Oh, wow, hey look, a Christmas story three days after Christmas is over. Yeeah, blame my lack of stable wifi. But this has been a passion project years in the making, so holiday imposed deadlines are "eh" to me at this point. Hopefully it can all get posted before the new year, but that's out of my hands right now.
So, enjoy ~ (and Happy Holidays. Happy Hanukkah in particular to those observing right now :D)
If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older ~ Tom Stoppard
~1~
Rainbow Christmas, Rainbow Christmas,
Oh so very white and filled with Yuleness!
Bringing gifts to girls and boys,
The naughty, naughty kids don't get no toys!
Oh, silver and gold and red and white,
Rainbow Christmas, Rainbow Christmas, is tonight!
"SONIA!"
The melody of the holiday tune was broken by the shout. Sonia fumbled as she reached across her desk, several ornaments and pictures falling to the wayside as she responded to the intercom. "Um, y-yes, Mr. Uno?"
"Turn the radio off. I can hear that nonsense all the way from my office."
A grimace cast over Sonia's face, but she slowly obliged with the command. Her fingers traced over her radio's flimsy switch before hesitantly moving to the volume knob. With a shaky sigh, she lowered the volume to a mere murmur before lifting her head, eyes taking in the lull of the office. After steadying her nerves, she turned her radio down a bit more before calling out over the intercom. "Sorry about that, Mr. Uno. It won't happen again."
Further down the hall, seated behind his desk, Nigel raised a shrewd brow as the voice of his assistant flittered over the intercom.
"See that you don't," he said, the clip in his voice only outweighed by the click of his pen. That annoyance taken care of, the young man returned to his paperwork.
The office of Nigel Uno was a modest one; it held the typical furnishings that carried a sense of corporate importance, and a decent window view of the city and the thousands of people below all scurrying about trying to get last minute shopping done. The cedar wood desk stood sturdy, neatly decorated with cups stuffed with annoying holiday themed pencils and folders filled with paperwork that was going to take a solid weekend to plow through.
Not that Nigel minded the sacrifice. If there was one thing the man never was, it was a stranger to hard work and long hours. His hand glided across the desk, gently tucking various documents into his file, when he stiffened and leaned his head towards the door. The inane white noise that was Sonia's radio was piercing through the cracks of his door. His face became sheen with agitation as he snapped to his intercom, but stopped when he found Sonia responding first.
"Mrs. Meyerson is here, Mr. Uno."
Nigel schooled his expression as he stood. "Send her in."
"Nigel!" The door to his office flung open, revealing an orderly looking woman waltzing in. Her pink suit was crisp, blond hair compacted into a bun, and face sparkling with business-like enthusiasm. "There's my favorite corporate star. How are you?"
"I'm quite alright," he greeted evenly. His brows creased as he edged to the side and rose his voice. "Though it's a bit nosier than I'm accustomed to."
Another faint squeak of Sonia could be heard followed by the lessening of holiday music.
"Shame all that airtime is wasted on holiday blathering," the woman laughed as she plucked out her smart phone. "Christmas gets better publicity than we do, but not for your lack of trying, you!"
Nigel coughed into his hand as he took in her praise. "Only doing my job."
"Nigel, there's doing your job, and then there's miracle working," Meyerson said. She stowed away her phone, then whipped out a tablet from her purse and waved Nigel over as she scrolled through the screens. "Thanks to you, our brand's approval rating has blossomed! We're practically public darlings."
"Can't say it was a cake walk," Nigel mumbled, walking over to his desk and sorting papers as he talked. "I mean, honestly, we literally called ourselves Evil Adult Industries; and the execs wondered why public opinion took a nosedive."
"What can I say? It was a legacy thing. Your uncle—god rest his soul—was very peculiar about those matters," Meyerson said with a shrug. Nigel's shoulders went rigid for a moment, but relaxed as Meyeron continued to beam. "But he had a vision! A vision that included you, and might I say that bringing you on board was one of his greatest achievements."
Nigel continued consolidating files, his eyes glossing over as he stared listlessly towards the window. Thoughts of his uncle caused numerous amounts of emotions to bubble at his core. Ben was a man you either stood with or against, and that polarizing image stayed with him up to his deathbed. He could scarcely recall, from his younger college days, how he once rallied against everything and anything his distant uncle considered dear. The life Ben led seemed distasteful back then.
He scoffed as he pushed away those memories. Funny how flimsy idealism never held up once you actually grew up.
"Old Ben had his ways," Nigel quietly mumbled before straightening his posture. "But getting nostalgic isn't going to change anything. We've gathered good steam, but if we want to capitalize on the progress we've made, we need to be ready to make bold decisions and not be afraid of taking a few risks here and there."
Meyerson smirked as she sauntered to Nigel's side. "Why Mr. Uno, are you implying you have a few ideas of your own?"
Nigel's eyes widened as he began to tactfully backtracked his statement. "I may have gotten ahead of myself."
"Getting ahead is what this is all about, Nigel. And with your successful captaining of the rebranding campaign, I think you could afford to take a few…extra strides," she said as she casually slipped a document in front of him.
His fingers smoothed out the paper as he skimmed over the inky black letters. "Ah, this is about that new line of ties for children we're trying to push."
"The boys in marketing even have the holiday brand ready for product testing," Meyerson squealed, excitedly brandishing a tacky-looking Christmas tie. "Isn't it just delightful?"
"Sure," Nigel said slowly, feeling a tad anxious as he gave the tie a once over. He shook off the ridiculous feeling and evened his gaze with Meyerson. "I get the feeling this is more than a sneak peek."
"This is why you're going places," Meyerson said, pulling out a pen and coyly slipping it between Nigel's fingers. "We're having some…let's call them complications getting the local kids to try on our ties. We have a little goodwill task-force lined up to coax the little darlings into complying. Just sign off on the order, and the wheels will be in motion."
It was almost funny how one sheet of paper could make the rest of the world not matter, even if for a second. Nigel palmed his desk as he read the passage in agonizing detail. Children had always been an unruly part of life adults accepted, and it was the company's job—thereby his job—to do something about that unruliness. Regulation like this was not new to him; he had even had a hand in developing similar prior agendas.
