Chapter 51: Every Damn Second
It wasn't quite light out yet, but just the tiniest little bit of sun was peeking through the gap in my pink curtains. I lay in bed for a minute, feeling warm and snug and safe under my blankets. Then I opened my eyes real suddenly, as it occurred to me.
Santa!
I was still a little wary of my big girl bed, and so I got out the usual way, lying on my tummy and very carefully letting my legs slide down until I could feel the floor under my bare feet. The wooden floorboards were cold, but I was too excited to notice. I crept out of my bedroom and onto the landing. Mama and Daddy slept across the hall, with both doors open. I was so little, but if I peeped, I could just about see my Daddy snoring in bed.
I was big enough to go down the stairs all by myself, but it was still kinda scary. I was real brave, though, and didn't even need to go down on my butt anymore. I knew how to take the steps one by one, shuffling sideways and holding onto the railings of the bannister with both hands. Left foot down, move hands, right foot down, safe, one step closer to the ground.
Moving that way, I could peep in between the railings, to try and see into the kitchen. Sometimes my Mama would be up this early and today was special, so maybe she'd be there. But I couldn't see her as I shuffled down, and I couldn't hear her singing either. Three steps, four steps and I wondered if maybe I should sit and go down the safe way, bouncing myself down each stair. It would be quicker and I'd get to the bottom sooner. But I was proud of being a big girl and even though I really wanted to get down the bottom, I stuck it through the slow way.
Looking down, I got a glimpse of my own pyjamas. They had reindeers on, and that made me remember what my Daddy said. I hoped he would wake up soon to take me outside and look in the snow for the tracks left by Santa. There'd been so much snow all winter, and I liked playing in it. Daddy had taught me to make snowballs, and one time we threw them at Mama.
After what seemed like hours of slow shuffling, my second foot finally touched the rug at the bottom of the stairs and I was safe. It didn't look like Mama was in the kitchen yet, so I ran through to the living room instead, my tiny feet throwing up a tremendous noise as I galloped across the hall.
And then, before I got into the living room, I woke up. I had to fight to wake up before I got there, every time. It's hard to explain how I knew. Most of the time, I didn't know I was dreaming, but somewhere in that space between the bottom of the staircase and the living room, some part of me would sit up screaming and say No, Ellie! You're dreaming, you're dreaming it again! Wake up! Wake up! Don't go into that room!
So I woke up, panting and sweaty, lying on my bedroll on the floor of another crappy motel room. I'd kicked off the blankets and because I'd been drenched in my own sweat, it was freezing. But it was daylight. I could hear that someone was in the shower. Looking up, I saw a lump in Dean's bed whilst Sam's was neatly made. So he was the one in the shower, probably forgoing a morning run because it was snowing out. It was always freaking snowing out.
Sam tended to notice little things like a person being drenched in sweat, so I got up and grabbed some clothes to get changed real quick. Dean was fast asleep, but with my back turned to him just in case, I was able to throw on some jeans and a couple of shirts. If he'd woken up he would maybe have seen my naked butt for like three seconds and good for him.
Thankfully, even though I'd sweated all over, my thick hair was still dry except along my forehead and I was easily able to cover that over. When Sam came out of the shower I'd look like I'd had a totally normal night's sleep, with no nightmares of any kind.
He came out as I was folding the blankets up. It was a shame really. After the restless night I'd had, I could have done with same Naked Winchester Torso, but it being so cold, he'd changed in the bathroom. Maybe Dean would be more obliging.
"Hey, you're up early," he said.
I nodded. "Yeah. Woke up, and it seemed too late to go back to sleep."
"Well, we don't want to go too early, wake that family. Long breakfast, maybe."
"Sounds good," I said, with my best cheerful smile. Sam expected me to be somewhat out of it before coffee, so I didn't need to fake too much.
Once Dean was awake, both the boys got their Fed suits on. I had adopted a new "FBI Contractor" look, something a bit of a step up from my jeans but not full Fed, which always called for an hour of wrestling my hair into submission. I had a nice black pencil skirt and a pink button up shirt, with a collar and everything. I looked totally boring. Then, because of the problem of possibly needing to run, I had found a nice pair of flat soled black boots, that went to just under the knee. Over a pair of black stockings, they had a sufficiently professional feel. I got to wear my hair out, and stuck to just the normal light make-up.
First time I'd worn it, Dean said I looked like "the kind of librarian who'd get naughty between the shelves". Sam said that librarians like that didn't exist in the real world, but that I looked pretty and the outfit balanced professional and approachable.
