to take me last Christmas?” he asked.  “When I was helpless in a hospital room and less Homo Sapiens knew of my existence?”  

“Indecision on The Council’s part, I gather,” Jaroslav replied.  “No Homo Dares had ever defected to the land of the Homo Sapiens, especially not a member of the royal dynasty.  Neither our Constitution, nor The Nicholas Rights, had any sort of protocol of what was required or demanded, should such an event ever occur.  And with all power being allocated to the yearly super-time-dilation for Santa’s yearly visit to homes all over the Earth, your timely departure threw The Council into chaos.  I gather any potential action plans at that time would have been rushed.  And ran the risk of exposing the existence of additional Homo Dares on this planet.” 

Santa was now on his feet.  “So in other words, my senior leadership decided on all this during the week after Christmas I was fast asleep, and then didn’t brief me on their decision when I came to?”  

“It’s been an unspoken tradition, dating as far back as The Third Dynasty, that Santa Claus trusts his staff implicitly, and therefore asked not to be notified of any major decisions by the council, unless they consider it to be of profound importance to the yearly superincursion.”

“And The Council didn’t consider this decision to be of profound importance to notify me about?!” bellowed Santa.

“Sir, please calm down,” implored Jaroslav.

“Don’t tell me what to do!!”  Santa slammed his buttocks back down on his office chair and started fumbling on his keyboard.  “This is not to be borne,” he muttered.

“What are you doing?” asked Jaroslav.  

“I’m pulling up the minutes of the wretched Council’s meetings for the past twelve months!”

“You won’t find them, sir.  Such meetings are linked to the Centrum Spatium server only.  You’d have to get permission from at least two members of management, director level or higher, to gain access to them yourself.” 

“Are you saying I’m locked out of my own systems?!”  Santa gripped the sides of his monitor with blood-red hands, but eventually let go.  “Alright… going on the assumption that your permission is assured, who will be the second employee?”  

“As you wish, sir.”  Jaroslav’s answer was cryptic and safe, ignoring the second part of Santa’s query altogether.  He went to Santa’s computer with reluctance, provided the necessary access codes for the first approval, then headed toward the exit, without waiting for a second dismissal from Santa.  

“Jaroslav,” said Santa, his face turning grave.  “Your time of riding the fence is officially over.  You need to figure out whose side you’re on.  And quickly.”  

Jaroslav wheeled around, brow furrowed, as he opened his mouth to speak again.  But just then, Director Cranbury barged into the room.  

“Sir, forgive the intrusion,” said Patarra.  “Many of our guests are asking about you, wondering what has become of their host…”

Patarra observed everyone’s motionless stance.  “Is this a bad time?” she asked.

Santa clapped his hands.  “No, The Chief of Inventory and I were just about to wrap up our business in here,” he replied, teeth grinding, eyes alternating between Patarra and Jaroslav.  “Dismissed.”

A few silent, awkward seconds went by, where Jaroslav and Patarra looked at each other with the same expression.  Did he mean you?  Me?  Both of us?

“OUT!!” hollered Santa.

The outburst was so sudden, that everybody on the receiving end of Santa’s desk turned toward the door to flee. 

   “Not you, Patarra!!  You’re still with me!”

Patarra slinked back around 180 degrees on her tiptoes, with shoulders hunched and teeth clenched, pushing the top of her glasses into the bridge of her nose with one finger and chuckling under her breath. 

After receiving his second acceptable endorsement by the Director of Planetary Surveillance, Santa then properly dismissed Patarra, a much more professional affair, after telling her he would rejoin the party shortly.  Having now gained full access to the meeting minutes from the previous Christmas season, Santa and Smokey browsed the meeting contents, once again in foreign lettering to Ashley.  A hush came over the room.  

“What is it?  What does it say?” asked Ashley.  

“Jaroslav’s suspicions were correct,” Smokey replied.  “If I hadn’t taken the initiative to come back here this year, it says that in three days from now, during the superincursion, I would have been abducted from my own bed, in my own Whitefish apartment, and erased from Homo Sapiens recollection entirely.  All in one mission.”  

“Not just Homo Sapiens memories, nephew,” added Santa, looking further down the page, “your memories as well.  For the entire past year.”  

Smokey went pale.  Ashley went even paler.  

Chapter 23

Lady Sleddingbaum felt sick to her stomach.  The beautiful, ballroom gown that she delighted in a few hours earlier now clung to her like fondant placed on cake that had not had ample time to cool.  Deep down, she felt dirty and disgusting, like she should have known better than to believe that a place like this was as perfect and pure at its core as the window dressings that made Polus Septentrionalis exquisite across every cubic inch of its veneered metropolis.

The crinoline got caught in the front doorway of the guest cottage, just like it had in the entryway to Santa’s study.  Ashley vented her frustration vocally with a trio of angry shrieks, lurching her body forward once, twice, three times, until she was finally released from the clutches of the jambs on either side of her.  She nearly fell on her face from the forward momentum, but managed to catch herself with a flurry of high-heeled mini-steps.  She then dismissed said heels with a kicking force which sent them flying to the far side of the room.  Caring not that the curtains of the living room were still open, Ashley unharnessed the restraints that defined her outward appearance from the waist down, gripped her skirt and crinoline simultaneously with hardened fists, then thrust them downward with repugnance.  Having escaped her outer layer, she fled to the bedroom to try and also escape her despicable, Homo Dares bodice, leaving behind a pile of discarded fabric in her wake.

Ashley couldn’t change back into her street clothes soon enough.  She swung her duffel onto her bed, then undressed and redressed with the speed and stamina of a jilted bride.  She completed the ensemble with her trademark, baby-blue coat and pompom hat, as if somehow the extra layering would keep out any new toxic thoughts that may try to infiltrate her shirt and undergarments beneath.  Finally, she crashed down into the chair next to the bed, trying to process the poison that had entered her prefrontal cortex.  

This tribunal is a sham.  A kangaroo court, stacked against Smokey.  In a matter of hours, all of this will be for nothing.  And my memories, and the memories of my unsuspecting friends, will be ravaged, pillaged and taken from us without our consent.

Ashley pictured her bestie Dhargey, out cold on some Homo Dares operating table somewhere, wired up to foreign technology and having her mind forcibly probed and erased.  

The Homo Sapiens clenched her teeth.  Dry heat encircled her eye sockets, keeping any tears from materializing.  What is Santa Claus? she thought.  At best, he was an impotent pawn, a powerless slave to the bureaucracy which was The Council, and their interpretations of Homo Dares laws and mandates.  At worst, Santa’s apparent obliviousness earlier was all an act, with him being in complete knowledge and cahoots with the bureaucracy, and in full support of eliminating the threat Smokey represented to The Eighth Dynasty’s reign of power.  

Is everyone in on it?  Patarra?  Jaroslav?  All the others?

The more she pondered, the more fetal her position became.  No longer in awe of her surroundings, she felt trapped, empty and alone.  There was no escape for her from this place.  There was only the promise of a return to a much more mundane life in Montana, powered by her amnestic, partially-destroyed brain.

There was a knock at the entrance to the house, waking Ashley up from her dystopian daymare.  She didn’t even realize it had reached 5:10PM local time, ten minutes after the tribunal was supposed to have begun.  She opened the front door, thinking it would be one of the toy soldier garrisons.  Instead, a man she’d never met before stood before her, with tiny, round spectacles, a black trench coat and a no-nonsense expression.

“Hello?” she asked.  

The man said nothing.

“Are you here to take me to the opening of the tribunal?” she continued.

Three more chilling seconds went by.  “Yes.  Please come with me, ma’am.”  

Red flags were unfurled across every square inch of Ashley’s skin.  “Okay.  Let me just go grab my purse real fast,” she replied, her voice constricted.

The woman retreated to the bedroom, and located her purse on the vanity.  She lifted it up with no difficulty, but found that her legs were now rooted to the ground, like twin tree trunks.  Momentarily paralyzed and unsure what to do next, she heard the sound of loud footsteps approaching her position.  

Ashley wheeled around.  The man was now in her bedroom.

“Are you coming?” he asked, removing his spectacles with his left hand and placing them in his coat pocket.

The woman noticed a foreign object partially concealed in his other hand.  It looked like a fist-sized, blue walnut, but with some sort of tiny light, flush at the close end.

“What’s that in your hand?” she whimpered.  

The man squeezed his palm and fingers together once over the object, causing the outer shell to illuminate in a turquoise glow.  Some sort of motor could be heard starting up.

“This tribunal is none of your affair, Homo Sapiens,” he said, taking one menacing step forward.  “We have no need of your testimony, nor your attendance.”

A wave of terrified defiance consumed Ashley.  “Smokey is my friend.  I’m going,” she spouted.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the man replied, taking another step.  “It is time you slowed down just a bit.  And forgot you ever met the man.”

Ashley stumbled backwards into the vanity behind her, her left hand still clutching her purse.  

“You will feel no pain,” he murmured in a monotone drone, his advance now steady.  “In what you perceive will be just a few, short seconds from now, you will awaken in your own bed, in your own home.  And all of this will be a fleeting dream to you.  Including him.”

The whirring sound was getting louder.

“I’m warning you, stay away from me,” said Ashley.  

Please, Ms. Sleddingbaum.  Hold perfectly still.  This will all be over in a moment.”  The man smirked, his icy gaze nearly freezing the woman all on its own.  The device had now reached a screeching pitch.  His right hand trembled in anticipation of pressing it a second time.  

“Don’t take another step,” growled Ashley, her eyes narrowing.  

After brunch, Patarra returned to her work duties for the remainder of the day.  Time flew like a reindeer, and before she knew it, it was 5PM, her new sign out time for her promoted position.

She chose to take the scenic route, by way of her new friend’s temporary abode.  Perhaps the two of them could pick up some dinner at one of the neighborhood restaurants.  But when Patarra was still a short ways off, she heard the long, loud, sustained cry of another woman nearby, almost like it was in slow motion.  The director’s boots crunched faster in the snow with each step as she accelerated forward, in search of the sound.

Patarra was approaching the guest quarters, when she spotted the open doorway of the house with baby blue Christmas lights.  She was within a few feet of the entrance, when the blur of a frantic torso, wrapped in a baby blue, nylon coat material, collided with her own torso.

“Ashley!” cried Patarra.  “What on Centrum Spatium is going on here?!”

“One of your people just tried to attack me!  Said I couldn’t go to the tribunal tonight!” shouted Ashley, slamming the front door behind her.

Patarra’s jaw dropped.  “The tribunal doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow!  Plus, that’s ridiculous!  Santa himself gave approval for your presence there!”

“Yeah, well, apparently, not everyone approves!  Some man was about to use his freeze ray on me!”

“But who would-”  

The necks of the two ladies craned in the direction of the living room window, their eyes wide and in disbelief.  Stumbling into the living room from the hallway was the attacker, hunched over, with one hand over his eyes and the other groping the air.

“Triginta Argenteos.  Legal.  I might have known,” groused Patarra, her expression going from revulsion to astonishment.  “What did you do to him?” she exclaimed.

“I used my pepper spray!  I was defending myself!” cried Ashley.

The man crumpled to the ground, still covering his eyes.  

Patarra frowned and shook her head.  “The man is an idiot.  Come.  You should spend the rest of your stay in the junior employee’s housing, where you’ll be safe.  I’ll get someone back here later to transfer your personal items.”  

They were only able to proceed a little ways when Ashley went into shock, shaking like a leaf.  She gripped Patarra’s right shoulder with two hands and dropped her head into the nape of the Homo Dares’ neck.  The director stopped walking and placed her arm around Ashley, not sure what else to do at the moment.  