The pen in hand seemed to feel a bit heavier.
"We're just the sister company," Nigel finally said. There was a slight hitch in his voice, and he could not place where it was coming from. "My signature won't mean anything."
Meyerson let loose a haughty laugh. "Oh, Nigel. There's being humble and there's just hamming it up. You know as well as I do it was your uncle's dream to see you do big things in the company. Doesn't get any bigger than this! You know the board members are looking to bring in new blood to the main branch. Plus, there's been that promotion you've been eyeing. Think of this as you showing them you're willing to play ball."
Nigel rolled the pen between his fingers, mind heavy with thought and consideration. Ever since he started from his entry level position, he worked day in and day out to get this far. Passing up on this kind of opportunity would be a slap in the face to all the man-hours he put into this job. He gave a curt nod as he made his decision.
As he marked the paper with his signature, he felt the slightest tug from within, but as with everything else, he pushed it aside.
"Excellent!" Meyerson grinned as she pinched the paper from his desk. She tucked the document away and made for the exit. "I'll make sure the boys downstairs get right on this. And keep the tie! I can see you running this place soon, so you better get used to looking the part."
Meyerson hurried out of his office, leaving the door ajar on her exit. Nigel gave it no mind, instead focused on the tie dangling from his desk. After a brief pause, he gingerly took the article as he walked himself around towards the window. He gazed into the glass, his mirror image slowly coming into focus.
His white-collar business shirt was tucked neatly into his slacks, his clothing and dark shoes free of lint and scuff marks. His stoic expression stared back at him with equal intensity, and upon having already lost all his hair in a freak childhood accident, his cleanly shaven head sparkled with signs of careful polish.
Even at his young age, he filled out the profile of a prospect executive quite well. Too well, his wife would sometimes remark, but it was a compliment. Or so he convinced himself. The only thing missing was a tie, an article of clothing he loathed with a burning passion, though he didn't know why. Probably some silly, unresolved hang-up from his childhood, but given how fuzzy that patch of his life was anyway, there was honestly no telling.
Perhaps it was time to just get over it. After all, he snidely thought as he brought the piece to his neck, it's just a tie.
"Mr. Uno?"
His intense trance like state was broken by the new voice, throwing him into a fit. Nigel jumped, throwing the tie to the floor in shock. His hand clutched at his chest, and he took labored breaths as he eyed the tie as it hissed and slithered under his chair—
Wait, what—
"Mr. Uno?"
The voice tore Nigel's attention away from his discarded tie—which he SWORE resembled more of a snake than a tie just a second ago—and looked at his assistant shying in with half her body obscured by the door.
"Um," Sonia meekly responded as she watched her boss carefully, "Is t-this a bad time?"
"For giving me a heart attack?" Nigel snapped. "Why yes, Sonia, it's always a bad time for that. Now unless there was something worth barging in my office for…"
Sonia stood there, taking a moment to let the hint sink in. She shuffled the rest of the way in, hands zipping over her clipboard. "Uh, y-yes. Just wanted to let you know that your portfolio came back up from the sixth floor."
Heaving out a sigh, Nigel nestled back into his chair and slowly regained his former rhythm as he took to typing at his computer. "Leave it on my desk and I'll get to it after my meeting tonight."
"That's another thing," Sonia said, only she sounded hesitant. "Your meeting, um, isn't going to happen."
Nigel paused mid-key-stroke, brows crinkling together. "Now why would that be?"
Sonia's eyes darted around the room as her nerves began chipping away. "Because Mr. Perrybottom decided to go home early."
"Why?"
"So, he could be with his family?"
"Why?"
"…because it's Christmas Eve—"
"And there it is," Nigel said curtly, Sonia snapping her mouth shut as he went on. "Christmas Eve. As if that just excuses bailing on me. That meeting was very important and I'm rather annoyed he assumed I'd be just dandy with it not happening."
Sonia briefly wondered if a tactical retreat from this train wreck was in her best interest. Mr. Uno's grouchiness came with the job, and it only worsened the closer the calendar edged to the holidays.
"Honestly, the holidays have become a bunch of oversaturated nonsense," Nigel said, making a point to send rather testy emails to Perrybottom and related parties about conduct, proper boardroom decorum, and how if you're going to cancel last minute then at least have the curtsey not to do it through assistants. "Probably going to have to stay late to make up for all the slack around here."
Sonia's eyes widened in alarm. "Does that mean I have to stay too?"
"It'd look good on your resume," Nigel droned, not even looking at Sonia as he began typing up his report, "but I don't have a viable reason to keep you overtime."
The young woman sagged with relief. Her hands gripped her clipboard tighter and she took deep breaths as she psyched herself up for her next request. "CanIgohomeearly!?"
Twice. That's twice she's caused him to stop typing. It was as if she didn't want him to finish the annual earnings report. Nigel frustratingly tapped at the spacebar as he craned his head to look at Sonia.
She felt depressingly small under that scrutinizing gaze. For two minutes straight she shriveled under his stare and now she wished she could turn back time and take back such a stupid, stupid request.
Three minutes now. Maybe she spoke too quickly. Sonia gulped before stuttering, "Um, sorry, b-but I-I asked if—"
"I heard you," Nigel's sharp voice cut through her, garnering a flinch. He rolled his eyes. She was never going to last long being so sensitive. After processing her ridiculous request, he released a puff of hot air and threw his hands up. "Why not? Everyone's going home early, apparently! You can go if you're fine forfeiting your bonus."
Wetness dabbed at the corners of Sonia's eyes before she remembered something. "Actually, I don't get a bonus."
That gave Nigel pause. "What?"
"I'm an intern," she explained. Upon his confused blink, she elaborated, "An unpaid intern."
"Oh." Nigel stared dumbly at his assistant. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair before his face creased with new perspective. "Well, we all have to start small; I certainly did. Was given a job in the mailroom, but I worked my way up. You've got to be willing to put in extra work, Sonia. It's the only way you're going to make it in this business."
"…so is that a no to me going home early, or?"