That was a strategy that we'd accidentally discovered worked well. The boys would be all stern FBI with their probing questions and their badges. Meanwhile, I'd be in the background, petting the family cat or comforting the crying widow. And then people would tell me things. They'd just start volunteering information, because I seemed like a nice non-threatening person who might listen or believe them.
After breakfast, we drove to our victim's house. Guy had disappeared from his house in the night. No sign of forced entry, and everything locked from the inside. Might not have been our kind of thing, but worth checking out, since we'd been in the area anyway.
When we arrived, the wife was not surprised. She had probably spent the whole previous day being interviewed and the FBI on her doorstep first thing in the morning was not a shock. Dean talked to her outside, and she said it was okay for Sam to look around the house. Seeing a little girl peering out from behind her, I went inside too.
She was maybe nine, and she stared out the window at her mother while Sam got to work searching the house for anything weird.
"Your mom won't be long," I told the girl. "My friends are from the FBI and they just need to ask about your dad."
She turned around to look at me. "I don't really believe in Santa," she said. "Not really."
I wasn't sure how that was relevant to her father's disappearance, or even if it was. The last thing I ever wanted to talk about was Santa. But that didn't matter. My discomfort was irrelevant. This little girl had lost her dad and if she wanted to talk about Santa, then we were damn well gonna talk about him.
"Did you used to?" I asked.
She nodded. "When I was little. But… I heard him on the roof."
"When you were little?" I asked.
"No. The other night. When Daddy went away. I heard Santa, on the roof. Mom says I imagined it."
Well, it definitely wasn't Santa, but she might very well have heard something on the roof. I couldn't think of anything off the top of my head that might climb into a house via the roof and abduct a man, but there could be something.
"What did it sound like?" I asked.
"Like… a bang and a long scrape. You know… the sleigh landing."
I could barely remember what I'd been told about Santa, but I was pretty sure my Daddy had told me he would land outside in our yard. Different families probably told it different.
"What does Santa do, if you've been naughty?" asked the child.
I actually wasn't sure. I was hardly an expert on Santa, having shunned the whole concept from four years old. We didn't tell stories about magical men who brought presents. Not in our house. Nobody in the world is going to give out free presents to every kid. People just ain't like that.
"Um… Maybe he just doesn't bring you a present?" I asked.
She shuffled on the spot, looking back out the window at her mother, and then back at me. Moving from one foot to the other, I could see there was something she wanted to say. Maybe something she'd tried to tell her mother. Sometimes in these weird cases, kids would get dismissed as imaginative or distraught and delusional. But in my experience, children just didn't have the cynicism yet to ignore what they'd seen or heard. They hadn't learned to dismiss their own experiences the way adults do with things that don't seem to make sense.
I crouched down so my face was closer to her height.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Hailey."
"I'm Ellie," I told her. "And I believe a lot of weird things, Hailey. So… if you have anything you want to tell me, even if your mom says it isn't real, I promise I'll believe you."
She still seemed anxious, looking back out at her mom again. Then she took two little steps closer to me, and in a very low voice, she asked "If my daddy had done something naughty… would Santa take him away?"
On the way back to the car, Dean asked Sam and I if we'd found anything. Before I could decide how to word it, Sam answered first.
"Stocking, mistletoe… this," he handed something very small to Dean, who took one quick look and then gave it to me. It was a tooth.
"A tooth? Where was this?" Dean asked.
I wasn't an expert, but it looked too big to be a child's tooth. There was blood on it. It didn't seem like it could be one of Hailey's.
"In the chimney," Sam said.
"Chimney?" Dean asked. "No way a man fits up a chimney. It's too narrow."
"No way he fits up in one piece," Sam corrected him. Ew.
I sure hoped we were dealing with some kind of monster, cos the thought of a human sneaking down chimneys and hacking grown men down small enough to drag them back up was horrifying. Give me a monster over a human any day.
"His daughter reckons Santa took him away," I said, as we got to the car. "Because he was naughty."
Sam stopped walking to look at me. I handed him back the tooth. "Naughty?" he asked.
"Well, she's only nine and one quarter, but Hailey reckons her father did something real bad that made her mom cry. She heard them arguing. Sounded like an affair to me, but whatever it was, Hailey thinks it was real naughty."
"Yeah, but… Santa doesn't cut a guy up and take him up the chimney," Dean said, as he unlocked the car.
"Something else might," I said.
"Hailey see anything?" Sam asked.
I shook my head. "But she says she heard a thump and a scraping sound on the roof. Sounded like Santa's sleigh landing. Her mom told her she imagined it."
"That's funny, cos mom told me she heard a thump," said Dean.
"She was probably trying to calm the kid down," Sam said. "Probably trying to make it less traumatising so she won't remember it later."