“Santa said it was tonight,” muttered Ashley, her body convulsing.  

“I assure you, it isn’t,” said Patarra.  “I was just running surveillance diagnostics at the courthouse an hour ago.  Nothing’s happening until tomorrow.”  The director pressed her lips together.  “I have to tell Santa what just happened to you,” she declared. 

“Are you kidding?!” gasped Ashley, almost hyperventilating.  “He’s probably the one who sent that man in the first place!”

“No, I don’t think so.  The Eighth Dynasty is abrasive, and a little iced behind the ears as our latest Santa Claus, but he is otherwise a good man.  If not for him, you wouldn’t have been allowed into Polus Septentrionalis in the first place!”

“Then it must’ve been Jaroslav.”

Patarra squeezed her eyes tight.  “Look, I’ll get to the bottom of this, Ashley.  In the meantime, I’ve got to get sanctuary paperwork filled out for you, and you need to stay under my department’s care through tomorrow, at least.”  

With each step, Ashley’s shuddering and hyperventilating got worse.  “I can’t do this,” she whispered.  “I can’t spend another night in this place.”  

“Yes you can, you can make it,” replied Patarra.  

“I can’t do it, Patarra!”

“Yes you can, yes you can, Ashley!  Look at me!  Look at this!!”  

Patarra held up her wrist, proudly displaying the friendship necklace she was given the night before.  “Remember these words!  You’ve stuck by Mr. Doolittle as his friend this whole time, closer than a brother!  And you’ve offered me that same friendship as well!  You gave me the courage to go after my dream!  And because of that… Thom has now become my boyfriend!”  

Ashley smiled between rapid breaths.  “Really?” she puffed.  “With kisses?”    

“Like sweet honey wine…” Patarra gushed, before regaining focus.  “You’re strong Ashley!  You keep fighting for Smokey, for that finish line, you hear me?  It’s not far!  Do not fear, as your friend, I say again, you will be safe tonight.  I give you my word!”  

The two friends continued on to safety, holding one another close.

After putting his computer on screen saver mode, Santa Claus of The Eighth Dynasty leaned back in his chair, a cruel grin spreading across his lips.  He too, had been thinking about the events of the past several hours, realizing that a turning point was about to be reached.  He savored the remaining seconds of silence, taking in several deep breaths of pine-scented air and then blowing out his own carbon dioxide back into the atmosphere from his chapped lips.  The old man picked up a miniature toy top that somehow had managed to find its way to his desktop and took it for a spin, watching it with keen interest.  

There was a rap at the door.  “Enter,” said Santa, making his voice deep and medieval sounding.  

A man with a black trench coat walked into the room, rubbing his eyes with ferocity.

“Ah.  Triginta.  My trusted legal advisor,” quipped Santa, more cheerful sarcasm dripping onto his lap.  

“I don’t have time for pleasantries, sir.  We have a situation-”  

“So, how’d it go?”  

Triginta cocked his head and didn’t speak for a couple of seconds.  “How did what go?”  

Santa the Eighth stretched out his left arm and twinkled his fingers.  From behind the enormous Christmas tree, and out of the shadows, emerged The Director of Planetary Surveillance, her lenses reflecting the fiery glow of the hearth.  

“We know what you tried to do this evening,” said Santa.

Triginta’s face contorted into a hideous scowl.  “Patarra, you corporate chimney climbing little bitc-”

“That’s quite enough, Triginta,” said Santa, turning to Patarra.  “You can go now, director.  I’ll take it from here.”  

Patarra left the room, but not before taking the long route across Triginta’s anterior, at close range.  As soon as the door was shut, the legal advisor sprang into action.

“I want that Homo Sapiens female arrested,” spouted Triginta.  “Arrested for assault.”

“I ought to arrest you for assault,” replied Santa, his eyes narrowing.

“Only in my case, the earthling would not have been harmed.  Just put on ice for a little while, until The Dream Protocol could be initiated to reconfigure her neural pathways and send her back home.”  

“You have assumed the outcome of this tribunal already?”

“I am assuming the inevitable, yes.”  

“You lied to me,” snarled Jolly Old Saint Nick.  “Your original email said the tribunal was to begin this evening.  But it was just so you could have extra time to try and take Lady Sleddingbaum out of the equation.”  

“I did not lie!” exclaimed Triginta.  “Her dismissal was to be the beginning of the tribunal!”

“Listen to yourself!” cried Santa.  “Does your hatred and contempt of the human race extend so deep in your heart-”

“I was within my rights to do what I did.  Your knowledge or permission on this matter was not required.”

Santa rose to his feet, his face three shades of scarlet and three inches away from the lawyer’s.  “You forget your place, Triginta!  I am Santa Claus!  Ruler of Polus Septentrionalis, and treasured icon of Homo Sapiens all over this planet!”

Triginta smirked.  “Yes.  And to The Centrum Spatium World Council, you’re just a figurehead leader in the remotest outpost in our realm.  You hold no real power where it counts.”

Santa straightened his posture and began to chuckle.  “Heh, heh, heh.  Well.  Perhaps you should take it up with them, then.”

“I’m considering it,” replied Triginta, backing away.  “Along with a formal request that you be stripped of your title.”

Santa raised a bushy, white eyebrow.  “An Earth’s decade round trip journey?  This tribunal will be but a distant memory by the time you get back.  And my ‘title’ will be brass-clad by then.  And, to be completely honest, I don’t give a reindeer’s feces what The World Council thinks of me!”

Triginta didn’t even wait for a “Dismissed.”  He simply turned and raced toward the door.

“Just one more thing,” continued Santa, returning to his seat.  “Lady Sleddingbaum’s sanctuary request has been received, expedited and approved.  You are hereby no longer allowed to engage the woman without my express approval and supervision.  You are also hereby recused from being on this tribunal.  I’ll give the reins over to Ryan to preside.”

“You can’t do that,” replied Triginta.  

“I just did.”  

“Under whose authority?”

“Mine.”  Santa’s hand shot up.  “Don’t… turn this into a battle you can’t possibly win.”

Triginta took a few more steps backwards.  “Good day, sir,” he said through clenched teeth, before leaving the room on his second attempt.

As soon as Santa was alone again, he barked into his communicator.  “Get me Jaroslav.  I want him in my office immediately!”  

The aging Chief of Inventory was next to be grilled by Santa Claus.  Jaroslav sauntered into the room, wearing a heavy winter coat, grey sweat pants and a slightly disheveled, receding hairline.  

“You wanted to see me, sir?” asked Jaroslav.

Santa leaned back in his chair once again, crossed his legs and placed his hands behind his head.

“Well?” he began.  

“Well what, sir?”  

“Our Homo Sapiens guest was just attacked in her own guest quarters, and I want to know who alerted Triginta to her residential location.”

Jaroslav’s eyes widened for a brief second.  “Attacked?  Ms. Sleddingbaum?”  He crossed his arms.  “Sir, are you insinuating that I had something to do with it?  Eh, it’s not like her presence in Polus Septentrionalis was some big secret or something-”

“As a potential accomplice, you had motive, means and opportunity to be involved in this outrage,” interrupted Santa.

Jaroslav’s face tightened.  “Tread carefully, Santa-”

“Where were you an hour ago?”  

“I was at home.  With my wife.”  

“And she would account for your presence there?”  

Jaroslav let out a rare chuckle, paired with a proud, mischievous smile.  “I’m certain she would, sir.” 

Santa rolled his eyes behind fluttering eyelids, realizing that he had just walked into that one.  

“Sir, permission to speak plainly,” continued the accused.

“Yeeeesss, for once in your life,” replied Santa.

“If you would step away from your Homo Sapiens courtroom dramas for just a moment, and think like a Homo Dares again, you’d see that I do not have any motives for such an assault.  I served your brother well.  I prided myself in moving up the corporate ranks with integrity!  And honor!  You think I’m going to throw that all away now, over one particularly complex Christmas season?  And, in spite of your… interpretations… of the way things should be done at this outpost, my pledge to that allegiance has never wavered!  

“Has Smokey made a mockery of almost every article in our constitution?  Yes.  Has his extended incursion on Earth sent our intended timeline spinning into potential disarray?  I believe it has.  But neither he nor Lady Sleddingbaum have done anything to offend me personally, nor given me cause to believe that my leadership doesn’t have the situation well in hand, working to resolve this within the guidelines of our laws and our constitution.  I give you my word:  I had nothing to do with the dreadful assault on Ms. Sleddingbaum this evening!”  

Santa uncrossed his legs and moved his hands back in front of him again.  “The Sixth Dynasty spoke well of you,” he said in a muted tone.  “So be it.  I will take you at your word, Jaroslav.”

Jaroslav uncrossed his arms, but the expression of annoyance did not fade.  “May I go back home to be with my family now?  Sir?”

Santa swiveled his chair away from the computer and toward the window behind him.  “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  Not like this.”  The king mayor slammed his right fist on his arm rest.  “Why did my brother have to die this way?”

Jaroslav approached Santa’s desk, his anger now subsided.  “Your brother was a good man, Samuel.  He bridged our two worlds with commitment and dedication, even unto his final breath.  You must miss him terribly…”  

Santa The Eighth nodded.  “Yeah…”  

Continuing his advance, Jaroslav walked around the desk and up to the window next to Santa.  “I have a confession to make,” he said, looking out into the winter wonderland as well.  “I lied.  I’m not confident this is all going to turn out well.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m scared, sir.”  

Santa Claus looked up and over, wide-eyed, at his long time employee.

“That… may be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to me, Jaroslav,” he replied.  

Chapter 24

  

The moment Ashley’s eyes opened the following morning, she knew exactly where she wanted to be.  She washed, dressed, put on her makeup with her standard level of excellence, and prayed with renewed fervor.  And when she was ready, she called for the guard to see Smokey Doolittle that very instant.  

 Former Santa Claus The Seventh resided in a luxurious but limited cottage.  It took a concerted mental effort for him to just get out of bed that morning.  Once he had, he performed his own cleaning regimen, put on his best outfit, then returned to the bathroom to perform some additional grooming.  

Ashley was allowed entry into the dwelling, where another guard in the front room came to her side.  She could hear the sound of an electric razor not far away.  Following the sound, she found Smokey, working on his excess facial hair over the sink.

“Don’t shave it all off, Smokey,” said Ashley.  “I kind of like it.”

Smokey turned off the device and wheeled around.  Ashley didn’t hesitate to rush up and embrace him from head to toe.  

“Hi, Ashley,” he whispered, holding her close to him.

After several seconds, the woman let go and moved back slightly to fix her eyes on the old man’s face.  “Here, let me help you,” she offered, reaching for his trimming razor and identifying the errant whiskers that needed freeing.  His eyes closed.  His nose took in the fragrance of her holiday perfume, as she gently guided the device past the outer perimeter of his beard line.  He could feel the warmth of her breath by her close proximity.  Then, all noise ceased.  

Smokey opened his eyes.  Ashley was looking down at the sink, her brilliant smile turning into a chuckle.

“Amish beard oil?” she laughed.  “Really, Smokey?” 

Smokey explained.  “One of my regulars at the grocery store recommended it.  I think she was a widow.”  

“Okay, let’s do this too,” the woman exclaimed, as she picked up the bottle.  

“Not too much, Ashley.  A little goes a long way.”

With both hands, Ashley worked the oil throughout Smokey’s mustache and beard like a trained cosmetologist.  Her eyes continued to gaze into his, the tiny saccades radiating fascination and the increasing fondness that she had developed, ever since the first days of getting to know him.  Her lips emitted a sweet sigh, as she ran her fingers through his whiskers one more time.