"Just go," Nigel groaned, rubbing his face with the heel of his palms. Sonia's entire form seemed to brighten, and of course Nigel felt the instinctual need to dim it. "But in return, you come in tomorrow morning and finish up any leftover assignments you have. I'll be coming in, so I'll release you around noon."
Sonia seemed ready to protest, and sighed as any fight she probably had wheezed out of her. "Yes, sir."
"Oh, don't be like that," Nigel waved off. "You knew the requirements of this internship. Why apply just to weasel out of responsibility?"
"This was the only option I had left, and I need it to finish my undergrad degree," Sonia mumbled. The corners of her lips perked ever so slightly as her mind went elsewhere. "I really, really wanted to get an internship at Rainbow Monkey Corporation, though. Their office is so cute, and the new program even pays you!"
"Wow, that sounds swell!" Nigel said. He rose his voice a pitch to match his too-sugary smile as he folded his hands under his chin. "Gosh, then I guess me personally helping you get this internship doesn't mean squat."
"I-I didn't mean to—" Sonia had a thousand and seven apologies prepared, but Nigel stopped her with a wag of his finger as his face went back to classic peeved-neutral. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Uno. I am grateful, really!"
Nigel gave a small grunt, shooing off Sonia's concern and adopting a slouch as he studied his desk. He rested his head in his hand, mentions of the rainbow monkey corporation causing his mind to wander towards one person in particular.
"Giving them entry level salaries now, huh," he said to himself with a sigh. "Bet your employees love you, Kuki…"
"You're still friends, right?"
Nigel frowned as he looked at Sonia oddly. "Pardon?"
"Uh, I-I mean, I can only assume you were friends with her in the past, what would make me think otherwise?" Sonia hesitantly laughed as she looked around uncomfortably. "And, um, given current situation and stuff, I can only continue to assume that you're still friends with her, r-right? Right?"
On a normal day, he would grill her. He knew when people were holding out on him, knowing things they thought he didn't think he knew but he knew. But today wasn't a normal day—the holiday fanatics made sure of that—so he would make a point to find out what she knew later.
"I guess you could say that," he said, satisfying her strange bout of curiosity about his personal life. "We're…acquaintances."
"Oh. Well, given how often her husband…that reminds me!" Sonia said as she straightened out her blouse and began to move to the exit. "Your five o'clock is here."
"I don't have a five o'clock."
"Oh, yes, you do," Sonia hurriedly replied as stopped at the door. "Mr. Beetles."
Oh.
Oh no.
"Would you look at that?" Nigel gasped as he sprung up and tapped his nonexistent watch. "I have to go upstairs and do a thing! I'm afraid I won't have time to talk to him." He hastily started grabbing random documents, stuffing them atop his laptop and slamming the screen down to hold them. If he was quick, he could make it to the employee's longue upstairs. "Tell him I'm sorry I missed him and give him a holiday card, you know, the pre-made ones I keep? Just sign his name in the line, okay? Great, good talk, Sonia."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Uno."
Nigel groaned as his hand turned the doorknob. "And why not?"
"NIGEL, YA OLD FART!"
"He's already here," Sonia said, using her hand to hide her giggles as she squeezed past Wally Beetles catching Nigel in a bear hug.
"Merry Christmas, mate!" Wally laughed, releasing Nigel only to swing an arm around his shoulder. The shaggy blond chuckled at his good, balding friend, eyes lit with mirth and a hint of playful deviousness. "How the hell are ya?"
"I'm something, alright," Nigel coughed, simultaneously trying to increase his air flow and strategizing a way out of his ambush. "Think one of my lungs just collapsed."
"Ah, ya ain't got a collapsed lung. Trust me," Wally smirked as he dusted his knuckles against his shirt. "I went to Harvard, so I'd know."
"Yes, how could I forget? You only mention it at least five times when you run into me," Nigel mumbled, peeling himself away from the man. He ignored his friend for a moment and whined at his laptop on the floor and papers scattered everywhere. "Great. Sure is going to suck for whomever has to clean this up. Oh, wait," he said as he crouched down, grumpily snatching up paper page by page. "It's me."
"Let me lend ya hand there, mate," Wally happily offered, plopping down on the floor and easily picking up forms closest to him and straightening them out with his hand. "They teach ya a thing or two about organizational-like skills at Harvard, donctha know."
"Two," Nigel hissed to himself. He closed his eyes and took a breath before addressing the man across from him. "So, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
"Like I need a reason to visit one of my bestest friends in whole wide world!" Wally proclaimed as he rose. "Tried to invite ya to lunch Tuesday, by the by. I called your phone, but your box was full."
"With messages from you," Nigel said as he jerked the documents away from Wally. "I'm starting to suspect you're having an affair with my voicemail. You call me more than my wife does."
A tingling feeling at his hip caused Nigel to dig in his pocket for his phone. The glow of the screen greeted him followed by a notification of a new text message. He read the sender line and quirked a brow.
u picked up Harvey's gift this morning for me, right?
Speak of the devil, Nigel thought as his eyes traveled up in thought. Gift for Harvey? Why on Earth would he pick up a gift for…
…oh right, she was late for work and the shop was on his way during his commune. He would be able to swing by and pick it up after his morning coffee.
Except he neglected to do that.
Well.
I forgot. Sorry.
"Ha! Ah, you, always a kidder!"
The excitable Aussie laughed and decided reaffirm his presence by giving Nigel a playful slug to the shoulder. Nigel was so focused on sending his text that the hit startled him, which resulted with him depositing his papers and phone on the floor.
Wally blinked, his cheeks becoming rosy as he scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, heh heh, oops."
Nigel's face signaled no emotion as he stared between Wally and the new mess of papers at his feet.
"Hey, don't let it get to ya," Wally merrily said as he bent over. "Can't count the number of times I got a case of the ol' butterfingers back at Harvard."
"Three. I swear to…" Nigel pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned over and swiped up his phone, seeing a new message waiting for him.
I'm shocked.
He growled, multi-tasking as he juggled his papers and laptop with responding to Wally and his wife. "Wallabee. You're here. Why?"
what's that supposed to mean?