I accidentally let out a scoff. "Kids remember, Sam. It doesn't matter what you tell 'em. Something awful goes down… They remember."
"Well whatever. You two better hit the books," Dean said. "Find out what takes cheating husbands up the chimney."
A couple of hours later, Sam and I were side by side on the extremely tacky green sofa in our room. He had his laptop on the coffee table, while I had mine up on my knees. We'd both been searching for possible culprits and, well… it was kind of stupid.
"I am not drunk enough for this shit," I said, finally. "Fucking Evil Santa, are you kidding me? It's not enough to teach your kid that some magic fat dude is gonna come into your house and eat the cookie tribute you have to leave like some freakin' pagan ritual, but now he's got a belligerent brother who's gonna drag you away and eat you if you're naughty!? What the hell, Sam?"
"Uh, Ellie…"
"It's messed up!"
Sam reached across the sofa, took the laptop off my knees and moved it onto the coffee table. "Ellie? Are you okay?"
"Sure," I lied. "I mean… I'm a little irritated by this case, but I'm totally…"
"Uh huh," said Sam, doubt in his voice and his eyes. "So, you haven't been unusually moody lately?"
I probably had, but not on purpose. I was just used to being able to spend the whole horrific month of December as a virtual hermit, locked in the house with my dad and only going out when strictly necessary. Instead I was on the road, and every damn place I looked it was Christmas this and Santa that and so much freakin' snow everywhere! It was the jolly holly mistletoe shit making me cranky. That was all.
"I dunno, maybe," I said.
"Is it… Are you sure you don't want to go home for Christmas? We've got a couple of days."
"No!" I snapped.
I can imagine how that would go down. "Hi Daddy, I came home for Christmas because love and family and joy." And then my father would probably shoot me in the ass.
"Pea, if something's bothering you…"
"I'm fine!" I insisted, getting up off the sofa as I yelled. I had nowhere to go, but I couldn't sit there anymore, trying to justify why I didn't want to be cheerful every damn minute. A person isn't allowed to be moody occasionally? "Just… leave me alone!"
For the lack of anywhere else to go, I stormed into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me. Okay… so I was in the bathroom now. My cell phone and my computer were both back outside with Sam. Plus there were tears starting to well up and I couldn't breathe properly.
It was hard. I hadn't expected it to be this hard. Because we didn't do Christmas, I didn't think it would matter that I was away from my father. We didn't treat it any differently from any other day, so I figured I could just power through it. Sam and Dean didn't celebrate either, according to Sam, which was fantastic. Just an ordinary day for everyone. It wasn't like I was actually scared anymore. Just irritated.
Except I'd forgotten that just because we didn't treat it like Christmas that didn't mean it was the same as any other day. Not for me and Dad. It was still important, and at least when I was at home, as I had been every single year, I had my father and there was a strength in us being together. I could be cranky and sad, and no one would judge me for it, because they'd know why. If I was feeling really low, I had someone to watch a bad movie with me, or eat every potato chip in South Dakota.
Apparently, Christmas was a time to be with your family. Even if the way your family spent Christmas was to hate it. At least we hated it together.
Look how unpleasant it was making me! I didn't need to shout at Sam like that. He was just checking I was alright, because he cared about me. Now he was probably worried, thinking he'd done something horribly wrong, when really, he was just a sweet ball of sunshine and I was a bitch. Poor guy.
Well, I was sure about one thing. I wasn't going to cry again. I was going to take this, breathe deep, and get through it. It was the twenty-second of December and I only had three days to go. When I'd finally called my Dad the night before, he'd told me I could do it. He said I was strong and brave and there was nothing I couldn't handle.
I just had to try and be as strong as my Dad thought I was. I could always call again if I had to. There were parts I couldn't tell him. He didn't need to know about the dream, but we could talk about the rest. He could help me remember how to breathe.
I sat on the floor of the bathroom, with my back against the door. I don't even know how long for. I steadied my breathing. In my head, I went over ways of apologising to Sam. I tried to name all the states, but I kept forgetting which ones I'd already thought of. I thought of more ways to tell Sam I was sorry. I didn't cry.
It was silent outside for a while, but then I heard Dean's voice. Occasionally, I'd hear one of the guys or the other. I definitely heard Dean say "There is no Santa!" which suggested that Sam's explanation of what we'd found out about Krampus and Black Peter and all the other lore about anti-Santas was not going down that well.
Not long after, there was a soft knock at the door. "Ellie? You okay in there, sweetheart?"
It was Dean, sounding very cautious. Sam had obviously told him about my little tantrum.
"Sure!" I called back. "Uh… I just felt kinda sick. But I'm okay. I'll be out in a minute."