“Feels nice,” Smokey commented.  

“Indeed,” Ashley purred.  “You know, Smokey, I was imagining what you would look like as a young man with a beard.  Red whiskers?”  

Smokey nodded.  “Although I never actually grew a beard until after my transformation.  You saw my earlier photo.” 

“When they return you to your previous state, you should keep the beard.  I have some professional photography friends who would love to spend an afternoon with you in their studio.”

The old man smirked.  “You have assumed the outcome of this tribunal already?” he asked.  

“I have to assume it’ll be this way, yes,” replied Ashley.  “The alternative is too scary for me to even consider.”

Smokey took Ashley by the hand and asked her to come sit down in the living room with her.  They descended onto the forest green camelback sofa.  Their thighs pressed together.  The woman placed her hands on top of his.  She smiled, but the gravity of the situation pulled her lips downward.  

“Tell me one more story before we go,” said Ashley.  “A story about your people.”

“Okay,” replied Smokey.  “What would you like to know?”  

 The woman moved her head slightly to the left.  Her cheeks were a shade of rosy pink.  “Tell me why you came to Earth.  Well, not you specifically… the Homo Dares.  Why did they decide to create a settlement here, but then choose to only have Santa pop in to see us from time to time?”

The old man hesitated.  “It’s a pretty heavy subject.  Are you sure you’re up for it?”  

“Whether I am or not, I just want to hear the sound of your storytelling voice one more time.  In… case… I never remember it again.”  

***

“Nearly an Earth millennia ago, the Homo Dares were nearly wiped out as a species.  On our home planet, we battled our own flesh and blood in three consecutive world wars.  Annihilated entire cities with disintegrator weapons.  We aborted our own unborn children in the pursuit of personal pleasure without accountability.  And we threatened our own neighbors from across the border and across the ocean with assured mutual destruction, only to carry out those threats anyway.  Our numbers dwindled down to only a few hundred thousand, with no hope, no brighter future.  

“Exhausted from the turmoil and the heartbreak of war, my surviving forefathers and foremothers managed to find a way forward.  We forgave our enemies, settled our disputes peaceably and tried to find common ground as a people.  The generations that came next were educated with documents, archives, virtual reality videos, similar to what you would refer to as ‘social media.’  So they could see firsthand, with their own two eyes, the destruction their ancestors were capable of.  And that the fear of that happening again would be emblazoned in their hearts, that they themselves would not dare pursue such a future.  

“This method turned out to be successful, leading to a modern day, near-idyllic society.  In our progress, which included space exploration, we happened upon your planet, around your year 1864.  It was the height of several Earth conflicts, including your own country’s civil war.  After a thorough action plan and approval through our leaders, our people intervened on behalf of your people, an event which we call First Incursion.  We celebrate its anniversary each year in this town in the summer.  It was a stealth operation, I won’t get into all the details about it, but its goal was to redirect the Homo Sapiens to avoid the same fate that the Homo Dares did.  The legend of Santa Claus was an important factor in that mandate, meant to coincide with your December 25th Christmas celebrations.  And it is the primary continuation of that original mandate that we use today, to aid your people toward a more hopeful and brighter tomorrow.”

***

“You set yourselves up as caretakers for us.”  Ashley concluded, looking down at the ground.  

“Yes,” affirmed Smokey.

“I see.  So did the Homo Dares actually go back in time to fix a mistake my forefathers created?  Or just intervene at that moment in history because they were worried we might make an extinction level mistake?”  

“The latter one.”  

“Okay, so then, when did the fracture in the timeline occur?”

A shiver ran down Smokey’s chest.  He tried to choose his next words carefully.

“It was my unscheduled incursion into your civilization, which resulted in a deviation of the intended timeline,” he said.

Ashley was confused.  “Okay, that may be true, but where’s the temporal fracture?  Where’s the threat to the actual unraveling of the universe everyone around here is talking about?”  

“It’s… it’s… difficult to explain.” 

“Golly, it can’t be that difficult to explain.  Are you able to change history?”  

“We can slow down time to almost zero, and we can access human minds to erase and manipulate memories on a large scale-”  

“That’s not what I asked, Smokey.  Are you, or are you not, able to change the past?”

There was a long pause.  

“No,” Smokey replied.  “Homo Dares do not possess the ability to travel backwards in time and change history.”  

Ashley let out a deep sigh.  “So the plan is to whitewash it then.  The Dream Protocol.  Find every single human being over the past year that ever interacted with you, violate their memories to forget you, make us think this was all a dream, confine you to this city, and somehow that makes everything okay!  At least for your people’s pride, that is…”  

“Ashley-”

“And what’s worse, your leaders have the people of Polus Septentrionalis in such gripping fear over this!  Scaring then into believing the worst will happen if this isn’t ‘fixed!’”

“Please don’t get angry over this, Ashley, I-”

Ashley flung her hands up.  “I know, I know.  I realize this isn’t your fault, Smokey.  But don’t you see the injustice here?  How the Homo Dares would rather bury their mistakes, at the expense of the Homo Sapiens, than face them head on?  It all makes sense to me now!  There aren’t any multiverses!  This timeline isn’t fractured!  It’s just not turning out the way your people want it to!”

Just then, several members of the guard marched into the structure.  The tribunal was imminent.  

Ashley rose to her feet.  She said, “I understand now what the Homo Dares have tried to do for the people of Earth.  But you can’t save us, Smokey.  Golly, there’s only one man who can save us.  And His birth two millennia ago is the reason we who believe in Him celebrate Christmas every year.” 

The guards approached, but Ashley lifted a hand.  “Just one more verse,” she said.  The soldiers stopped, in peculiar obedience to the Homo Sapiens.  The woman than sang softly in Smokey’s ear one last time.  

“Bring a torch, Jeanette Isabella

Bring a torch, to the cradle run!

It is Jesus, good folk of the village

Christ is born and Mary’s calling.

Ah!  Ah!  Beautiful is the mother!

Ah!  Ah!  Beautiful is her Son!”

The two began walking, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, to the awaiting sleigh that would carry them to the Polus Septentrionalis courthouse. 

Chapter 25

The courthouse was only a few blocks away from The Eighth Dynasty’s high-rise abode.  A formidable structure, it also resembled many of the courthouses of Earth, with its marble exterior and tall, smooth, round columns.  Statues of historic men and women of notable Homo Dares legal and judicial notoriety greeted its visitors and employees as they walked in.  

The latest blizzard came in at an almost vertical direction, its wind howling all around the approaching party.  Even the horses had picked up the pace as they neared the courthouse, man and beast alike thankful they had a destination that would soon get them out of the bone chilling storm.  

Santa Claus greeted them just inside the entrance.

“Welcome, Smokey.  Lady Sleddingbaum,” he said, directing them to a small office at the right of the main entrance.  As usual, his voice put on a jolly veneer, but his face gave everything away.  

Once inside, Smokey and Ashley were instructed to put on a grey, shimmering robe over their clothes.  Santa explained to the Homo Sapiens female that it was simply how things were done in the Homo Dares court system.  Ashley popped her head through the opening at the top and quickly touched up her hair with her hand.

“Any last minute advice you can give us, Santa?” she asked.  

Santa pondered the question.  “Any last minute advice?  Yes.  You know how to speak to Homo Sapiens judges, correct?”  

“I’ve never been called into jury duty before or anything.  But, sure.  I know the respect and reverence I need to give toward American judges.”  

“Perfect.  Use that same reverence with the members of The Tribunal, especially Ryan, The Adjudicator, and you shall surely find favor with him.  Also, and this is very important for you to remember, my lady.  The Tribunal will address Smokey as ‘Santa Claus The Seventh’ throughout the entire proceeding.  When that happens, don’t flinch, don’t make any irritated faces, and especially, don’t correct them.  Unless you want a guaranteed trip to Memory Loss Land.” 

“Got it,” said Ashley.  

Santa looked up in thought.  “With Triginta out of the equation, The Tribunal has given surprising grace to you, Lady Sleddingbaum.  To even be present with Smokey at The Accused’s Table.  But I strongly advise against speaking out of turn, unless you are recognized by The Adjudicator himself.  I will also be with you in the courtroom a short distance away, but I cannot help you.  I will be prohibited from providing any council or encouragement.  Don’t even look my way, until The Tribunal has adjourned for deliberation.  

“I don’t wish to frighten you with all this, my lady, but this tribunal will be unlike any other tribunal in the history of Polus Septentrionalis, even in its brevity.  No former king mayor has ever been put on trial before.  A lot of eyes will be looking over this tribunal and its results, once news of it reaches Centrum Spatium.  I don’t have to remind you how high the stakes are in this case.”  

“I understand,” Ashley replied.  “And I am not afraid.”  

“Then so be it.  Let’s get this unfortunate chapter of Polus Septentrionalis history-making over with as soon as possible” 

The trio entered the dazzling, white-marbled courtroom and approached The Accused’s Table.  Once there, Santa shook Smokey and Ashley’s hand one final time and then moved away to his assigned station.  Next, the members of the three-person tribunal entered from the back, led by The Adjudicator.  They traced the right perimeter of the room, took a sharp left and arrived at their seats.  The Adjudicator remained standing, facing the accused, while the other two tribunal members sat down on either side of him.

“Santa Claus The Seventh.  Please rise before this tribunal,” boomed The Adjudicator’s voice.  He paused, to allow the last of the echoes of his own voice to fade, before continuing.  Smokey stood up.

“Your crimes are manifest,” The Adjudicator continued.  “Assault on two members of the Polus Septentrionalis Guard.  Operation of an unauthorized sleigh, using a suspended license.  Divulging classified material.  Revealing the existence of the Homo Dares race to a Homo Sapiens female.  And, most grievously, cruelty to an animal.  Do understand these charges as they are read to you?” 

Smokey stood strong.  “I do, Your Honor,” he replied.

“Do you have a statement to make in your defense?”  

The accused took a long, deep breath.  

“Members of The Tribunal,” he said.  “I cannot and will not deny these accusations, Your Honors.  Each one of the charges brought against me is true.  I am aware of the maximum punishment these charges can bring.  I have not returned to Polus Septentrionalis to make excuses for my actions.  I have returned to take responsibility for what I have done.  But I am also here, to offer you an alternative to the standard punishment the law dictates.  

“I am indeed guilty of the crimes I committed.  But those people, the ones on Earth who associate with me, many who have become my friends.  Should they also be punished for the things I’ve done?  Should the minds of dozens, even hundreds of innocent people be ravaged into an omission of reality?  

“There is a saying among the Homo Sapiens.  ‘Let the punishment fit the crime.’  Let my sentence, therefore, be banishment from Polus Septentrionalis.  And to continue living in the world I fled to.  No longer as a sojourner, but as a permanent resident, never again allowed to return to Homo Dares society again.  Up until my dying breath.  Please.  Consider this petition with mercy and understanding.  Knowing deep in your heart, it is the right way.”  

The Adjudicator looked down at the long smooth surface where his hand rested on several sheets of paper.  “Santa Claus the Seventh.  I see you have also offered up documents to this tribunal.  In the audacity that, should our ruling be found favorable to the defense, you may offer up a countersuit to be restored to your previous physical state.  I have read your rebuttal in its entirety, but… I am bewildered.  You must already be aware this document cannot be admitted as compatible to our ways and laws.”

Smokey nodded.  “I understand, Your Honor.  But, surely, there must be parts of our laws and Homo Sapiens laws that intersect one another.  Places where we share common ground for the greater good.  I do not ask that you substitute your laws and mandates with the document in front of you.  Only that you consider the similarities, as referenced in those papers, with the mandates you hold dear as Homo Dares.”  