"To tap-dance naked on your desk," Wally teased. "To invite you guys to Christmas Brunch tomorrow, duh! Get this, it's breakfast AND lunch! Ain't that cool? Kuki told me about it." As his wife's name fell from his lips, Wally let a dopey smile break out across his face. "She's just great, y'know?"
"Uh huh," Nigel automatically replied as they walked. His eyes were glued to his phone, reading the next message as it appeared.
Nothing. Forget it. It's your favorite hobby.
"I wanna make it one of those family tradition things, that'd be awesome," Wally cheered accompanied with a fist pump of equal enthusiasm. He went on talking, oblivious to his bald friend's furious texting. "And like, you've been too busy these last few years to make to dinner, so I thought why not do it earlier in the day! We can all hang out, open presents and stuff, plus lil Bebe can actually see her god-father, god-mother, and god-uncle at the same time!"
"Are we doing this now?" Nigel grumbled out his reply to his wife as he sent it.
"Well, we were thinking of doing it tomorrow, but if now works better—"
"Not you," Nigel cut off as he read her new text.
look can you pls just pick up the gift on the way home? It's important to me.
"Really?" he balked, muttering to himself as he prepared his response. "I've got a hundred things on my plate and I'm supposed to drop it all to pick up a gift for Harvey of all people—WHOA!"
"Whoa there!" Wally's hand shot out to catch Nigel. A second latter, and he would have stumbled right into Sonia's desk. Wally waited for his friend to adjust before cheekily wagging a scolding finger. "Watch ya step, will ya? Did'ja know there's more desk related deaths than there are rabid poodle attacks? I was in my junior year at Harvard when they did that study."
Nigel shot little death glares at the offending desk as he curved around it. He regarded Wally briefly before returning to his phone. "Four."
Can't do it. Working late tonight.
He lowered his phone and prepared to dismiss Wally, this social call was putting him behind schedule. He stopped, however, when he noticed the quick reply to his message.
Come home.
Nigel frowned.
My meeting got canceled so I need to stay behind and make up for it.
No. Just come home. It's Christmas.
It's also Hanukah. Doesn't change the fact I need to make sure all the work gets turned in.
I can't keep doing this with you Nigel. Come home.
He closed his eyes, swallowing a mound of frustration and stress as he decided this loop of a chain was going nowhere fast.
I will once I've gotten caught up. I'll see you later tonight. Love you.
"—mate, you're zoning out on me worse than my ol' roommate during Professor Triple Extra Large's Honors Seminar on Genetics and the Perfect Snow Cone. You know he only taught that seminar at Harvard once? But I was lucky enough to—"
"Annnnnd five," Nigel suddenly said, cutting off Wally with a sharp clap. "Wallabee, it's been great catching up with you, but I simply must get back to work."
Wally stood there stupefied as Nigel broke for the elevator. Not one to give up easy, the man gave chase and hovered around Nigel's shoulder belting him with a barrage of pleas.
"But what about brunch? It's tradition!" he argued. "Err, well, it's gonna be."
"I'm coming in tomorrow morning to do some prep work for the New Year. I have a lot riding on these proceedings, so I can't afford to dillydally."
"But tomorrow's Christmas, man! You don't work on Christmas."
"Oh, yes. Christmas. That day you're all so crazy about." Nigel stopped and reeled on Wally, taking the other man by surprise. "For your information, some people DO work on Christmas instead of wasting time dragging trees up to their apartment getting pine needles everywhere, getting migraines figuring out something to get for everyone they know only for the gift to get returned or exchanged, slipping on snow and slush and almost getting your nose broken, and let's not forget suddenly leaving early and leaving people like me short-staffed and with more work."
Wally found himself leaning back as Nigel veered in closer the more he got into his rant. By the time Nigel had finished, the Aussie peered over his shoulder to find that his back was a few inches away from the floor. The moment he realized the awkward position he found himself in, his legs called it quits and dumped him the rest of the way.
Above him, Nigel watched as Wally slowly climbed back to his feet. Certain the man would be fine, Nigel pressed the call button for the elevator.
"In short, yes Wally, people do work during the holidays, and I believe they have the right idea," Nigel muttered, his foot tapping impatiently. "Besides, it's for kids' to eat up anyway, and lord knows kids give me enough grief as it is."
Wally quietly watched his friend, though every year he found it harder to fight off the doubt surrounding that term. Seeing Nigel transform into an ugly mirror image of his uncle was too painful to put into words. Part of him hoped when the old cheapskate died, Nigel would be go back to his old self, yet it only seemed to make matters worse.
He couldn't help but recall conversations with the others. Hoagie confessed to feeling like walking on eggshells the rare times he bumped into Nigel, and those times seemed to becoming rarer. It broke his heart to hear Kuki say how she could barely look Nigel in the eye anymore knowing the work Evil Adult Industries—or Enterprising Agents Incorporated as it had been rebranded—committed and how Nigel practically supported it. And Abby had barely spoken two words to Nigel in years.
Wally pushed those thoughts away. So maybe his friends weren't willing to reach out to Nigel anymore. They could do what they wanted, and with his blessing. But he knew Nigel just needed some kicks in the right direction, and Wally was happy to be there to do the kicking. Constantly, if needed. He was one of his bestest friends, after all.
Now if only he could kick his bestest friend to his house for brunch.
"Kids ain't that bad, mate. Just take lil BeBe for example! She's making you a card all by herself, and is really looking forward to seeing ya."
Nigel looked contemplative for a moment, and appeared ready to relent when the ding of the elevator called. Pocketing his phone, he stepped inside. "Can't make any promises, but you have my address to mail it to, right?"
"Yeah," Wally meekly answered. "But…she really wants to see you. We all do."
"You all know where to find me, it's not like I'm in space or something," Nigel refuted. Upon seeing Wally's face, he sighed. "Look, I appreciate seeing you. I wish you well. Have a Happy New Year."
Nigel departed as the elevator closed on Wally's sad face.
