Just to let you know, when I started working on this story, I originally intended for it to be posted for a Christmas story. Well, with RL throwing out a multitude of whammies including my own health problems and a death in the family, it didn't happen. I've gotten back to finishing it up and decided that waiting till next Christmas might not push me to complete and since you never know what might happen, now seems like a good time.
Legalese & all of that other mumbo-jumbo:
Sometimes my muses whisper, sometimes they scream. This is one of those that screamed loudly enough and so persistently that I had no choice but to write it, something that could not have been done had it not been for the assistance of several very special people.
Thank you to The Brit - who assured me that the idea was both unique and compelling, as well as providing a Dr. Phaff worthy psychological analysis into why this story idea formed in the first place.
Thank you to Miss Edna and Elmo, who provided material for some of the background locales and characterizations.
The title may be cliché and it may have even been used before, but it works perfectly for the thoughts and hopes of the characters in this work, which is why I chose it. Many pardons requested if anyone is offended.
As always, the original characters and ideas of SMK belong to those that hold the rights. All other characters, story, and so-forth are the result of a crazy vision of mine and/or extra research done to enhance this work that is purely for entertainment purposes only.
I promise to return our beloved characters back to the dusty shelves of forgotten television, though I sincerely believe that that is not good enough for them. The revered Corvette remains undamaged, as always, though I did leave her alone and unattended for a short time.
Interesting notes:
I have no idea what the weather conditions actually were for the time frame of this story. I sometimes research them, to be more accurate, but for this one I am taking the liberty of making it unusually cold and snowy along most of the northeastern coast.
The nemesis's name came to be thanks to BL's creativity but doesn't really exist in the Russian world, as far as I can find, which is good for that any similarity between characters and actual existing people clause that you find in books. We just thought it sounded good. His first name, Godric, means "power of god" and became rarely used after the Norman Conquest.
I don't think the show actually provided a middle name for Amanda, so I'm using one that I think sounds fitting. I've used it before, I like it, so there. And, yes, I'll probably continue to use it.
Adagio in G Minor is a real strings and organ piece by Remo Giazotto, an Italian musician. Published in 1958, the piece has been used in Orson Welles' "The Trial" and the film Gallipoli, as well as throughout "Dragon's Domain", an episode of the British/American show "Space: 1999." The entire piece as featured on the 1998 released Year 1 Soundtrack, of which I have the copy, provided an interesting concept and background music for creating Godric Devylrokovskii's character in this story. I never know where inspiration is going to come from and yeah, sci-fi is totally another beast, but slaying the dragon is a familiar concept no matter the genre.
To be on the safe side, I am issuing both a tissue alert and a drink from Styrofoam cup instead of glass suggestion while reading this because you already know that Twisted Sister could never write just another conventional and normal Christmas story.
I hope that you enjoy. Please let me know what you think.
As my one little niece says – Peace out to ya!
All I Want for Christmas…
Chapter One
Late November, 1988
November weather was truly upon the Washington DC area. The outside temperature was what the local weatherman from Channel 5 would term as downright chilly. However, the temperature inside one office, many levels below the lobby of an unpretentious building located at 1565 Constitution Avenue NW, was steadily rising.
An interesting fact that the Section Chief of the top secret intelligence group known as the Agency contemplated while shaking his head.
Buried beneath the city street, camouflaged under the moniker of International Federal Film and unknown to most members of the community who passed above them daily, was an entire mammoth office complex that continued to function day or night, through the scorching summer and the blustery assault of winter. Neither sleet nor rain, nor anything else prevented them from accomplishing their task of protecting the nation's security like an impenetrable shield
Well, the review of yesterday's level of that guardianship hadn't been too promising and today wasn't shaping up to look much better in the eyes of the Section Chief. One agent shot in the line of duty in the past twenty-four hours, an upcoming meeting with the Agency's largest thorn, Dr. Smyth, and an increasing pile of new incoming files that needed to be reviewed and assigned. And it all awaited William Melrose's immediate attention, attention that he was in very short supply of this morning.
If he could just put his telephone on do-not-disturb for the next forty-eight hours, he might stand a small chance in hell of getting partially caught up.
That is, if he did not run out of the rapidly dwindling supply of patience that he had been allotted for the shortened workweek thanks to the upcoming holiday. Was it any wonder then that his blood pressure had been on the rise as of late?