The look in The Adjudicator’s eye was not promising.  “Having heard your plea, this tribunal will now adjourn to consider your sentence-” 

“Your Honor, if it pleases The Tribunal,” a female voice called out.  

Smokey’s head shot over in Ashley’s direction, his expression looking like she had just signed his death sentence.  

Both the secondary and tertiary members of the seated tribunal became animated, consumed with incredulity.  Only The Adjudicator himself appeared to be unfazed.  He lifted both hands to calm his fellow tribunal members and then gazed intently at the Homo Sapiens female.  

“Woman of Earth.  You may speak.  Arise,” he replied.

Ashley spoke from the heart.  

“Honorable adjudicator.  Honorable members of The Tribunal.  I am not one of you.  But I still wish to speak in defense of my friend, Santa Claus The Seventh, a man I lovingly refer to by his Homo Sapiens name, Smokey Doolittle.  A year ago, this man came into my world.  Injured, frightened and alone.  He would have perished, frozen to death where he lay, had it not been for the improbable circumstances leading to his discovery and rescue by two of my fellow Homo Sapiens.  My good friends, Jake and Yon.  Santa Claus The Seventh was treated, nursed back to health, and he lived among us, as one of us, for an entire year.  

“Several weeks ago, I had the great pleasure of meeting this man.  I did not meet the man who fled your city a year ago.  I met the man who stands beside me now.  A good man.  A man who has learned compassion.  Kindness to those around him, man and animal.  But most importantly, love.  A love that sees past the differences between our two peoples and seeks to make this planet a better place.  

“I beseech you, honorable members of The Tribunal, please do not deprive this man of all the things he has learned, by wiping them from his memory.  Let him remain on this journey of love he was destined to remain alive for.  Let him remember everything.  And then, let him discover… the even greater things he is capable of.”  

It was if the room had frozen in time, yet no time dilation orders had been given.  The only detectable movement was The Adjudicator’s slight head pivot.  Several more seconds passed before he spoke again.  

“Lady Sleddingbaum.  You appear before us with the countenance, valor and wisdom… of a Homo Dares.  You give new definition to ‘Giving Human,’ high praise indeed for an adult Homo Sapiens to receive.  We will consider your words, in addition to everything else we must consider now.  Remain here, until we return to render verdict.”

Once the three judges were out of the room, Santa approached Smokey and Ashley.  “The Tribunal has been authorized to use time dilation during their deliberation,” he whispered.  “To keep things moving along quickly and smoothly.”

“How much time will appear to have passed for us?” asked Ashley.

“Seconds,” Santa replied.  

Sure enough, seconds later, The Tribunal emerged from their deliberation chamber.  Once in position, The Adjudicator lifted his right hand.  “Santa Claus The Seventh?  Ashley Sleddingbaum?  Please rise,” he said.

“This tribunal has deliberated, and we have come to a decision.  Santa Claus The Seventh.  By your own admission, you are guilty of the crimes you have been accused of.  And therefore, proper sentencing must be carried out, according to our laws.  

“But yours is an extraordinary case.  No Santa Claus has ever been brought to tribunal in our 163-year Earth history.  And by your actions of fleeing justice a year ago, you have redirected Earth’s timeline in an unprecedented direction.  But we have concluded… not a temporally destructive one.

“We have taken in account the things you have learned in your exile.  We have taken into account some of the words in your defense document.  And we have taken into account… the friendships you have made, and the testimony of the one who is closest to you.  It is therefore the decision of this tribunal, that you be given one of two sentences.  

“The first is the standard sentence, with caveats.  You would remain in Polus Septentrionalis for the rest of your natural days, under guard, never to return to the world of the Homo Sapiens ever again.  Your memories would be erased to just prior to your escape a year ago, having just been declared unfit to fulfill your duties as Santa Claus.  And The Dream Protocol would be fulfilled on every Homo Sapiens who ever associated with you, or even met you briefly.  It would be as if you had never existed to them.  However, you would also be granted your youth back, as petitioned in your counter appeal, your earnest desire right from the very beginning.  From there, you will live out your sentence at this Centrum Spatium outpost as I have just described to you.  

“As for your second choice.  You have appealed to become a permanent resident of planet Earth.  So planet Earth you would go.  But not as a young man.  And not as a Homo Dares.  There are simply too many variables, too many fallacies that the Homo Sapiens would not be able to reconcile, if you changed form before them.  Or remained as you are now, potentially outliving even their grandsons and granddaughters.  These must be the conditions for your permanent residence, if you are to return:  the form you are now… with a Homo Sapiens frailty.”  

Smokey’s face tightened.  “May I have a minute to confer with my beautiful colleague, honorable adjudicator?” he asked.  

“You may,” replied The Adjudicator.

Ashley was dismayed.  “This isn’t fair, Smokey,” she murmured.  “They’ve already taken fifty years from you, now they want to take fifty more?  They’ve granted you this much leniency, why can’t they just take it one step further?” 

Smokey’s face dropped.  “Once The Tribunal’s decision is reached, there is nothing more that can be said about the matter.”

Ashley clasped his shoulders with both hands.  “Smokey, the choice they are forcing you to make here is wrong.  You need to fight harder for what you came here for.”  

“It’s different here than in America.  The way they handle justice and things.” 

Ashley was just about ready to cry.  “No!  You have to fight, you have to fight-”

“Please, Ashley,” said Smokey.  “Whether it was today or a couple of days from now, this day was coming for me.  If it wasn’t for you, my fate would have already been sealed, with no hope, no choices.  Only The Dream Protocol as my sentencing.  And your inevitability.”  

“Is there somewhere we can appeal this?”  

“I know how hard you’re trying, Ashley.  In fact, I never want to forget it.  Which is why I am going to take the second offer.”  

“Smokey-”

“I don’t think you realize what a miracle this is.  They’ve given me the option not to forget, thus giving you the freedom to never forget either!  I never thought it possible!  That’s why I have to take this option!  To live out the rest of my life no longer having to spend each day looking over my shoulder anymore!  To no longer live under a shadow of fear!”

Now Ashley was crying.  “And how much time do you think a 71-year-old Earth male human has left to live, in a limited, Homo Sapiens existence?” she asked.  

“You can’t allow yourself to think that way, Ashley,” replied Smokey.  “Nobody knows how many days they have left to live, Homo Sapiens or Homo Dares, be it seventy-one years of age, or twenty-one!  All we can do is treat each new day we wake up alive as a gift from God, and live our lives each day to the fullest.  And I would never willingly give up this experience I’ve had these past twelve months, not for anything else in this world, yours or mine!  Ashley, I love…”

The words got caught in his throat.

“… the time I’ve spent with you and your friends, who became my friends too, and the memories we’ve made together!”

“So do I,” whispered Ashley.  

“Seventh,” boomed The Adjudicator’s voice.  “The time has come for you to make your choice.”

In solemn surrender, Smokey said, “I choose the latter, Your Honor.  I choose to remain as an old man, a Homo Sapiens man.  To spend the rest of my natural life on earth, in the company of fellow Homo Sapiens.”  

“So be it,” replied The Adjudicator.  “This tribunal will give you until 4PM this afternoon to put any final affairs in order that you have here, in Polus Septentrionalis, before sentencing is carried out, and you are banished from this place forever.”

The remaining members of The Tribunal arose, and without another word, departed from the room.  

Santa Claus The Eighth approached the couple, unsure if or how he could console either one of them.  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, in hushed tones.  

“Yes, Santa,” Smokey replied.  “I’d like to go to the stables, please.  I’d like to ask for forgiveness from a certain reindeer, while there is still time.”  

“Very good, of course.  And you, Lady Sleddingbaum?”  

Ashley shook her head.  “No,” she said, glancing at her friend.  “I’d like to go where Smokey goes.”  

“As you wish.  My guards will attend to you.  If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be retiring to my office, until the appointed time.”

Chapter 26

There was no joy in Santa’s heart that afternoon.  No jolliness, no laughter, no frivolity.  

A million thoughts ran through his head.  Thoughts about bureaucracy, and about being honest with himself regarding his limited role in the greater Homo Dares scheme of things.  Thoughts of rebellion and revolution and what was right and just.  

But I need to put aside these thoughts, for now, he thought.  For who am I to lead such a half-baked exploit?  Who would follow me into the unknown like that?  

Someone was knocking outside the door to Santa’s study.  “Come in,” he said.  

 “You wanted to see me, Santa?” asked Patarra.  

“I trust you’ve been updated about the ruling?  And Smokey’s choice?”

“I have, sir.”  

Santa gazed at his reflection on the blank computer monitor.  “Nothing like this has ever been done before,” he continued.  “I mean… the technology has been there for decades, but never attempted in a real life scenario.”

Patarra nodded.  “You’re afraid he might die,” she said.  

“Yes.”  The sigh in the old man’s voice was tired and ancient.  “But… The Tribunal has spoken, and Smokey has decided.  The sentencing will proceed in this fashion.”  

Patarra’s posture straightened.  “What can I do?”

“I would like you to be at the helm of the machine when sentencing is being carried out.”

“Sir, I cannot be held responsible if he-”

Santa put a hand up.  “I know.  That unenviable task falls to me and me alone.  But you’re Surveillance, and I need a certain type of surveillance from you today.  To make certain that man’s vital signs remain steady during the entire procedure.  Smokey Doolittle must not be allowed to perish on my watch.”

“Yes, sir.  I can do that,” Patarra replied.  

“Thank you, director.  Please meet me at the courthouse at 4 this afternoon.  You know which room.”

“I do.  I will see you then, Santa.”  

Santa raised his hand again.  “Wait, one more thing, Patarra.”

“Yes, sir?”

“After this Christmas season, Triginta has told me that he vows to leave Earth on our one and only transport and return to Centrum Spatium, taking as many Homo Dares with him as he can.  You have a good pulse on the goings on out there.  What damage is he capable of doing if he honors his vow?”

Patarra pursed her lips to one side.  “He’s a powerful and influential man, sir,” she replied.  “He served Santa during the entire Sixth Dynasty and the latter years of the Fifth.  He could possibly influence… twenty five percent of the active workforce and their families into going along with him?  Maybe even a third.”

“Ah.  I see.  

“You don’t seem to be that worried, Santa,” the woman observed.  

“To be honest, director, neither do you.”  

Patarra beamed with pride.  “It’s because I’ve seen what my generation is capable of.  In a way, I almost hope this does happen.  If those pesky roadblocks get removed, what you’ll have left is a refined-by-fire, remarkable team working for you and fully supporting you and your decisions.  It would result in some of the best Christmases ever.”  

Santa chortled in hushed tones.  “Having gotten to know you better, I’m a bit surprised to hear that cliché coming from your lips, Patarra,” he said.  

Patarra shook her head.  “Not cliché, sir.  It’s what I believe.”  

Santa beamed with pride.  “You’re doing a wonderful job, director.  See you this afternoon.”

The director made her way to the exit, just as Triginta was approaching from the hallway.  Patarra glared at the corrupt legal advisor as she passed by.  

“Christougenniatikophobiac,” she muttered, before leaving the room in disgust.

With haste, Santa swiveled his chair away from his computer and toward the outside window.  

“Did you come here to gloat, Triginta?” the old man inquired.  

“Hardly,” replied Triginta.  “That man received a sentence far better than he deserved.”

Santa looked over his shoulder.  “Patarra is right, you know.  What is it about Christmas that you’re so phobic about?”

Triginta ignored the question entirely.  “I just wanted you to know that I will be in attendance in The Hidden Suite this afternoon,” he said, “along with the members of The Tribunal, making sure that the prisoner’s sentence is carried out down to the exact letter of the law.”  