Hours later, the elevator opened and Nigel turned up the collar of his overcoat as he braced himself for the rigid cold outside. The clacks of his shoes against the marble floor of the lobby echoed throughout the empty building. His assistant had left for the day long ago, leaving him with her unfinished paperwork and a mountain of other things he had to sit through. After a long night hunched over his desk in a miserly fashion going over requisition forms for new personal faxed from the main EAI headquarters, Nigel had come to begrudging conclusion that once the inky letters started blurring together that it was time to call it a night.
So, that's where he found himself currently, mind still grasping at the lingering traces of work while his body checked out of the building. His body was also enacting revenge for his overtime decision by giving him a tension headache, so yeah. That was super fun.
He shivered as he journeyed down the street, eyes searching for a cab. The world was a dull shade of gray clouds hanging low overhead and dropping tiny snowflakes around. He snorted, still not comprehending that there were people out there who enjoyed this time of year.
The moment he eyed a spot of yellow, he raised his arm to hail down the cab. The car pulled up alongside him, and he entered and relayed his address as one does in such a situation. He nestled into the seat, circling the heat vents to blow more directly towards him and scrunching his nose at the overwhelming stench of candy cane. They took off, the driver turning up the radio as they took to the road. The moment the first belts of Peace on Earth assaulted his ears, Nigel curtly demanded the radio be shut off. The driver huffed, but complied, and the rest of the ride was filled with moody silence.
It wasn't long before they made it to his building. The complex stood tall, imposing, and screamed of gated well-to-do-ness. Not exactly the abode he envisioned calling home, but his salary could afford it and the comfort it provided soothed away any buyer's remorse. He exited after paying the fare—leaving enough for an exact one dollar tip—then made his way up the stairs and hurried back into the warmth of indoors.
Later further up inside, Nigel unlocked his door and stepped into his apartment. He shrugged off his coat, kicked off his shoes, and sat down his briefcase. He took a moment to breath, carefully filing away the day's stresses. It would take more time for the pressure to completely fizzle away, but sitting down and hiding away from the world and its holiday induced insanity would be a good first step.
As he walked through his living room, Nigel paused as something caught his eye on the little table next to the couch. Strangely curious about the item, he carefully inspected the bracelet as he scoped it into his hand. The bracelet was old, the string worn and showing its age, but it had been handled with obvious care and affection. The black and orange beads seemed a bit dull, but still held color, as did the three center beads. The etching of the numbers three, six, and two still glittered brightly in the light and still displayed themselves proudly.
A brow popped up as he gently tossed it up and down. It looked like some arts and craft project a kid made. Why in the world did he have this? He paused as something hit him. Wait, this probably belonged to his wife. Maybe one of the kids she worked with gave it to her as some silly little trinket. She was sentimental like that.
Only, that didn't sound right. He remembered this, somehow. Yeah. The memory was very faint and cloudy, but he remembered giving her this so many, many years ago.
Nigel frowned, slowly trekking through his apartment as he held on to the bracelet. Where in the world was that woman anyway?
His answer came in the form of a letter on the kitchen counter addressed to him.
Dear Nigel,
I keep going over how I want to start this, but then realized I really don't know how so I'll just get to the point. After I read your last text, I got mad. I cooled down a bit then I tried to think things out so we could talk. Then I remembered I was probably going to have to remind you what we needed to talk about, since I knew you'd forget by the time you got home. That's when I remembered you decided to work late.
Again.
And I got mad.
Again.
Then I realized, wow, I actually had no idea when you'd get home but I knew it wouldn't be any time before seven o'clock.
Then I got madder which eventually just ended with me being sad and then it hit me I don't like being sad, but I'm being sad a lot lately and that's just wrong. Something is wrong. It's something that can't be fixed by me reminding you and you apologizing and saying it won't happen again—until you forget, and it does happen again.
I don't know if it's you, if it's me, or it's just us being together period that's the problem, but I don't think I can do this anymore and have been considering this for a while. Maybe we were never meant to work out and I'm just only now getting a clue.
I'm going to spend the holidays with my family at my parents' and I'm not sure when I'll be back. I'm not sure if I'll be back at all, honestly. Maybe that would be for the best.
Merry Christmas,
Rachel.
Nigel stood there, staring a hole into the letter as he entire being just went numb. He read it over and over until finally he eyes settled on the last few lines. His head lowered, his chin grazing against his chest as he felt a lump wedge in his throat.
I'm not sure if I'll be back at all
The whirlwind of the past few months collided into him. He dropped the bracelet on the counter as his hand fled to his head. The muscles in his jaw tightened convulsively as he struggled to get a grip on his emotions. He closed his eyes, meticulously sorting away unwanted feelings and regrets and anything else that just didn't feel good until the numbness came back.
I'm not sure if I'll be back at all
Merry Christmas
And then something inside him sparked.
Merry Christmas
"Merry Christmas."
Merry Christmas.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"
One precious, too adorably-cute snowman knick-knack went sailing across the room until it shattered against the wall. It was followed another.
And another.
And one more before the chaos was spruced up by the sound of tearing paper.
Nigel tore up the letter until it was nothing more than recycled confetti scraps, then rounded on the nearest object he could find. One unfortunate little kitchen stool found itself the center of Nigel's fury and paid for it as the man violently kicked it in to the counter. It bounced off the hardwood, leaving a dent in the lower cabinet cupboards and snapping one of its legs off in the rage.
The man growled as his gaze twinged with anger and contempt, and he desperately searched for his next target. Upon catching sight of the bracelet, he swiped and clutched it in his hand. His arm reared up as he prepared to smash it against the counter.
But despite it all, he couldn't.
Nigel collapsed and leaned on the wall for support as he was torn from his rage. His legs felt akin to jelly and he allowed himself to slowly slide down until he was on the floor. He was shaken, forlornly looking around and surveying the aftermath of his storm. Did he do this?
He uncurled his fingers looking down at Rachel's bracelet with sadness in his eyes.
The inscribed numbers that seemed so proud and vibrant before were now faded and dulled.
His pity party in full swing, Nigel came to his feet and looked around as he pocketed the beads. Quietly, he fumbled around in the cupboard—making a note to fix the door later—and produced a dust pan and started the slow task of cleaning up the damage.
