God Blake was really starting to hate Christmas…
London at Christmas seemed particularly bad. Whenever he ventured outside of his hotel no matter then miserable weather, the icy cold that seemed to sap the warmth from his bones, the freezing wind that whipped around street corners and laughingly ripped your hat and scarp away from you; it didn't even have the decency to snow properly. Just this icy slush that the ever-passing traffic turned to brown sludge.
What made it worse was that other people seemed to be able to ignore all of this and still go about with damn smiles on their faces even as they had to fight through crowds of shoppers for that last elusive gift or were forced to wait endlessly for a table in a restaurant only to be served with a grimace barely appetising lukewarm food that then cost them an arm and a leg. And still people called it the season of good cheer…
The only thing good about it in Blake's opinion was that seasonal monetary pressures tended to make people more agreeable when it came to negotiating deals.
It was for that reason that Blake Carrington had chosen not to go home for Christmas. He had made the choice to fly over to London instead as soon as the obituary had hit the London Times in order to finalise a deal that would make Denver Carrington even bigger. Snatching the opportunity to acquire a prime firm after the death of it's owner from distant relatives who were only too happy to see the old bastard dead and buried and get their hands on his money out from under Cecil Colby's aristocratic nose.
It was only a shame that Blake wouldn't be there on Christmas morning when his old pal Cecil received the news that Blake had beaten him completely to the punch. It was a well deserved victory in Blake's eyes after all he had sacrificed catching a flight home that would enable him to spend Christmas eve with his children.
"Mr Carrington?" Glancing up Blake forced a smile for Andrew Peterson his man in London who stood hovering nervously around the door to his own office which Blake had had no choice but to commandeer for the length of the negotiations. Peterson was an excellent lawyer but with his ruddy complexion and rather rounded figure Blake had to wonder if he was the best representation. After all Denver Carrington was the still the young kid on the block in the oil business, it was seen as the sleek an agile killing machine as opposed to Colby Co's large imposing behemoth. It simply didn't do to have a man who looked more likely to keel over in a heart attack himself than go for the jugular as his public face…Plus the man was far too cheerful to be born on a regular basis.
"Yes Mr Peterson?" Blake asked glaring at the nervously smiling fat man who sidled awkwardly into what used to be his own office.
"It's getting somewhat late Mr Carrington, well after seven and it is Christmas Eve…"
"Your point if you have one?" Blake grunted cutting his underling off.
"Well security were hoping to close down the building for the holidays…" Mr Peterson answered a nervous sweat beading on his brow that he mopped at with his handkerchief. "If we keep them waiting much longer they will be wanting triple rates."
Sighing Blake had to admit there he had a point. The idea of paying the pointless security guard triple time for simply sitting around drinking tea whilst Blake slaved away to pay for it stuck in his gourd. Waving Mr Peterson away Blake grunted as he began to collect his paperwork. "Very well I will simply take this back to the hotel with me then. I at least will have plenty of time to look over it tomorrow."
"Actually Mr Carrington…" Mr Peterson cut in nervously. "My wife was wondering if you haven't already made plans if you would like to join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow…She's an excellent cook and there will be more than enough and she hates the idea of you sitting all alone…"
"Thank you for your kind invitation but I must decline." Blake cut the man off before his babbling could become even more pathetic. As if he would want to spend any longer in such company…and socially…Blake could only roll his eyes.
"Oh I did tell her you probably already had plans an important man such as yourself." Mr Peterson spluttered his cheeks now a deep crimson. "Still if you should change your mind…"
"I won't." Blake all but bit back, stacking his paperwork in his briefcase. After all he did indeed have plans, plans to spend the day reviewing the paperwork for this deal and downing a bottle of scotch. "Just make sure that you and your legal team are ready to finalise this the day after, I cannot be hanging around London for days at a time…time is money you know."
"But that's boxing day and…"
"Is there a problem?"
"Well its traditionally a holiday, all my team have booked leave and…."