Santa wanted to plow into Triginta like a runaway sleigh, but he kept his composure.  

“I had no doubt that you would be, but you are too kind to come and tell me this in person,” the old man replied.  The sarcasm in the room was palpable.

The legal advisor folded his arms.  “You know, I won’t miss these conversations with you one bit, as I’m traveling back to the home world.”  

“Oh, believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual.”

Triginta made a brisk pace toward the door, but wheeled around one last time, his voice seething.  

“I say unto you again, Santa.  Sentencing WILL be carried out according to our laws and statutes!  And there’s nothing Santa Claus the Seventh, your staff, or even you… can do about it!”  

With Triginta back out of the office, Santa Claus the Eighth slumped down in his chair, placing his right hand completely over his forehead and drumming the fingers of his left hand on the desk.  He squeezed his eyes shut in despair.  

“He’s right,” he said to himself.  “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

A clap of thunder inside Santa’s head caused his body to lurch forward involuntarily.  He gasped, his eyes popped open, and his heart began to race.  

“There’s nothing I…!!  Can do about it!”

His desk chair spun like a twister.  Six, seven, eight times.  From deep down inside Santa Claus the Eighth’s hardening heart, burst through the most unspeakable springs of joy he had ever experienced.  His white-gloved hands clapped together repeatedly, and he didn’t want to stop.  Rushing up his larynx were the traditional exaltations associated with Santa Claus, the ones he vowed he would never stoop to saying disingenuously.  Now, he couldn’t stop uttering them, even if he wanted to.  

“Ho, ho.  Ho, ho, ho!  Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, hoooooo!”  

Santa stomped on the floor with his black boots to stop the circling chair, as it came around to face his computer again.  The vibration woke up the computer from screen saver mode, which was just fine for the jolly old man.  His hands flew over the keyboard as he pulled up the desired document.  Santa began scrolling through the PDF file, like a little boy who couldn’t wait to get to the end of an illustrated children’s novel.  

His heart was now pounding like twelve drums being struck in unison repeatedly.  The page he stopped on was music to his eyes.  Santa studied the words on the page and felt the texture of his left glove rubbing across his chapped lips.  

“HO, HO, HO, HO, HO, HO!”  

His right hand grabbed the mouse.  Having gained full access to his own computer by his two obliging subordinates earlier in the week, Santa sought out surveillance footage of the recent tribunal, recorded in high-quality-definition sound.  After fast-forwarding through footage, he resumed normal recording speed right around the time Ashley was making her impassioned speech for Smokey’s acquittal.  

“Yes… yes…!” he breathed, reaching for a thumb drive in the top drawer of his desk and inserting it into the side of his computer.  The upload took mere seconds, ending with a satisfying audio arpeggio.  Santa snatched the drive and shoved it into the chest pocket of his red, velvet, polo shirt.  

“The courthouse!  I MUST get back to The Dynasty Room of the courthouse before anyone else does!”  

Santa couldn’t stop smiling, as he grabbed his time-honored coat off the rack.  It was time to become the Santa Claus he was destined to be.

 “Ho, ho, hoooooo!  Oh, I hope this works…!”  

Chapter 27

  

The Dynasty Room was unlike any room or structure in all of Polus Septentrionalis, and not necessarily in a good way.  No twinkling lights.  No festive decorations.  No warm and inviting Christmas music piping through the speaker system.  

Just white.  Everywhere.

There were blinding, bright, white walls, ceilings and floors.  An optical illusion of infinity was perceived, when the one entry door in the back was shut and the cracks around it became invisible.  And the only sound in the room was the incessant, sterile hum of The Dynasty Machine, a monstrous, floor-to-ceiling apparatus, in which every single appointee, since Santa Claus The Second, stepped inside of, to accept their destiny and become that jolly old man in the red suit, commissioned to deliver toys and goodies to the children of Earth.

Santa Claus the Eighth and Director of Planetary Surveillance Patarra Cranbury were making the final diagnostics on the machine, making sure there were no anomalies.  Patarra’s face was flushed, as she tightened a final bolt back into place.  

“Ashley’s going to hate me,” she muttered, “when she sees me here, complicit to this madness.”  

“She already knows you are just following instruction under my direct authority and has no ill will toward you,” replied Santa.  “I’m going to tell you what I told her a couple of nights ago.  You need to trust the process.  And you need to trust me.”  

“Yes, sir.”  

Just then, The Adjudicator walked into the room, accompanied by one guard.  “Is everything fully prepared, Santa?” he asked as he came.  

Santa glanced over at Patarra, who nodded.  “Yes, Your Honor.  All is in ready,” he replied.  

The Adjudicator made a long face, in sober acknowledgement.  “So be it,” he said, looking to his guard.  “Bring them in now.”  

The guard went to the open door and made a motion to the outside.  Smokey and Ashley were escorted into the room, with two more guards immediately behind them.  

Once they were in position, The Adjudicator unfolded his arms.  “I will be watching the sentencing unfold in the booth, along with the others,” he announced.  “Guards.  Adjourn with me.”  

The Adjudicator and guards retreated through the exit in the back and closed the door behind them, returning the room to the perception of infinity.  Four people were left, none of whom were the least bit pleased.  

Ironically, Smokey seemed to be the most upbeat one of the entire group.  He stood directly before Ashley, one last time as her Homo Dares friend.  “Alright… well… this is it,” he said.  

The simple proclamation was enough to get the waterworks going again in Ashley’s tear ducts.  She moved forward and embraced him, squeezing him with every ounce of strength she had.  

“I’m so sorry, Smokey,” she whispered in his ear.  

“It’s not your fault, Ashley.  You did everything you possibly could.” 

“I only wish I could have done more for you.” 

Smokey closed his eyes.  “I know.”  

“Smokey,” called out Santa from behind the couple.  “It’s time.”

With the deepest of reluctances, Smokey let go of Ashley and braved the short walk to the glass entrance of The Dynasty Machine.  He looked into the epicenter of the apparatus with curiosity.  Its core was even brighter than the radiance of the room they were in.  An expected calmness washed over him.  No brute force would throw him in that place like before.  No mortal resistance would be attempted this time.  It was by free will that he would enter the enclosure this go-around.  His neck slowly craned to the right to look at his faithful female friend one last time.  The smile only a Santa could make materialized on his face.  

“I’ll be right back!  Will just be a couple of minutes!” he exclaimed, feigning hope, even as his heart was breaking.

Without further ado, the threshold was crossed, the door slid down from above, and Smokey was once again contained within The Dynasty Machine.  

“Begin the process,” Santa said to Patarra.  

Ashley’s mourning would no longer be composed.  Tears streamed down her face like rivulets on a pink, porcelain valentine.  She took a couple of steps backwards to stand next to Santa, making sure his ears heard every one of her devastated sobs.

“It’s just not fair, Santa!” Ashley blubbered.  “Smokey shouldn’t have to choose between a miserable younger life without recollection, or a happy life shortened by decades upon decades that should never have been stolen from him…!”  

Santa Claus looked down and shook his head.  “What would you want me to do, Ashley?  It’s out of my hands!  There are legalities… protocols in place!”

“But, but you’re Santa!  Surely you could…”  

A stern glance from the old man put an end to that conversation.  

“Sorry, I was out of line,” Ashley continued, another tear falling off her petite jawbone and onto the ground.  “I was only hoping that…”

The woman paused.  A geyser was erupting up through her vocal chords. 

“I just want Smokey to have it both ways!” cried Ashley.  “His memories and his youth!  Is that so wrong?  Is that so selfish of me?”  

Santa Claus The Eighth let out a long exhale.  His countenance changed in an instant.

“On the contrary, my dear,” he replied, a new twinkle forming in his eye.

Ashley continued to weep.  “Don’t you see, Santa?  He’s changed!  So much for the good since his accident.  He’s touched so many lives… he’s touched… my life.  So deeply.”

The woman took a couple of shallow, nervous gasps.    

“I think I love him, Santa.”  

Santa’s voice was now a voice of joy and tranquility.  “Let me ask you something, my dear,” he said.  “When you were a little girl, and the department store Santa asked you what you wanted for Christmas each year, did you normally ask for just one thing?”  

“Not usually,” Ashley replied.  “Sometimes I asked for two… even three things.”

“And was there ever any judgment?  Any disapproval from Santa over you telling him you wanted multiple things?”

“No,” said Ashley, with a confused look.  “Santa always looked at me with compassion and kindness.  Every experience was a warmhearted, treasured memory.”  

Santa smiled.  “Well, then.  Who am I, the real Santa Claus, to treat you any differently?  Whoever said you can’t have multiple presents from Santa each year?”

“Sir, forgive the interruption,” said Patarra, who was over at the side console of The Dynasty Machine, “but I’m starting up the chromosomal reconstruction process, and the program isn’t running as expected!”

“Understood, director,” said Santa.  “Make sure Smokey’s vital signs remain within acceptable parameters, and await further instruction.”  

Ashley directed her attention back toward the center of The Dynasty Machine.  The light was so bright now, that only a shimmery silhouette of Smokey could be made out.  Her eyes widened in wonder.  “What’s happening?” she asked.  

Santa explained.  “Earlier this afternoon, I modified the command module of this machine, which authorizes and accepts voice commands from certain individuals.  I added your voice to the module, my dear.”

Ashley cocked her head.  “What?”

The old man looked to his director again, who was now looking up in amazement as well.  “Patarra,” he said.  “As my witness, did you see me lead or coerce Lady Sleddingbaum in any way toward her making her petition?”

Patarra shook her head.  “As your witness, I did not, sir.”  

“Thank you, director.”  Santa turned completely toward the Homo Sapiens woman and placed both his gloved hands on her shoulders.  

“Ashley.  Earlier this week, you gladly gave up a Christmas wish you could have used for yourself, when you asked for Smokey’s case file.  Well, Santa’s about to grant you another Christmas wish.  All you had to do was speak it out loud, and you did!”

With a wink of his eye, and a finger aside of his nose, Santa walked up to The Dynasty Machine and pressed the button that commenced the sentencing of Smokey Doolittle.  

Little by little, the tears stopped flowing from Ashley’s face, and the mascara pathways of previous tears began to dry up.  The woman’s jaw dropped in the realization that her desperate, improbable wish appeared to be coming true.  Her mouth muscles stretched outward and relaxed inward, not sure it they wanted to form a smile or not.  Her mind was not fully sure yet if this was real or all a dream.  Ashley looked to Santa for affirmation.  

“I did this?” she gasped.  

Santa was beaming with joy.  “You did this, Ashley," he replied.  “It was completely you, my dear.  Like the innocent little girl who sat in Santa’s lap and boldly told him what she wanted for Christmas.  And got what she asked for.”

While he was still speaking, the door of The Dynasty Machine opened, and the old man who had walked in a short time before, was now outside the device once again.  Ashley could barely contain her glee.  Both hands shot to her face in elation, giggles beginning to bubble up in the back of her throat.  

Smokey looked at his friend with a quizzical expression.  “Ashley?  Why are you looking at me like that?”  

The man froze in his tracks at hearing his own vocalizations and seeing his blemish-free wrists.  “My voice.  My hands.  What…?” he exclaimed.  

Ashley rushed to his side, her adrenaline pumping out of control.  “Smokey, you have to look at yourself!  You’re… here, let me get my phone out!”  The woman fumbled around in her purse, pulled out the cell phone and placed the photo app on selfie mode.  “Just look at you!” she cried, handing him the device.  