As if on cue, the accursed telephone rang again. He nearly growled aloud as he began to pick up the receiver, catching himself just in the nick of time before the caller on the other end would have heard the impolite sound effect.
Part way into the conversation, Francine Desmond entered his office clutching several files in her hand. She came to a quick stop as she took in the look on her supervisor's face. She had gotten very good at reading him over the years and right now he was teetering back and forth between annoyance and skepticism.
"I don't believe this," he said to her as he hung up his phone and exhaled slowly while looking out over the slowly but ever increasing mountain of work upon his desk.
"What is the 'this' and maybe I can help," she offered.
"There's some little old lady who insists on speaking to someone with authority. She won't tell us anything over the telephone and she insists on meeting the head honcho."
"Oh," Francine smiled and tried to interject some humor into the dreary morning. "That would be you, Billy."
"Francine, please. I've got a meeting this afternoon with Smyth. I've got three agents out on vacation, one now on extended medical leave."
"And more work than you know what to do with," she continued for him. "It never changes. So why does this lady want to speak to you?"
Billy looked anxiously out his open door past Francine and then spoke in a low voice.
"She apparently came to DC because some relative died. She was going through personal items and came across one of the flyers we put out last winter," Billy paused for a moment to take in the startled look that had now appeared on Francine's face.
"Oh," Francine whispered. Then she looked at her boss. "Billy, it's been over a year."
"I know, but it could be a genuine lead."
"Maybe," she responded slowly and somewhat dubiously.
Billy rose from his desk and grabbed his suit jacket, continuing to speak as he shrugged into it.
"Come on, at least you can assist me with this. Now, who can I finagle into meeting with Smyth today?"
"They pay you the big bucks to deal with that one," she told him as she quickly followed him out the door.
The Daniel Boone National Forest – Kentucky
Although the sun was shining brightly, the air inside the small cabin that lay nestled deep within the forest of trees in the wilds of Kentucky was almost as cold as that of the outside. The man inside heaved himself out of his chair and then limped over to the fireplace to hurl a few more logs onto the burning flames.
Then, Godric Devylrokovskii sat back down in the chair at his little desk and began furiously typing away on his typewriter. Only occasionally did he halt long enough to glance over at his hostage as his fingers flew over the keyboard.
Today, he had chosen to take delight in keeping his victim chained to the post of the bed. Not that he probably needed to take the extra precaution. The object of his revenge did little more these days than cower in a corner like a frightened mouse.
He chuckled to himself and once again set upon the task of his typing, fueled onward by the glorious sensation that now filled him. Revenge was a wicked and yet totally marvelous thing as he had discovered. And, judging from the expressionless look on his victim's face, he, Godric Devylrokovskii, felt as though he had become the ultimate maestro of it.
Chapter Two
Francine smiled politely at the little old woman seated in front of them. Mrs. Dinty, as they had learned her name to be, had to be at least a hundred years old and she certainly had no fashion sense whatsoever. The woman had a thick black sweater pulled on over a very thin, dark green dress, a dress that Francine very much wanted to tell Mrs. Dinty was not at all appropriate for the weather this time of year.
Then, much to Francine's dismay, were the bright pink socks with powder blue Nikes that adorned Mrs. Dinty's little feet. Feet that came nowhere near to touching the floor as she practically danced in her seat with excitement. Never mind her visible lack of fashion style, the elderly woman seemed very obviously anxious to share whatever it was that had prompted her to call IFF earlier this morning.
"I'm so glad y'all came," she said as she pressed her withered hands together.
"Well, of course, Mrs. Dinty," Billy told her. "You did say that it was urgent."
"Oh yes, yes indeed. Horribly urgent."
Mrs. Dinty reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, which she then handed to Billy, all while revealing a happy smile that lacked several teeth.
Billy calmly unfolded the paper, knowing already what it was because of the unique telephone number that had been assigned to this particular case. A number that, until this morning, had received not one single call. He gave a subtle nod to Francine and then asked the excited little woman to tell them how she came upon this particular piece of paper.
"You see, my cousin Almira, well her husband moved her up here years ago. I'm her only survivin' kin. They's both dead now. Well, I was going through a box of old newspapers and magazines and found this inside one of them thar flyers. And that's when I called ya."