As he swept up the debris, he soon found himself where he ripped up the later and looked at the remains oddly. Instead of shredded paper, he curiously found ashes instead.
Beyond the realm of understanding, holidays, and annoying tax returns, within a land of toilet tubes, hamster shavings, and all the root beer one could stomach, little Joaquin turned away from the scene in the Uno apartment and looked at Chubbo worriedly.
Chubbo, for his part, sat atop his desk nibbling at his sunflower seed. The hamster looked from Joaquin to the scene below, and gave an apathetic squeak.
Joaquin looked down at Nigel, concerned, then squeaked back at Chubbo. It was unfathomable. The bald one helped take such good care of them in life. Surely there was something that they could do?
Chubbo stuffed his cheeks with seeds, little furry body tensed. Joaquin didn't understand. Things like these were out of his paws. It wasn't his call to make.
Whiskers twitching in agitation, Joaquin leaped towards the other hamster, making a harmless swipe at the seeds. He would not patter by and let this happen. He cared about those five. He would not lose a single one of them. He would not.
Chubbo looked down at his scattered seeds, glaring at Joaquin. His beady eyes snapped back to Nigel and his gaze softened. His whiskers twitched as memories popped up of how the bald one offered them a warm tree to call home and assisted Mama Three in cleaning up their droppings so the cages wouldn't be stinky. The children took such good care of them in life…
The hamster looked off to the side, peering into Nigel's current future. He frowned.
After a moment, Chubbo kicked away his seeds and gave a defiant squeak.
Joaquin chittered happily, taking off to set things in motion. As for Chubbo, the tiny hamster crawled into a compartment under his desk. He reappeared, a tiny hammer carried between his teeth. He took off like a rodent on the mission, sneaking his way past various shades and spirits as he reached his intended target in the department upstairs from where he worked.
Chubbo stopped and gazed up cutely at the emergency glass, reading the bolded inscriptions above:
BREAK IN CASE OF DICKENS ALLEGORY
Nodding, Chubbo hopped up and slammed the hammer into the glass, creating an entry large enough for him to squeeze through. He peered around, seeing others beginning to catch on to his little stunt. He stood on his hind legs and hopped for the string, missing it.
He hopped again, his teeth grazing the string.
After one last leap, he chomped tightly around the material and pulled down hard.
And that was when Nigel Uno awoke to the chime of a bell.
He moaned into his pillow, grogginess wafting off him like a foul odor. The man pushed himself deeper into the pillow, trying his damnedest to ignore the ringing and go back to sleep.
"Wakey, wakey."
"Not now, Rachel," Nigel mumbled as he nestled in deeper. "I just want to sleep."
"Aww, tough cookies. Now get up."
Nigel's eye popped open. Events of earlier rushing back. He leaned up, panicked, but then scoffed and laid back down upon confirming it was just Uncle Ben.
Um.
"What the hell is going on here!?"
"My, my, you've certainly become a potty-mouth."
His not-so-dear old uncle was standing right there before him, plain as day. Well, as plain as Uncle Ben could ever hope to be at any rate. The man stood there with his arms rigidly crossed in a posture befitting a late businessman of his stature. He was cloaked head to toe in that dark, winding silhouette ensemble that always seemed glued onto his form in life. In fact, the latter statement rung even more true as Nigel looked at him now.
Despite the cold, piercing stare Ben was laying on him, Nigel could see an ungodly amount of exhaustion in those sickly, yellow eyes. There was a slight slouch in Ben's stance, and inky, black chains and droplets oozed from his suit, as if trying to drag the man to the bowels of hell itself.
However, if those details were even worth Nigel's notice, they were still vastly overshadowed by the pure fact he was staring at, by all accounts, a corpse.
"This doesn't make sense," Nigel rattled off, looking away from…well, he hadn't decided what he wasn't looking at. "You're dead!"
Ben huffed. "Still captain of the obvious club, I see."
"Like you're one to criticize you—what am I doing? I'm arguing with a hallucination," Nigel groaned to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and kneaded his forehead with the palm of his hands. "Had to have been the root beer. It had to be."
"If only," Ben responded with a long-suffering sigh. "Believe me, I don't want to be here anymore than you."
"Then sod off."
"Ah, my apologies. If I'm being such a nuisance, then I'll just skedaddle and—I CAN'T LEAVE YET YOU IDIOT!" Ben roared, a tower of flame erupting in his outburst.
However, as the fire enveloped him, Nigel was a bit off-put by how the aspiration recoiled into himself. He couldn't help but look on with a small pang of pity in his gaze as Ben crumpled in pain. The fire he so liberally wielded in life strangled his form and hissed as it burned. The ghost grumbled as he forced down the flames then returned his gaze to his nephew.
"Not even two minutes in," Ben grumbled, more to himself than anyone else. "This is going to be so much fun."
Nigel opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words. His lips thinned into a line and he gripped his sheets a bit tighter as he stared at Ben's ghost. "If you're really my uncle, then how did you die?"
Ben's eyes narrowed into slits.
Nigel rose an expectant brow.
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose as he droned, "I walked in the office and asked for my usual coffee. My assistant put in too much moo-moo creamer and I got so angry I gave myself an aneurysm, which triggered a heart attack, which led me to stumbling out the window into the street, which led to me being hit by a car. Twice. My legs and arms were broken, my collar bone was crushed, and I suffered from several internal injuries. They rushed me to intensive care where I was kept alive until I soiled myself and died. Slowly." His lips quirked into a patronizing grin. "It was actually very painful! Thanks for brining that up, sport."
Nigel peered on skeptically. "When?"
"September eighteenth of this year, 5:17pm," Ben responded in a bored tone. "Was on a Monday; as if the universe didn't hate me enough."
"I knew all that, which further proves my point," Nigel said with a smug clip in his voice. "You're a hallucination, so of course you would know everything I know."
"ARE YOU SERI-mmmm," Ben stewed, biting his lip as his hands strangled the air. He winced as steam fizzled off his form, but managed to reign in his anger before he spoke again. "Go to your happy place, Ben, your happy place…"
"Okay," Nigel lightly said as he cautiously moved to rise, "I'm going to the bathroom, so if you could just fizzle away or something, that'd be super cool."