Staring back at him was the smooth, youthful face of a man transformed.  Gone were the white, facial whiskers and bald head with ivory, horseshoe hairline.  In its place were the copper-mixed-with-gold follicles of a full head of hair, connected to an impressive mustache and beard of the exact same color.  His eyes twinkled with wonder as he lifted his free hand to examine his facial skin, along with his neatly groomed bristles.

“I’m… I’m me again!” gasped Smokey, looking back at Ashley.  “But… you still remember me too, Ashley!  How… how is this possible, Santa?”  

Santa Claus grinned with delight.  “Ho, ho, ho!  I finally found the loophole, my boy!” he exclaimed.  “It was quite simple, really.  The Nicholas Rights.  With a bit of computer reprogramming, and the earnest petition of a pure-hearted woman, I was able to work within the legal system to prepare this moment.  But, ultimately, it is Ashley who deserves all the credit.  She was the catalyst who made this happen.”  

Just then, the intercom on The Dynasty Device lit up, and a voice came through on the other line.  “Dynasty Room, this is Triginta!  Santa, what on Centrum Spatium do you think you’re do-”

All it took was one quick nod from Santa for Patarra to carry out his nonverbal order perfectly.  “Communications have been severed, sir,” she exclaimed.

Smokey was overcome with emotion.  “So now what happens, Santa?  Are you saying that-”

“You may return to Whitefish, Montana, as your original, young age,” replied Santa.  “Plus one Earth year, of course, for the time you’ve already spent there.  To resume living out the rest of your natural life anywhere within the confines of Planet Earth, outside of Polus Septentrionalis.”

“And Ashley gets to remember too?”  

Santa folded his arms with pride.  “Ashley gets to remember too.  Along with all your Earth friends!”

Smokey and Ashley embraced each other in thankfulness.  “Oh, Ashley, I can’t believe it!” cried Smokey.  “Thank you, Santa!  Thank you so much!”  

“Your friend is an extraordinary woman, Smokey.  An extraordinary woman.  You still have a long road ahead of you, though.  Your life, and the way your body works now, are completely Homo Sapiens from this day forward…”

“I understand.”  Smokey replied, pausing.  “Wait.  What about my ability to work with animals?”

The jolly old man laughed.  “Well you can’t exactly travel to Polus Septentrionalis with the ability to talk to animals, and then return to Montana without that ability now, can you?”  

“Again, thank you!  And you too, Director Cranbury!  Oh, this is a dream come true for me!”  

Ashley was equally as delighted.  “Golly, you’re so hip, Santa!  Hey, will you take a picture of Smokey and me with my phone?”  

“Ho, ho, ho!  Of course, my dear!”  After taking the shot, the jolly old man hesitated, a mischievous sparkle in his eye.  He stretched out his arm, pointed the screen at himself, and snapped a few more photos, with Smokey and Ashley in the background.  “Oh, come what may for doing this.  There’s no legal entanglements regarding taking selfies with Santa!”  

“Get in here, friend!” cried Ashley to Patarra.  Her friend happily complied, making the selfie marathon a quartet and Smokey’s and Ashley’s joy complete.  

Chapter 28

After one final, private, scrumptious dinner, hosted by a celebratory Santa Claus The Eighth, the time had come to leave Polus Septentrionalis for a pair of grateful travelers.

Smokey and Ashley were fully packed and ready to return to Whitefish.  They were escorted back by Santa’s Guard to the airfield they first arrived in, no longer as criminals, but as honored guests.  A few light flakes were falling from the sky, and the winds were unusually calm, as they entered the small terminal.

Patarra was the first one to greet them, her eyes filled with delight, but also with sadness as well.  She stood before Ashley, as her right hand performed the signature realignment of her glasses.  Her left hand held out a candy box toward her new friend.

“I got you some more Centrum Spatium peppermint sticks,” said Patarra  “To get you through the holidays.  And to remember our friendship by.”

Ashley made a sad face, accepting the gift and then hugging the director.  “I will never forget you or our friendship, Patarra!” she cried.  “Will I ever be able to see you or hear from you again?”  

Patarra looked to the left and the right of her, to make sure the coast was clear.  “Shhh.  Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered.  “Let me see your phone for a second, Ashley.”  

Director Cranbury texted in a few keystrokes on a fresh, digital document and handed the phone back to Ashley, who took a double take.

“You have an email address?  And I’d be able to…”  

“Communicate with me at any time?” said Patarra.  “Absolutely.  I promise to write back again and again!”  

Ashley was ecstatic.  “Here, I’ll email you right now, so that you can have my email address too!”  

While her Homo Sapiens friend was still writing, Patarra had more good news.  “And Ashley.  I’m pretty certain that this won’t be the last time we’ll see each other in person.  Not after I’ve gotten a glimpse of some of the plans our newest Santa Claus has in his stocking.  I’m beginning to think he might be a visionary.”  The sound of a bell chimed in the director’s right pocket.  “Got it!” she cried, confirming Ashley’s incoming email with a quick glance at her phone.  

Patarra took Ashley by the hand and led her to the next room, with Smokey close behind them.  “We have more in store for you, before you leave,” said The Director of Planetary Surveillance.

Next in line was The Chief of Inventory, wearing an regal green and red sash across his upper body. 

“Lady Sleddingbaum,” said Jaroslav, giving a courteous bow.

“Hello, Jaroslav,” Ashley replied, her smile radiant.  

“My lady, I have a few items I would like to present to you before your departure.  With your permission, of course…”  

“Of course.”  

Jaroslav turned to the guard next to him and retrieved the first item.  “As a citizen of this fair city, I first wish to bestow upon you, The Polus Septentrionalis Medal of Bravery.  Your courageous actions changed one man’s destiny.  And possibly even the destinies of the two worlds we live in.  Consider this medal also to be a symbol of your new, honorary citizenship within our fair hamlet.”  

Ashley beamed with delight, as she studied the intricate, yet simple engravings of the silver medallion:  A simple sleigh, driver and two reindeer.  Behind it, a basic guidepost sign topped by the North Star.  Behind that, a mountain and evergreen backdrop.  She removed her coat and allowed Jaroslav to place the medal over her head and around her neck.  The weight of the piece against her bosom was notable, while the soft, green fabric of the ribbon it was attached to nestled into the back of her neck like fine silk.  

“There is more,” continued Jaroslav, reaching for the next item.  “On behalf of our leader, King Mayor Santa Claus The Eighth, it gives me great pleasure to tell you that you have been adopted… as an Honorary Royal Member of The Eighth Dynasty of Polus Septentrionalis.”

The man opened the necklace jewelry box that was in his hand.  “A modest jewel, for a modest princess,” he said.

By “modest jewel,” Jaroslav meant a flawless, baby blue, 2.45-carat, teardrop cut, with a platinum chain.  The piece’s simple splendor took the woman’s breath away.

“It is an honor,” gasped Ashley.  “And, aquamarine, my favorite!”

Jaroslav’s grin was wide.  “Indeed.  It matches your jacket and beanie perfectly.  You will never find its equal on Earth, because it did not come from this planet.  With your permission, my lady?”  This time, he walked behind Ashley and clasped on the necklace from the back.  The jewel hung an inch or so higher on her chest than the medal, making for a harmonious balance.

“And lastly,” concluded Jaroslav, returning to face the woman, “I’ve been doing a little bit of studying about your culture.  I believe this is what your people call ‘a key to the city.’  Yet another reminder that you are remembered, and will always be welcome here, in Polus Septentrionalis.”  

Ashley surveyed the jewel encrusted gold key the was placed in her hand, about the size of her palm.  “Again, I am humbled beyond measure to receive these gifts.  Thank you again, kind sir,” she said.  

Jaroslav bowed his head low.  “You are most welcome, Princess Sleddingbaum.”  He straightened up and held out his left hand.  “Come.  Your carriage awaits.”

The entourage made their way outside, where Santa Claus The Eighth was just about done hitching up his eight reindeer.  “Let’s do the sleigh up right this time,” he chuckled, presenting the traditional vehicle and the eight animals that resonated with Homo Sapiens lore for generations.  

Smokey stood before Dancer, his eyes pooling with gratitude.  “Thank you,” he whispered, drawing his arms around the reindeer’s neck.  Dancer replied with a series of peaceful clicks, reciting parts of the reindeer language yet unfamiliar to Smokey.  And yet the message was still understood.  

Meanwhile, Ashley took one long, last embrace with Patarra.

“Goodbye, my good friend.  We’ll talk soon,” wept Ashley.  

“Goodbye, Ashley, indeed we will,” replied Patarra.

The director moved on to a renewed and literally-rejuvenated Smokey and shook his hand.  “Take good care of her, Smokey,” Patarra whispered, as if she already knew what was to happen next.

With his passengers all settled in the back of the sleigh, Santa Claus climbed into the driver’s seat, and with a hearty “Ho, ho, ho!” he gave the iconic instructions to depart Polus Septentrionalis:  

“Now Dasher!  Now Dancer!  Now Prancer and Vixen!  On Comet!  On Cupid!  On Donner and Blitzen!”

The same sleigh that had sat in a Montana storage facility for a year lurched forward down the runway, lifted off the ground and gained altitude toward their destination.  Ashley and Smokey waved goodbye one last time as the town beneath them began to diminish in size, the higher they got.  As the vehicle passed through the city cloak, Santa activated Earth’s time dilation to .01%, leaving only eight flying reindeer and three humanoids moving in real time.  

As everyone knows, a flying sleigh pulled by eight reindeer moves noticeably faster than a sleigh with no animals leading it.  Therefore, the return trip to Montana did not take long at all.  Even in the dark, Ashley began to recognize the clusters of light of various Montana cities and towns far below, including her own hometown.  Despite her unending awe, the practical part of her couldn’t help but lean forward and ask the driver for a favor.  

“Hey Santa Claus,” said Ashley.  “Do you think you might be able to just drop us off at the storage units where Smokey and I departed from, please?  My vehicle is still locked away in there.”  

Santa grinned.  “Ho, ho, ho!  I can do even better than that for you, Princess Sleddingbaum!  Hold on!  We’re beginning our descent!”  

A few minutes later, after the sleigh had come to a complete stop, Ashley jumped out, unlocked the storage unit containing her car and lifted up the door.  Next, Santa beckoned her back into the carriage of the sleigh.  After a few button presses from the jolly old man, the back of the sleigh lit up with a festive, green glow.  Santa took hold of the joystick from his console, guiding the light directly into the unit, at which time it enveloped Ashley’s vehicle.  Santa pushed one more button, and the car lifted a couple feet off the ground and slowly made its way forward, without any running motor or human intervention.  

Smokey nodded in remembrance.  “Tractor beam,” he said.  “Nice touch, uncle.”

“Thank you, Smokey,” his uncle replied.  “And now we can take you two home.” 

It was a slow cruise the final few miles back to Ashley’s home.  Santa followed the roads back that led there, albeit a couple hundred feet above them.  Ashley, meanwhile, could not stop looking over her shoulder. 

“Golly, this is incredible!” she exclaimed.  “You’re towing my car in midair, like it was the weight of an eagle’s feather!”

“Ho, ho, ho!” replied Santa.  “Homo Dares technology!  It’s not the weight of the car that’s changed, it is the atmosphere surrounding it!”  

Before long, the sleigh made its final descent into the driveway of the Sleddingbaum residence.  With great care, Santa “parked” the car gently down in its normal spot, released the tractor beam, then made his final turn in front of the entryway to the home.  

“Well, here we are,” announced Jolly Old Saint Nick.  

Smokey looked down at Ashley’s hands on top of his.  He wished this night would never end.  

“Ashley,” said Smokey.  “May I have the honor of walking you to your door?”  

Ashley’s voice was low and husky.  “I would love that, Smokey,” she replied.