"I see," Billy responded. "And just why did you call us Mrs. Dinty?"
"To see if ya ever did find that girlie in the photograph."
"No," Billy said, shaking head sadly. "We never did."
The old woman frowned sadly.
"I seen her, so I did."
"You did?" Billy asked.
His tone was less than enthusiastic. After all, it had been a little over a year and they'd had absolutely nothing handed to them to work with. It was hard to continue maintaining hope, especially after working as many years in this profession as he had and seeing the things that he had.
"I did, I did," the older woman was saying as she practically bounced in her chair with excitement. "At least, I think it was her. Now, it was about a year ago. I was up at the general store and this man came in with this girl. I thought it a might peculiar, so I did."
"Why did you find it peculiar?" Francine asked. "And where was this place?"
"At the store," she repeated.
She sighed sadly, as if remembering something before continuing.
"Now, this man came in and he was buying supplies the same time that I was gathering up some fixins for my venison stew. Said he was going to be staying at his kin's huntin' cabin. I mean, men folk do it all the time, they love to go shootin' the buck, so they do. But this girl, she was real quiet like. You know, like not all there. But she was pretty, much too pretty for an ugly ole goat like him. That's when I looked at her and saw her eyes. There was nothing there."
Mrs. Dinty lowered her voice and whispered.
"Ya know, like when the light is out and not a soul is home?"
"I see," Billy said. "Mrs. Dinty, could you tell us where this general store is?"
"Course I can, it's the only one for a hundred miles. All the folk goes there. We ain't no big 'troplis like DC is. Can you imagine, this is the first time I've ever been outta Kentucky! It sure is thrilling."
"Yes, I'm sure," Francine said politely. "Mrs. Dinty, would you mind looking at some photographs for me?"
"Will it help?"
Francine pulled the folder out of her briefcase and opened it, and then she handed the few photographs to the older woman.
"Oh my, yes!" Mrs. Dinty actually yelled, her old voice screeching across the room and through Francine's eardrums like the sound of an agitated parrot.
"That be her!"
Francine and Billy both looked at each other.
"Mrs. Dinty, would you be able to come with us?" Billy asked.
Mrs. Dinty leaned forward in her chair towards Billy. "We gonna go somewheres 'portant?" she asked eagerly.
"Mrs. Dinty, you may have just given us the first lead on this case," Billy informed her.
Chapter Three
The shades had been drawn and his office door had been locked. For the moment, he wanted nothing but blessed solitude. He needed some time to think, a few uninterrupted moments to make decisions that might make a difference, if there was still one to be made in the outcome.
He wasn't a pessimist; one could not work in the business and continue for long if that mindset became the norm. He was, however, a realist. He knew the statistics. He knew the odds. He could quote study percentages in his sleep, if he had to.
Taking a long sip of coffee, he allowed his mind to drift back in time, to a year earlier when one beautiful autumn day had brought the beginning of a nightmare that still had not seen an end. A day when everything had started normally, a progression of grumpy agents arriving in the morning to first load up on caffeine and then to whine, like always, during the morning staff meeting.
If there had been a clue that anything was going to go awry, he had not seen it. None of them had.
By Wednesday evening, a day later and once he'd finally returned home to join his wife on the couch to watch the eleven o'clock evening news, the world had already seemed to spin and careen out of his control. Instead of being able to slip away from the harsh reality of it within the comforts of his home, it was the first bit on the evening news.
That's when it hit him, cold and brutal, full on in the face. That was when the reality of it all truly sunk in. Away from the Agency, away from all of the members of the investigating team, away from all of the cast of players who had unwittingly been thrust into the drama that was playing out.
This was not just another Agency case and it was very real, very personal.
The announcer on the television had just finished saying something before launching into the top story as he had sat down on the couch. Billy could recall that moment of the broadcast with vivid recall, including the picture that had appeared behind the broadcaster. It was one of the photos pulled from the Agency files and handed over to the Virginia State Police in the wee hours of the morning.
"And our top story this evening is one that has baffled investigators while bringing despair to one local Virginia family. An Arlington mother, Amanda Elise King, is still missing this evening, presumed to have been abducted Tuesday shortly after noon in Georgetown. And, tonight, investigators still have little to go on."