"Then cancel it." Blake retorted simply. "They can take holiday on their own time not mine. Let's make it nice and clear shall we, either they come in and finalise my paperwork or I take my business to a new law firm." Blake added watching as finally the colour drained from Peterson's face. "Are we clear?"
Nodding like a dumb fool Mr Peterson could only babble as Blake headed for the door and out into another miserable London night. "Yes sir crystal clear Mr Carrington."
God he hated London. It always brings back memories Blake would much rather forget. Plus there was nothing worse than having to hurry through the drizzle and the revellers who crowded every pavement forcing Blake to walk in the gutter if he wanted to avoid trampling or even worse being drawn into a hug with some inebriated city worker. Things wouldn't have been so bad if he had been able to at least find a cab, yet it seemed everytime one appeared it was already occupied and there was no way Blake Carrington would be seen dead getting on public transport.
So that left walking.
Still it was only a mile to his hotel, Blake was almost relieved when he caught sight of the bright lights of the Ritz. There at least was a bottle of scotch with his name on it and a passable steak from room service. Warm and dry and away from all of these damn idiots and…
"SHIT." Blake cursed loudly as in his sudden urge to get to the hotel he hadn't looked where he was going and had almost gotten knocked down by a taxi…ironically the only one Blake had seen with it's light on all evening. Then in jumping back out of the road as the taxi driver blared his horn Blake grimaced as he accidentally jumped back into the biggest dirtiest puddle he could have found; drenching his hand stitched leather shoes and splashing dirty icy water all up the legs of his new suit trousers.
Squelching every step by the time he actually reached his hotel Blake's foul mood had deteriorated to such an extent that when the doorman dared to smile at him and open the door wishing Blake "A Merry Christmas to you sir…If you have any spare change tonight me and the boys are collecting on behalf of the local children's homes…"
It was all Blake could do to restrain from throttling the poor man. "Does it look like I am having a merry Christmas?" Blake all but yelled as the doorman quailed the full force of Blake's rage. "I am drenched and frozen to the bone and you have the nerve to wish me a merry Christmas expecting me to tip you for just doing your job and sucking up…And if you really think I am naive enough to believe you are actually collecting for charity? How much of that will end up being spent down your local pub?"
Astounded by such a reaction the doorman could only gape like a fish his mouth opening and closing with only gasps of surprise coming out as half of the reception stopped and the duty manager hurried over.
"Mr Carrington is there a problem?"
"Yes there is I pay good money for my suite here and I do not expect to be harassed for money by your doorstaff. I am sure that is not the reputation the Ritz was hoping to cultivate amongst its international visitors?"
"But I was only…"
"That is enough John. I think it is best you apologise and take your break…no better yet finish your shift now and have Fredrickson take over and don't expect to be paid your overtime." The manager hissed. "I already warned you about this once…If you want to donate your tips then that is your choice but under no circumstances are you to ask our guests to contribute!…I am so sorry Mr Carrington…and so is John.." The manager added with a glare at the doorman who nodded glumly.
Moderately appeased Blake took the forced apology for what it was barely gracing this doorman John with a nod of acknowledgement before heading to the elevators and the sanctuary of his suite. At least there he wouldn't have to deal with anybody else, there Blake Carrington could do his best to shut out the rest of the world.
Several hours later Blake was settled in his room with a large brandy, several others having been already consumed, scowling at the fine print of his contract when all of a sudden the electric lights begin to flicker before suddenly going out altogether. Cursing loudly Blake immediately moved to the phone only to lift the receiver and find that that was also dead.
"Damn power cut." Blake grumbled yet as he turned around his scowl only deepened as it seemed the gaudy fluorescent streetlights weren't at all affected, in fact none of the buildings around had been plunged into darkness. Stalking to window to check if any other lights had gone out Blake could only squint as there seemed to be some bright glow building…
Perhaps it was one of those searchlights or perhaps some idiot had their headlights on full beam? Although that would be a damn funny angle…and the bright light seemed to be moving. Faster and higher it rose until it disappeared too close to the hotel and out of Blake's line of sight. Craning his neck to catch sight of where it have vanished too Blake all but screamed out loud as there was a sharp tapping on his window.