The young man looked up at his driver.  “I think this is where Ashley and I say goodbye to you, uncle,” he said.  “She’s given me permission to walk her to her door, and then I think I’ll just walk to my place after that.  There’s so much here to process.”  

Santa Claus nodded and winked.  “As you wish, my boy,” he replied.

Smokey and Ashley disembarked the vehicle, gathered all their belongings and trudged a few steps forward in the new-fallen snow.  The woman’s brow furrowed as she turned around.  

“There’s still one thing I don’t quite understand, Santa,” said Ashley.  “Just how are we going to explain Smokey’s inexplicable transformation to everyone?”

Santa was unfazed.  “Ho, ho, ho!  Oh, don’t you worry about that, Princess Sleddingbaum!” he cried.  “Santa Claus still has a few more stops to make while I’m down here!  You remember The Dream Protocol, right?”

Ashley’s face dropped, while still maintaining eye contact.  “Yes…” she murmured.  

“Consider what I’m about to do… the opposite of Dream Protocol.  A little old-school trick I once picked up that I like to call… communication.”

The three laughed in unison.  Taking a few steps backwards, Smokey and Ashley took one last, melancholy look at the iconic figure, his sleigh and the reindeer who led the way.

“Do not be downtrodden to see me go, my friends!” cried Santa.  “Santa will be back this way in just a couple of days, spreading joy and goodwill to all the Homo Sapiens of this planet!  Until then… Merry Christmas, Smokey Doolittle!  Merry Christmas, Ashley Sleddingbaum!”  

“Merry Christmas, Santa Claus!” the couple exclaimed in unison.  

With a few button pushes, the sleigh and its reindeer rose off the ground, as it prepared to head back down the driveway.  But Smokey and Ashley heard Santa exclaim, right before he drove the sleigh out of sight:

“Ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”  

Santa activated the time dilation switch.  In the blink of the young man’s and woman’s eyes, the sleigh, its driver and its reindeer, had vanished completely.

Walking hand and hand, in silence, Ashley and Smokey made their way through the front yard and up the wooden steps to the front porch, where the porch light automatically switched on at their proximity and movement.  The two stared at each other for the longest time, before Ashley looked down at the thin chain adorning her neck, with the aquamarine dangling at its base, and the medallion below that.  

This isn’t a dream.  This is really happening, she thought.

The young woman restored her gaze toward the handsome young man.  She studied his face, comparing his features to the old man he had been at the beginning of the day.  Ashley blinked once, twice, three times.  The man’s youthful profile did not change.

“Can this be real?  How can this be real?” she asked.  

Smokey placed his hand on her tender cheek.  “It was you, Ashley!” he exclaimed.  “You made this possible!  You gave me my life back!”  His eyes began to mist up.  

“And now… now I want to spend the rest of that life with you!”

Ashley’s eyes grew wide.  “You do?  With… me?”

“I love you, Ashley,” declared Smokey.  “I love the way your smile lights up any room when you enter.  The way your eyes tear up with emotion, in both sadness and joy.  The way you show kindness and compassion for people and animals.  Your determination to do what’s right, no matter the cost.  You are everything I want in a woman.  The perfect woman for me.”  

The woman’s face lit up like the star on a Christmas tree.  Her heart was pounding.  “You… love me?  Oh, Smokey.  I love you too!  Golly, I want to be yours for all time!  To be held in your arms forever!”

Smokey didn’t hesitate.  He reached around Ashley with haste, cradling her with both arms.  The woman returned his embrace, squeezing him just as tight as she could.  Ashley’s smooth, left cheek introduced itself to Smokey’s coarse, hairy one.  The nourishing effects of the Amish oil she had applied to his beard that morning still lingered.  The man’s bristles tickled and pricked Ashley’s face in the perfect way she wanted them to, delivering pleasing sparks throughout her entire body.  She slammed her eyes shut and bared her teeth in satisfaction, revealing a foretaste of what lay under her innocence.   

Smokey’s hands moved down into the small of the woman’s back.  Ashley rejoiced in feeling his fingertips pressing gently but firmly into her spine.  She moved her head back and over, so that she now stood eye-to-eye with Smokey, their noses only an inch apart.  Her body was trembling, but not from the cold.  Ashley brought up both hands to Smokey’s face, cupping his beard with them.  Her eyes dropped to the man’s lips, wild with anticipation of what they would taste like between her own lips.  The heat of his breath against her face made her chirp with even more unfamiliar and marvelous curiosities.  

Gosh.  Of all the billions of women in the world, I get to be the one.

Ashley’s heart skipped a beat, thrilled in the knowledge that the man that stood before her was once Santa Claus.  And that she, of all people, was the only woman he desired, made the encounter all the more dynamic.  

Only he wasn’t Santa Claus anymore.  

“Smokey Doolittle,” she whispered, spoken not merely as an identifier, but as a declaration of his true identity.  It was the fulfillment of Smokey’s dream, happening in real life.

And then she kissed him.  

Smokey’s moan was stifled by Ashley’s mouth pressed against his, his taste buds buzzing from their very first taste of women’s lipstick, applied generously, in earnest hope and anticipation of this moment.  The man’s arms settled perfectly in the hourglass curves around the woman’s waist, as the kiss continued, slow and nonintrusive.  Only the slightest of corrections were made to maximize what was already near perfection.  The woman’s thumbs stroked Smokey’s beard, while her fingers caressed the back of his head, tussling hair which had not existed a couple of hours before. 

After about a minute, Ashley’s face withdrew.  Batting her eyelashes, she looked down toward the ground, wiped a small bit of saliva mixed with makeup from her mouth, and donned the widest grin of her entire life.

Then she began to laugh.  

Not in nervousness or mockery.  But in victory.  

Smokey interpreted the context of her laughter correctly and joined her in the victory celebration.  In one bold move, with their bodies still pressed together, he lifted her up by her waist.  With her toes now several inches off the ground.  Ashley stretched her arms out wide to either side, rotating them in a controlled flail.  Her voice now roared with joyous laughter, as she stared into the heavens, then back down at her man.  Smokey grinned with the smile of a hundred men, cherishing Ashley, spinning her around and around in the air like the princess she was.  

Yes, Ashley, the woman’s thoughts cried out, this love is really real!

That year, Christmas Eve night was one for the history books.  

Six young friends sat around their Base Lodge firepit, toasting marshmallows, fashioning s’mores and belting out Christmas carols.  Having a much-younger Smokey Doolittle in their midst didn’t faze them in the slightest.  After all, each one of them had already had their lives turned upside down a couple of days earlier by a special visit from Santa Claus the Eighth, who explained everything with full disclosure, openness and honesty.  Filled with wonder and joy for what they’d seen and heard, each young man and woman there celebrated Christmas with fervor none of them had experienced since they were little children.  

As the small gatherers got down to their last sips of hot cocoa, their last graham crackers and their last marshmallows and chocolate rectangles, the jubilant Christmas carols transitioned to softer, more reverent tunes.  Ashley opened the second act of their get together by starting the first verse of Silent Night in a melodic, songbird soprano.  The rest of the friends joined in a couple of notes later, their eyes twinkling, as they gazed into the fire.  Smokey sang the second verse solo, his operatic tenor stronger than ever, as his good friends looked on.  Dhargey placed her head in Freddie’s bosom.  Nafasi placed her head in Jake’s bosom.  And Ashley, her heart overflowing with love for her boyfriend, placed her head in Smokey’s bosom as he caroled:  

“Silent night, holy night

Shepherds quake at the sight

Glories stream from heaven afar

Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia 

Christ the Savior is born

Christ the Savior is born.”

The rest of Smokey Doolittle’s friends joined back into the third chorus.  As the evening marched closer to Christmas Day, the idyllic patio setting was one of peace, goodwill towards men, and tidings of comfort and joy.

Chapter 29

Winter’s ski season in Whitefish sped right along.  As for Smokey and Ashley, growing helplessly deeper and deeper in love with one another was a winter wonderland in itself.  For Smokey’s life, it was the start of a new occupation at Dhargey’s veterinary clinic, a handful of clumsy ski lessons, accompanied by Ashley, of course, and Saturday nights with the best of friends.  For Ashley, it was the delight of serving her ski lodge customers with an ever greater fervor than ever before, spending nights and weekends on the slopes with her boyfriend and the same Saturday nights shared amongst her favorite people.  

Days passed in what seemed like no time at all.  April had now arrived, and the successful season of skiing and tobogganing was coming to an end.  On the Saturday afternoon of the final weekend of the season, Smokey invited Ashley to accompany him up the very same ski lift that they had first taken to see Adelaide the previous winter.  Only this time, they rode up in the same carriage, her hand interlocked with his.  Ashley was aflutter the entire ride up, hoping and silently praying that Smokey would make her dream come true that day.  

With the sun shining on the couple directly in front of Summit House, and the world below them stretched out as far as the eye could see, Smokey fell to one knee, pulled out a small box from his briefcase, and gazed into Ashley’s angelic eyes.

“Ashley,” he said, “in all my lost years, filled with empty pursuits and wayward tendencies, I never thought I would arrive at such a wondrous place as this, kneeling before a beautiful woman such as yourself.  Over the last half year, you have shown me how to love and what it means to be alive.  And you have made my life complete.  Almost.”  

Smokey opened the box containing the engagement ring.  “Ashley Sleddingbaum.  I love you.  Will you marry me and do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Ashley’s face was wet with joyous tears.  “Yes,” her voice whispered, before rising in a happy crescendo.  “Yes!  I will marry you, Smokey Doolittle!”

The passing skiers and visitors around them erupted into supportive cheers and applause, as Smokey got up and placed the ring on Ashley’s finger.  Included among them were a couple of returning Montana residents who had travelled all the way from Houston, Texas.

“Mom?  Dad?” cried Ashley, her face flush with excitement.  “You’ve come back already?”  

Her parents explained that, before the proposal, Smokey had fulfilled the time-honored tradition of reaching out to them and asking her father for permission to marry his daughter.  Her father was more than willing to give the man his blessing, having already received so many glowing texts, photos and phone calls from Ashley over the prior weeks and months, aided also by the fact that Smokey would even think to honor what had become such an extremely rare Homo Sapiens tradition in that day and age.  

Joining them in the celebration, coming out of Summit House, were Smokey’s and Ashley’s lodge friends, every one of them.  After their initial congratulations, the close-knit group took the ski lift back down to Base Lodge, where they dined, danced and rejoiced throughout the afternoon and into the evening.  

It was assumed that Smokey and Ashley’s wedding ceremony would probably take place somewhere within the ski resort where they first met and began their friendship.  

It would be.  

And that they would choose to pledge their lives to each other the following winter, in the spirit of the Christmas season that brought them together in the first place.

Smokey and Ashley couldn’t wait that long.  

The Whitefish Mountain Resort had no rules declaring that happy couples couldn’t deck out their wedding venue with Christmas flair in July.  With Big Mountain as their backdrop, and the Base Lodge standing by for their reception a few hundred feet behind them, Smokey and Ashley joined hands with one another at the elegant, makeshift altar and festive outdoor wedding arch, decked out with an unusual dichotomy of silver bells and boughs of holly, paired with arrow leaf balsam root flowers and huckleberries.  

Smokey’s wedding party consisted of Freddie as his Best Man, followed by Jake and Yon, the two men who had saved his very life that fateful snowy night.  Ashley’s wedding party consisted of a very pregnant Dhargey as her Matron of Honor, and Nafasi, who had assimilated into their small circle of friends like she had known them all her life.  

Rounding out the bride’s wedding party was Patarra.  