The broadcaster had paused for just a moment and Billy could still recall the gentle touch of his wife's hand upon his own, a remainder that his precious wife was still with him while another husband had no idea where his wife was.
"The only clue at this time seems to be a small section of security film footage. It was taken from another business across the street from the dry cleaners where the car she had been driving had been found. The film clearly shows a dark sedan pulling in just moments after Mrs. King parked her car at the Harold's Dry Cleaning location just a few blocks from where she works."
The photograph of Amanda had been replaced by the grainy black and white image that showed a few moments of film that was the only thing that they had ever had to go on. A section of film that, by now, Billy had committed to memory for the rest of his life.
"The film clearly shows a dark form emerging from the back door on the driver's side of the sedan, who then walked behind his vehicle and approached the silver car that Mrs. King was just getting out of. Unfortunately, that is the last piece of footage that shows either the dark sedan or Amanda King. The camera is set to do a sweeping rotation and the next time it panned over the parking lot, both the sedan and Mrs. King are gone."
After a brief physical description, the announcer went on to say that the suspects should be considered armed and dangerous and that if anyone had any information to either call the telephone number at the bottom of the screen or to contact the Virginia State police.
Billy shook himself out of his reverie. After the lengthy amount of time that it taken them to debate going public, they hadn't gained any more information other than that small section of film. A section of film that was grainy at best and, despite attempts to electronically enhance it had yielded them no clues. The only thing it did was confirm the fact that Amanda had been seen in that parking lot and that someone, in a few brief moments had taken her, leaving Lee's Vette parked and completely untouched.
Until today, they had been left with a trail of nothing, not even a solitary bread crumb.
Except, today, from nothing had come the interesting meeting with the little old lady from the boon docks of Kentucky.
Well, it was the week of Thanksgiving and, in Billy's personal opinion, they had been long overdue on things to give thanks for.
Once he'd phoned Dr. Smyth and filled in him, the Agency's biggest and most persistent thorn in the side had relented due to the circumstances. He had quickly rescheduled the afternoon meeting and would keep his pesky, annoying self out of this particular investigation, which, according to the old man, would have interfered with his holiday dinner invites from among the elite of DC.
So now, they actually had what seemed to be a genuine lead in a case that had gone entirely too long without so much as a speck of dust for them to investigate. They had a location, an actual starting point that gave them something to work with.
And now, William Melrose had a problem.
He had to inform Lee Stetson of the development.
It wasn't as if Lee didn't have the right to know. Hell, he should be the first person Billy made a call to.
What he was concerned about was Lee's reaction to the news and, if nothing else, Billy was fairly certain of how Lee was going to react. First, shock. After all, when your wife has been missing for over a year, presumed dead and absolutely nothing discovered in all of that time to say otherwise, well, yes, one would be shocked.
Next would come the anger and the incessant need for immediate action. Lee would rant and rave like a lunatic, pacing the office and pointing out that they didn't need to be sitting on their asses when they should be doing something.
All of which were legitimate points.
Billy knew that Lee needed to be apprised and that Lee would not only insist on being a member of the team that would get sent in, he'd insist on heading it up.
As a long-time friend, Billy completely understood all of that, but as his Section Chief, he wondered if it was a wise choice. Would he be sending in an agent who would maintain that professional calm and rationalization that many times led to the difference between life and death in the field or would he be sending in a man hell-bent on finding his wife, a man who might possibly rush in half-cocked and muck up the entire mess?
And, even worse and God forbid, would he be sending Lee in to find nothing but a body to bring home in a black bag?
As much as Billy wanted a resolution to this particular case, he had no desire to see that particular scenario play out. Unfortunately, he had worked in this business for far too many years and he knew what the odds were.
And so, he sat. For many long minutes, he debated the whole situation repeatedly in his mind. And when, and only when he was confident in his decision did he make the calls to bring in those who would man the team. And, as he waited for them to arrive and assemble, he took a moment to pray. Someone had once told him that sometimes, it helped.
Chapter Four
The day before Thanksgiving
It was mid-afternoon and a dainty flurry of dancing white snowflakes fluttered about in the whisper of the wind as the Agency Jeep finally pulled up to the old general store that Mrs. Dinty had told them about. As Francine looked out the window, she realized that Mrs. Dinty had been right. It did seem as if it were in the middle of nowhere, set back just a bit from the gravel and dirt road that wound its way through the woods towards Cave Run Lake.