"SIT DOWN!" Ben exploded in a plume of flame. Nigel watched petrified as Ben screamed and sunk to the floor and writhed in agony. The balding man kneaded his bed and shifted his eyes away from his uncle's obvious torment. After a rather awkward pause, Ben stoically rose as his body hissed. "As much as I missed these stupid games of yours, would you ever so kindly open that pea-sized brain of yours and accept that I'm here so we can get this over with?"
Nigel looked his uncle up and down, his mind slowly starting to open to the possibility that maybe he wasn't off his rocker. At worst, this was some insane fever dream and further proof he needed to stop drinking soda before bed. So, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to humor the dream.
"Fine," he mumbled as he buried himself deeper in his bed. "Speak your piece and then get out of my apartment."
"Oh, I'd love nothing more," Ben said as he crossed his arms. "But you see, my oh so insufferable nephew, the simple truth is this: you're a big fat jerk."
That got Nigel's attention. He shot to his feet, an action he would soon regret. The moment he tried to stand, his legs became tangled underneath the bedsheets and the man found himself fumbling to the floor. He collapsed into the carpet, groaning as numerous pillows rained down upon him. The bald man was almost content to stay idle had he not remembered he was hosting company.
"Me? Where do you get off?" Nigel seethed as he awkwardly climbed to his feet. "You are—"
"Were."
"You ARE the most ruthless, cheapest, heartless bastard to ever walk the Earth and you're calling me the jerk!?"
"So, you can listen," Ben said, voice tapered condescension. "You're a jerk. The jerkiest jerk to ever rule over Jerk-dom. All you do is work and suck the joy out of everything, you couldn't care less about employees like your assistant who's an unpaid intern, and to top it off, you help enable the of use company resources to make kids' lives miserable. Which, y'know, normally I'd be all for except…" he trailed off as he jiggled his chains for emphasis. "And the rare times you don't work, you're busy gobbling up all the love and support of those around you like me on a Sunday with a tub of Rocky Road—god I miss Rocky Road."
Ben sighed happily as he stared at the wall, eyes glossing over as he reminisced about the sweet, chunky, artery-clogging nectar that was Ben & Jerry's Rocky Road. He shook his head, then sheepishly looked over to his fuming nephew as he remembered where he was. He pulled out a set of cue cards and embarrassingly skimmed them over. "So, um, yeah; you're a jerk. I mentioned that part, right?"
"The hell I am!"
"Ah, I did. Phew!"
Nigel's hands tightening into fists as he spoke. "How dare you stand there and discount all I've done. I've had to basically run this entire company myself ever since you died! Do you know how many people would be unemployed if I hadn't handled that fallout? And Sonia? If it weren't for me risking my neck, she'd be paying to work as an unpaid intern thanks to your former policy; which I had to spend MY birthday reworking, thanks! And do you know how many kids would be running around doing god knows what if not for the regulation I helped lobbied for? Ungrateful snots should be glad I'm bothering to put their best interests before mine!
"And what support are you talking about? Wally badgers me more than my own mum and won't give me peace, but I suppose I should be grateful I have even that going for me since all my other so-called friends think they're too good for me, and as for Rachel…"
Nigel's posture went limp as his wife's name slipped from his lips. His eyes wandered to the bed, the untouched side reminding him of what he had lost. His expression softened for a fraction of a second before the cold stoic stare reemerged. "Sure, we had our issues and I…I may have missed some anniversaries and special occasions—"
Ben coughed.
"—but I had to work to support her! Us! I put in long hours and did overtime to make sure she could have everything and anything she wanted. I sacrificed all that and who packed up and left? Not me!"
"Gee, when you put it that way, I can't possibly imagine why she dumped you," Ben said as he scratched at his lower back. "Guess you weren't good enough."
"Shut up!" Nigel reeled on the shade. He jabbed his finger at Ben's chest and didn't seem to care at how it phased right through it. "You don't know anything."
"Oh, I do. I know because…" Ben said, but his voice lowered before he could finish his sentence. He folded his arms and pouted as he kicked at his chains.
Nigel rolled his eyes at the shade's mumbling. "If you're going to waste my time, the least you could do is speak up."
"I know because I wasn't good enough either, okay!?" Ben fumed. "Man, this is agony."
Another period of silence befell them. Ben was rubbing at his arms, looking at everything but the man before him. Nigel was fairing no better; hunched over his bed and trembling slightly. Whether it was more from anger than nerves he honestly couldn't tell at this point. All those things Ben said. All those little jabs at his character. What moral high ground did Ben of all people have to stand on?
None.
Zip.
Nada.
And his excuse was that HE knew he was horrible?
"What are you on about now?" Nigel tersely asked, giving Ben a side glance. "You claiming not to be good enough? What's that about?"
"You think these are for show?" Ben growled, smoke billowing around him as he rose his chains. His eyes became murderous as he simmered under Nigel's glare. Then suddenly, his body relaxed as he stood straighter. "Come here, Nigel."
The man in question scoffed.
"No, please, I insist," Ben continued in a soft voice as he took a seat at the foot of Nigel's bed. "I want to show you something."
Nigel huffed and turned his head away. He was having enough of Ben's little mind games. Yet as the minutes trudged on, Nigel found himself growing more irritable while Ben sat there with an unnerving look of patience. A smug little expression that hid juicy little secrets Nigel bet Ben would love to gloat about and hold over his head.
Even in death, Ben knew how to make someone feel like a child dreading the oncoming scolding.
"Well show me already," Nigel grumbled as he plopped down next to Ben. He kept a comfortable distance and tensed as the shade offered him his chain. "What trick is this?"
"You mind?" Ben asked politely before uttering the most precocious sigh. "These old bones aren't as strong as they used to be."
Nigel wearily eyed the chain as he extended his palm. "And here I thought you couldn't get any more—AH!"
It all happened so quickly that Nigel couldn't discern what followed what. All he knew was that he was back on the floor, Ben's chain crushing his hand while leaving a sizable dent in his floor. He closed his eyes as a white-hot pain flowed up his arm followed by a sharp crack and even more pain. Ben clucked his tongue as he stood, but all Nigel could focus on was his desperate attempt to free his hand.