The Homo Dares who promised to keep in touch with Ashley remained true to her word.  And with the doorway between their two worlds now wide open, thanks to the efforts of The Eighth Dynasty, Patarra was thrilled to receive and accept Ashley’s invitation to the wedding, not merely as a guest, but as a member of her bridal procession.  She put forth a radiant smile, beaming with joy and wonder at the happy couple.  With an engagement ring of her own around her finger now, and salt water pooling up around the bottom of her eyes, Patarra reached up with a tissue to dab the tears away, then pushed the top of her glasses back against the bridge of her nose to take it all in.  

The bride and groom had now reached the heart of the wedding ceremony.  With their supportive families and hospital staff in the audience, the groom and bride faced one another, their eyes glistening with love and desire for each other.  Smokey was the first to proclaim his vows.  

“My dearest Ashley.  I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would ever be standing here at the altar, about to pledge my life to a woman of such great character, integrity and love as you.  No one has ever fought for me as hard as you have.  No one has ever loved me the way you love me.  You are my stunning warrior bride, and yet your greatest strengths are your kindness, innocence and tenderness.  But above all, your unconditional love.  I want to marry you and become your husband.  I desire the Sleddingbaum name of many generations past to become part of my own name.  I will be your strong hands to guide you, your shoulder to cry on, your faithful friend, the father of our beautiful children.  I choose today to take this journey, this life together with you, wherever it may lead us.  I love you, Ashley.  With all my heart, with every breath I breathe.  I am yours forever.”

With tears forming in her eyes, Ashley now proclaimed her vows.

“You and I, Smokey, we were destined to be together.  For what the world called impossible, you and I have made the impossible possible.  Every roadblock that was put in our path, we overcame triumphantly.  As the love we had for one another blossomed and grew.  And now, I stand here in my wedding gown, about to freely give you my hand in wedded bliss for all to see.  You are a beautiful and wonderful man, inside and out.  I want to marry you and become your wife, more than words can convey.  I want the Doolittle name to endure for many future generations, by making it part of my own name.  I will be your forever friend, your lover, your confidant, the mother of your children.  I choose today to take this journey, this life together with you, wherever it may lead us.  I love you, Smokey.  With all my heart, with every breath I breathe.  I am yours forever.”  

Wedding rings were exchanged next:  simple, engraved, gold bands, representing the simplicity of their commitment to one another, and a symbol of their love and faithfulness.  New, salty springs of joy flowed from Ashley’s face, as Smokey slipped her ring onto her finger, their union nearly complete.  Without hesitation, Ashley then did the same, sliding her fingertips over Smokey’s soft hairs, as his ring rested into place at the base of his ring finger.

With a few final words, the minister declared Smokey and Ashley man and wife.  Their first married kiss tasted of sweet cranberries, followed by the fragrance of White Bark Pine, little details of Ashley’s bridal makeover that she knew would evoke feelings of comfort and joy within Smokey.  And remind him of their promise of long-lasting life and love together.  With the last vestiges of Homo Dares life now sealed away forever, Smokey’s lips remained on Ashley’s a few seconds longer, his Homo Sapiens existence and future now complete. 

The married couple turned to the crowd with joyfulness and wonder, with the minister introducing them as “Mr. and Mrs. Smokey Sleddingbaum-Doolittle.”  With the Base Lodge reception awaiting the newlyweds, they returned down the aisle, grinning and shouting out with glee, ready to celebrate with all who were in attendance.  Saw-Whet the Chickadee swooped down from above and found a perch on Ashley’s finger, wanting to be the very first to publicly congratulate them.  The photographer captured the exchange, the light catching the interaction perfectly.  

Just as the newlyweds were about to enter the lodge, Smokey took a backwards glance up the mountain and caught Adelaide behind a small cluster of pine trees, nodding and offering up her best wishes from a distance.  

His joy was complete.  

Chapter 30

This is where it all began, thought Noelle Halfpenny in revelation, her gaze shifting to each member of the wedding lineup in the photo from the gilded album.  

The creator of the memory book made sure to caption every event, every keepsake, with immaculate, cursive penmanship.  The photo on that page read:  “Patarra Cranbury, Nafasi Howell, Dhargey Escarra, Bride Ashley Sleddingbaum, Groom Smokey Doolittle, Freddie Escarra, Jake Evanrise, Yon Gomez.  July 22nd, 2028.”  

Noelle proceeded through a few more featured photographs:  The birth of her mother, the birth of her Uncle Nick, the birth of her Aunt Isabella-Jeanette, the baptisms of said relatives from that generation, and so on, and so forth…

The young woman bobbed her head a few times, skipping several pages forward, until the tome landed on the photo of another wedding.  The caption read:  “First kiss as husband and wife!  The marriage of Joy Sleddingbaum-Doolittle and Stephen Halfpenny.”  Nichole’s mother’s bridal veil was pulled back behind her head, as her long, blonde hair bounced without restraint down to her hips.  Meanwhile, her father, the groom, had his fingers entangled somewhere between the blonde river and her cheekbones.  And his lips were somewhere between her mother’s cupid’s bow and her vermillion border.  

Just then, the office door slid open.  Noelle’s mother walked in, blonde hair not so long anymore, but still a formidable mane down to her shoulder blades.  Her blue eyes lit up, at seeing her daughter.  

“There you are, dear!  I wondered where you went!” exclaimed Joy.  

“Oh hey, mom,” replied Noelle.  “Everything okay?”  

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.”  Joy did a nostalgic scan of the room, sighing in contentment.  Her eyes fell on a framed wall photograph of her father Smokey, who was standing in front of a fir tree, filled with chickadees.  

“A lot of history can be found in this room,” Joy continued.  “Your grandfather has lived a full and happy life.”  

Noelle’s mother looked back down and noticed ten bright lavender accents at the end of her daughter’s fingers.  “Noelle!” she cried.  “Did you paint those nails all by yourself?”  

Noelle stared at her hands.  “It’s nothing,” she replied.  

“Nothing?  Your nails are exquisite!  Are they…”  

“Real?”  Noelle raised an eyebrow.  “Mom, I’ve been growing them out for months!  Every single one of them is real!”  

Joy shook her head.  “Incredible.  Seeing your handiwork up close, darling, I really wish you would reconsider-”

Her daughter threw up a hand.  “I have reconsidered,” she replied.  

“Oh?”

“Watching my nails grow out strong and healthy, I’ve been thinking a lot more about it lately and… mom?  I’m thinking… maybe I would like to work with you at your salon part time after school.

Joy’s right hand shot to her bosom.  “Really?  You would?”

Noelle nodded.  “Just thinking about how much I love the way this nail polish and stickers make me feel, I’m thinking now that maybe I could spread some of those good feelings to others.”

“Oh, sweetie, it would make my entire Christmas to have you working alongside me after the holidays!” 

“Ok, mom.  It’s a deal.”   

The mother-daughter understanding was cut short.  “Vehicles approaching,” Dasher’s robotic voice called out, upon detecting new humanoids entering the property.  Joy sauntered over to the far end of the room and leaned forward to look out the window.  Two cars were coming down the gravel driveway, both floating on a one-foot cushion of air. 

“Looks like both your aunt’s and uncle’s family got here at the same time,” said Joy.  “Come.  Let’s find your brothers and sister and wish our arriving family a Merry Christmas.”

In one caravan was Joy’s brother Nicholas, his wife, their two children and their Cairn Terrier, Playto.  In the next caravan was Joy’s youngest sister Isabella-Jeanette, her husband and their four children, including the twin girls, and Angel, their newborn.  

Greetings and salutations were shared around the entryway, with kids of varying ages kicking off their shoes in every which direction, while others clung to their parents’ legs like moss on a tree.  Joy played proxy host for as long as she could, but it wasn’t long before several young cries erupted from the crowd.

“Where’s Claus?” a child’s voice rang out.  

“Yeah!  We wanna see Claus!” cried a second child.  

“I wanna see Claus…” added a third.

“Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, hooooo!” exclaimed an old man’s voice from the living room.  Cheers of glee followed, followed by the stampede of little footsteps running to the next chamber.  Waiting for them with open arms was Grandpa Smokey, also known as Santa Claus.  Looking the part, both in costume and appearance, the aging man was approaching a nearly identical appearance as his brief stint as Santa Claus the Seventh, many, many years ago.  He crouched down to greet them, and then was thoroughly knocked onto his back by the youthful onslaught.  He laughed and chortled, as his grandchildren kissed him, tugged on his beard and untied his shiny black boots.  

The twins, however, stayed their distance, with expressions of youthful displeasure on their faces.  

“We wanna see Claus!” cried the first girl.  

“Ho, ho, ho!  You’re looking at him!” exclaimed Smokey.  

“Not you…!  We wanna see Mrs. Claus!”

“Yeah!  Where’s Mrs. Claus?” cried the second girl.  

Smokey’s jaw dropped, just as one of his little grandsons yanked off his Santa hat.  “Well, I never…!” he exclaimed, in feigned indignation.  

“I’m right here, children,” called out a sweet voice.  

Several of the grandchildren, including the twins, turned completely around to see the spitting image of Mrs. Claus, even down to the rounded spectacles, cookie-dough-stained apron wrapped around her red Christmas blouse and skirt, and her own festive Santa hat.  With snow-white hair around its borders, Ashley’s face beamed with delight, at seeing the quiver of arrows staring back at her from her direct lineage.  

“Now that’s more like it!” cried the twins in unison.  

Ashley let out a sweet, deep, belly laugh.  “Come here my little ones,” she said.  “Mrs. Claus has got a special surprise for each and every one of you!”  

From wooden tops, to finger puppets, to die-cast racing cars, Ashley’s deep pockets seemed to have no end.  Even little Angel received an newborn-age-appropriate Christmas toy from the generous “Mrs. Claus.”  

But there was one guest that the matriarch of the house was chomping at the bit to give a gift to.  

Giving a nod to her son Nicholas, Ashley’s eyes then fell upon Playto the terrier, who was lowered to the ground and darted toward Mrs. Claus like a beam of light.  

“Ashley!  Ashley!  Ashley!” cried Playto.  “I can’t believe I’m here!  I love coming here and seeing you!”  

“Merry Christmas, Playto!” cried Ashley in perfect Canis, her tongue having had decades to become fully proficient in the language of the canines.  “Who’s ready for a scrumptious, delicious, holiday dog treat?” 

“I am!  I am!  I am!  Please?”

“Oh, so polite!  Well.  Then you shall have it.”  

Ashley held out three small dog treats.  One was shaped like a bell, another a tree, and the third, a stocking.  A few seconds later, they were gone.  

“Oh!  Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum!” exclaimed Playto.  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Ashley!”  

Ashley tussled the top of Playto’s head and let him lick her face.  Then she walked across the room and rescued her husband off the ground, lifting him up so that they were standing face to face.  

“Merry Christmas, Ashley Sleddingbaum-Doolittle,” said Smokey.  

“Merry Christmas, Smokey Sleddingbaum-Doolittle,” replied Ashley.  

Their lips pressed together for the millionth time.  This act was followed by a chorus of “Ewws,” a couple of childish snickers, and one, “You go, girl!”  

From a quiet corner, Noelle remained happy and content, her crossed arms navigating her body’s often awkward, but ultimately wondrous journey into adulthood.  She had no doubt that she would become a wife and mother someday, continuing the family line and, hopefully, being able for her grandparents to live to see a new generation of great-grandchildren, adding to their already-overflowing hearts.  

The age-old question remained.  Was Noelle Halfpenny ever meant to exist?  It depends on who you ask.  But one simple fact remained:  There she was now, and no one would ever take that life away from her. 

And maybe, just maybe, that was the plan all along.

The End