Their drive down from DC had been unusually quiet, far too quiet for Francine's liking. Leatherneck had driven and although he had attempted conversation, the third member of their team had remained aloof.
Leatherneck keyed off the ignition and the vehicle suddenly became even quieter, if that could have been possible. Francine took the opportunity to quickly powder her nose and also to steal a glance of him from the compact mirror. She could only wonder what was going through his mind.
The three agents climbed out, Francine especially thankful for the opportunity to stretch her legs. And then they began their quest, each probably speculating on what the outcome would be.
Once inside they found the only occupant was the store's keeper, who smiled up at them from where he sat on the stool at the counter flipping through a magazine.
"Howdy," he greeted them.
"Hello," Leatherneck said.
"Hi," Francine said.
Lee merely nodded his acknowledgment, his hazel eyes already slowly surveying the old store as though he were looking for something of great importance.
Leatherneck approached the counter, placing his hands down upon it.
"We're wondering if you could possibly provide some information."
"Well," the storekeeper paused before continuing. "Fishin's lousy this time of year," he offered.
Leatherneck chuckled.
"Not exactly what I had in mind."
The storekeeper slid off his stool and replaced the magazine back in the rack behind the counter.
"Well, then I reckon you tell me what you're lookin' for and I'll try to help."
"We're looking for a woman," Leatherneck began. "She was kidnapped and we have reason to believe she might have been brought through this area."
"Kidnapped?" the old man's face turned up into a scowl at that word. "Well, I would be glad to help, but what makes you think I have any information?"
Francine reached into her purse and pulled out some pictures.
"Would you mind looking at these?" she asked
The shopkeeper nodded. "Let me get me spectacles."
He retrieved them from where they lay beside the old cash register and placed them on over his nose. Then he looked at the pictures.
And then he frowned.
"I just can't be sure. She's very pretty, but I don't really recall seeing her."
Francine sighed.
"You're sure? It's very important."
The old man looked over the edges of his glasses and studied Francine.
"She a friend of yours?"
Francine nodded.
"And a coworker. She's a Federal Agent. It's really important if you know anything, anything at all."
The old man just shook his head sadly, then looked at the third member of their party who was wandering through the store, his hands jammed down into the pockets of his jeans.
"Whose he?" he asked quietly.
"Her partner and her husband," Leatherneck answered. "Look, mister, if you can help us at all."
"Please," Francine pleaded. "Anything. She's been missing for a little over a year and this is the first lead we've had."
The man looked at her incredulously. "A year, you say?"
Francine nodded and then the old man ran his tongue over his bottom lip and cocked his head to the side, obviously trying to recall anything that the agents might find useful.
"You know, well now, I can't be sure, but there was this man who came in a few months ago. Back when it was raining for that long spell. Anyhow, he had this girl with him. All bundled up in a coat and a hat pulled down over her ears. I thought it a might strange; it was wet but not that cold. Anyhow, he said that she was his wife but had been injured in a car wreck and wasn't right, if you know what I mean."
He pointed down the one dusty aisle.
"She went over there and stood. She kept looking at one of them porcelain collector sets and I recall he had a hard time of it getting her to leave."
"Gift sets?" Leatherneck asked.
"Can you show me which ones?" Francine asked.
"Reckon so," the storekeeper said.
The old man moved from behind the counter and began walking towards one of the aisles, the wooden floorboards beneath him creaking with his footfall. He stopped in front of what Francine surmised was to pass as a gift item section. Then, he scratched his chin as he looked over the items.
"Oh, yes, here now. You see the Lambert twins were in here just an hour or so before hand and managed to break one of them. Now, as I recall, she kept shaking her head and picking them each up. She might not have been all there but I think she knew which one she was looking for. Seemed mighty distraught, so she did."
"Which set?" Francine asked in frustration.
"Oh, from that one movie. You know the one with the flying monkeys and the witches. What was it called again? Oh yeah, the Wizard of Oz. Must have sold the set though, it ain't here anymore."
Leatherneck slowly voiced his question.
"Which piece was broken?"
"Oh, the Scarecrow. The Scarecrow was the piece them darn kids broke."