"Ooopsie-daisy! Did I forget to mention those weigh about eleventy gazillion-quadrillion-buhmillion pounds?" Ben casually spoke, bending over his nephew. "Must have slipped my mind."
Nigel could only squirm as he tried to heave his arm free. Ben shook his head and decided to continue his little speech.
"What? Strapping young man like yourself can't lift them? Come on, I can do it and I'm dead," Ben taunted before giving a languid stretch. "Now, I wasn't the best person—"
"No, really!?" Nigel yelled.
"—so, when I died, I had a lot to answer for. Those things you're holding are basically my greatest hits. Every dirty deed, every pinched penny, every whelp spanked rolled up into these nifty little chains," Ben lectured as he let the rusted, dark steel crinkle between his fingers. He squeezed them and his hand began to sizzle. "And mine are special."
As if his night wasn't warped enough, a scream tore from Nigel's throat as the chain started to burn his skin.
"You want to know what hell is, nephew? Hell is like…anger management," Ben said, his voice low and gravely as the temperature rose in tufts around him. "You're forced to go every single day when you'd rather stay in bed, you sit there forever, thoughts screaming in your head of how you'd rather be ANYWHERE than in that stupid little office talking about your feelings and childhood with a worthless therapist who knows ALL THE RIGHT BUTTONS TO PRESS. Oh, but you can't get angry. You can't get angry."
Ben was shaking, and it made Nigel take pause. He noticed Ben's chest heaving and looked down as the chains rose ever so slightly with each intake.
If he could time it just right…
"Can't get angry. Can't get aaaangrrrrry," Ben repeated his mantra over and over, oblivious to Nigel's presence. Embers sparked and popped around him, the atmosphere becoming heated and the surrounding furniture beginning to catch smoke. "Because you want to know what happens WHEN YOU GET ANGRY!?"
As Ben's arms shot up, so did the chain, and that's when Nigel lurched back, freeing his hand right when Ben burst into a miniature supernova. The tower of flame was blinding and Nigel rose his arms to shield his eyes. He found the fire suffocating, and for a moment, he thought he was about to join Ben in the grave.
And then it stopped.
Slowly, Nigel lowered his arm and swallowed a gasp as he saw Ben's charcoaled corpse. It laid there, unmoving and eerily quiet as ashes chipped from his outline. Nigel stood shaking, taking careful steps to the body as he held his singed hand.
"That happens, and it hurts. Like, really hurts."
Nigel spun around, seeing Ben leaning lazily against the wall. He snapped back to where the body laid before, and was shocked to find nothing but an empty crater.
"Be thankful I'm forced to wear this thing twenty-four/seven now," Ben said as he pinched up his silhouette. "Because what's under it…well, it's not pretty."
Nigel blinked and looked down at his hand. Just a moment ago, it was red and marred by the blazing chain, but now it was as if nothing happened. Instead of relief, frustration flooded his system and he snarled as his uncle approached.
"I've had enough, get out," Nigel said, eyes wild as he reached around, grabbing the nearest object, which was a Santa plush, and held it defensively. "Get out now!"
Ben's hands snapped to his hips. "Here I am prying away from my busy schedule of eternal damnation to give you advice and you won't even listen. Don't you get it? You're going down the exact same path, nephew, and if you don't change your ways, then my therapist already has you penciled in for the next eternity."
"I'll be sure to send him my regards then," Nigel spat. "Now leave!"
"Surprise, surprise," Ben tsked and he shook his head, as if he expected this outcome. "You whippersnappers never did know what was best for you."
"Stop talking to me like I'm some kid, dammit. I'm an adult!"
"Too much of one. Never thought I'd say that." Ben's shade stalked forward, forcing Nigel to the ground as the shadow of his uncle grew and loomed over him threateningly. "Guess we're gonna have to reconnect you with your inner child."
Nigel crawled back into he hit the wall, shaking as he still looked up to his uncle defiantly. "My inner child? What are you gonna do, hypnotize me?"
"I'm not gonna do anything, YOU are," Ben intoned, gravely raising his arm. "Tonight, Nigel Uno, you will be assigned three missions."
"…missions?"
"Yes, missions. Each one more perilous than the last and yadda, yadda, yadda," Ben tapered off, using his hand as a mouth piece as he rolled his eyes. "Insert spiritual spiel about your soul here."
"Wow, you sound so compelling," Nigel dryly remarked. "Though can't say I expected much from a dead man."
"I'm sooooo sorry my incorporeal status is such an inconvenience to you."
"This entire day has been an inconvenience to me," Nigel said. "Missions? What is this, a low budget spy serial? I'm not doing anything of the sort."
"Too bad, I don't really care," Ben said as he threw his hands up. "Your handlers get to deal with you now. Heed their orders, listen to their advice, and for Pete's sake, pay attention to what they're saying. You might learn something."
"Oh yeah? And if I tell these so-called handlers to take a hike?"
Ben went quiet, the lull in conversation settling over them both. For a moment, Nigel thought his uncle was finished until he broke the silence saying:
"You'll end up just like me."
Nigel had never heard such words uttered from Ben's mouth. So much misery, remorse, and saddness was mingled into them that Nigel actually had to take a moment to remind himself that he was still talking to Ben.
Suddenly, a portal opened in the floor. Nigel yelped and scrambled away while Ben spared a glance at the glowing, crimson hole and let loose an annoyed sigh. Nigel was about to comment but was cut short when a series of angry squeaks erupted from the portal. "What is that?"
"My case manager," Ben groaned as he shuffled towards the hole. As soon as his feet made contact, blazing red chains sprung up from the depths and coiled around the shade. Ben's eyes squeezed shut as they gripped him and slowly began dragging him down.
"That smarts," he hissed as he peaked an eye open. As he looked at Nigel, a small chuckle spilled out. "Y'know, I almost wish I could stay and see the look on your face."
Nigel blinked. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you better rest up, because you'll receive your first mission when the clock strikes one."
And just like that, Ben was gone, and Nigel found himself alone.