Staggering backwards Blake could only blink and rub his eyes as a ghostly apparition of a fat old man appeared to be tapping at his window.
"No…I must be hallucinating." Blake muttered to himself glancing down at his brandy glass. Or maybe he had been slipped some sort of narcotic by accident?
Yet still the figure continued to knock with growing impatience and unnerved despite repeating to himself that it wasn't real that he was imaging it entirely it was becoming harder and harder to remain clam and ignore it. Scrambling back Blake grabbed for the telephone, yet no matter how many times he pressed the buttons it remained for the phone still dead. Now the knocking was constant and loud practically banging. Covering his ears Blake cowered on the floor, his panic beginning to take control as his grip on the dead telephone became almost deathlike.
"GO AWAY!" Blake yelled, throwing the dead phone with all his strength towards the apparition only for it to break the glass and let the ghostly figure in.
"About bloody time do you how freezing it is out there…honestly the youth of today no manners the lot of you." The fat elderly ghost griped as floated down and settled himself down in the chair Blake had only recently vacated chair before looking down longingly at Blake's abandoned brandy, muttering morosely. "I can't even enjoy the fumes anymore."
For a moment Blake couldn't find his words or his courage, yet it didn't take long for his former foul mood to overcome even his own terror and Blake demanded to know "Who the hell are you and what do you thinks you are doing here?
Yet of all the responses Blake had expected for the ghost to huff sullenly and scowl at him over his ghostly pez nez was not one of them.
"That's just typical you've been practically fighting over my corpse to get your greedy hands on my company and you don't even have the decency to recognise me". The ghost muttered indignantly before stooping to introduce himself. "I am Mr Charles Hetherington-Smythe or at least I was."
Stunned Blake had to admit that of all the possible answers that had not been amongst one of them. "And why are you here?"
"Not by choice I assure you but I've been sent to sort you out. Someone somewhere must have some clout and more astonishingly still cares about you Carrington which is amazing considering all you've ever done is hurt and alienate those who love you."
"Humbug it's the drink or I'm dreaming…that's it I'm just dreaming." Blake insisted only pausing as the ghost came to lean over him and Blake could smell his rotting breath, the sick grin on the ghosts face taunting him.
"Oh I think I can find a way to convince you I'm real…." The ghost of Charles Hetherington-Smythe muttered gleefully as he reached out and grabbed Blake by the tie before drifting over to the window and dragging a struggling screaming Blake after him to half hang out of the broken window.
"Now Carrington since I am the only thing keeping you from falling to your death you would like to reconsider your last statement?"
Blake choked by the tightening tie could barely choke out a "Yes."
Yet that seemed to be enough as reluctantly the Spirit relented, giving him a push that sent Blake sprawling onto his back amidst the broken glass.
"Good now we've got that little matter out of the way we can get down to business."
Loosening his tie Blake managed to gasp for breath as his quick mind grasped on the word business, surely he must be able to bargain with the spirit. "What do you want…money..me to leave your company alone…What?"
Scoffing at Blake's ridiculous attempt the apparition spat back bitterly. "You cannot give me what I want Carrington…"
"I can try."
"Salvation…redemption…atonement?" The spirit questioned his evil smirk growing as Blake seemed to shrink. "Not words you are very familiar with unless you are demanding it of others. Well no man can atone for another he must wipe away his own sin through suffering and humiliation, until he at last understands the suffering he has condemned others to. Well you are lucky Carrington you are being given a chance to change your path before it is too late."
"Lucky I damn well don't feel lucky…"
"That is because you're an idiot." The spirit scoffed. "Take the chance or don't take it is ultimately your choice, either way you will be visited by three spirits who will try to show you the error of your ways."
"Three spirits? Haven't I been haunted enough?" Blake spluttered cringing, as the old spirit seemed to grow to fill the room. When he next spoke the words seemed to rattle the room and Blake clutched his head, squinting against the sudden brightness and the way the words seemed to echo inside his skull.
"Expect the first spirit when Big Ben tolls one!"