I went to the toilet, then flushed it and washed my hands, so it would at least sound like I'd been doing something other than sit and think. I didn't know why I didn't just go out and be straight with them. Sam, Dean… I really hate Christmas because when I was a little girl… Nope! No! I couldn't even bring myself to think the words that would explain it all.
When I came out, the boys were sprawled around in a ready-to-go sort of way. Dean was leaning over the back of the sofa, looking at the pictures on my laptop screen. Sam sat on the bed, just staring at his hands.
"Okay! I'm fine," I said, doing my best to smile. "Are we going somewhere?"
Dean took the cue from me, and got straight into talking about business. "So, Sam says you guys found some stuff about Santa's brother. Shady guy, punishes the wicked."
"Yep," I said. "I mean… it sounds kinda mad… but could be a real thing? Not the Santa part, but that could be the lore pasted on after, like people do."
"Well… we got another guy disappeared this month, too. Same deal. Everything locked, thump on the roof."
Okay. Two cases in such a small town in one month was definitely worth looking into. It was going to suck, but I was a big girl and I could handle it. "So, who was he?"
"Suburban dad, nice family, nothing shady," Dean said. "No dirt on him that I heard about."
"Okay… so, maybe there's something no one knew. Or maybe adultery dad wasn't taken up the chimney cos of that?"
Dean shrugged. "Well, there is a connection. Both victims went to the same place before they got taken. So we're gonna go check it out. You coming?"
"Okay," I said. "Let's head out. Sam?"
Sam had been sitting on the bed the whole time. It didn't seem like he'd taken in our conversation at all. He looked distracted. I hoped he wasn't worried about how upset I'd been. He hadn't done anything wrong.
Dean started walking straight across the carpark, while I hung back a little and waited for Sam. As he came level with me, we started walking slowly together, side by side.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have got mad at you."
He gave me a smile, with just the slightest hint of his dimples, and that crinkle in his forehead. "It's okay. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
God, he was so nice to me. After I'd yelled at him for trying to look after me, he just accepted a vague apology and went right back to trying to help. How does a person get that kind?
I shook my head. "No thanks. I'm… I'm not really fine, Sam. But I don't want to talk about it. I appreciate you caring but I just… I wanna handle it on my own."
His jaw clicked to the side a little, but I had yet to figure out what that meant. It was sort of a thinking thing, but there seemed to be more to it than that. He just did it sometimes. It might have meant he was worried, but I couldn't quite read him.
"Okay. But if you want to talk, I'm here."
I smiled, and that time I didn't even have to fake it.
I really should have asked Dean where we were going before I agreed to it. Both our victims had taken their kids to visit Santa's Village. It was kind of lame. I didn't know what I thought Santa's Village ought to look like, but I expected something a bit more sophisticated. There were big wooden cut outs staked into the dirt, and some guys dressed up as reindeer and elves. They looked so bored. A couple of trees had coloured lights draped over them. It seemed like someone had done their best on a budget.
"What are they supposed to be?" I asked, pointing to some wooden figures. Three guys in flowing robes and turbans, looking like they were dressed for the desert? That wasn't very Christmas.
"The Three Kings," Sam said. I stared at him blankly. "With gifts. For baby Jesus."
"Oh, yeah, right!" I said, with a smile that I hoped hid my confusion.
I actually didn't know very much about Christmas. Some of it you can't avoid, when you're at school and the whole of December is about gearing up for it. I got Santa coming and giving presents, and I got the part where your whole family gets together, which for most people meant Grandparents and Uncles and Aunts and things like that. I got snow and snowmen, and I didn't really understand why Santa had reindeer, but I knew he did and there was definitely one of them who had a red nose.
My classmates used to make Christmas decorations and stuff, when I was real little, but I never participated. Dad arranged it with the teachers that I didn't have to do it, and I got to go and sit in the office with a colouring book. That's where I made friends with Sara, cos her parents were very strict Jewish. She told me about Hanukkah and I knew about that already because of Dad's friend Rufus. Anytime there was a lesson that had anything to do with Christmas, I was allowed to sit out and do colouring. I wasn't in the Christmas pageant either. My dad had been real firm about it.
I asked him once, when I was older and we were sitting rugged up in the study one December twenty-fifth, drinking a lot of beer. I just wondered if I'd ever shown any interest in being in the pageant and making the decorations and doing the fun stuff with the other kids, and what he'd told me about why he wouldn't allow it.
He'd explained that it had nothing to do with him not letting me do Christmas stuff. If it had been up to him, he'd have done his best and tried to make Christmas fun for me. It was a hard time for him, but he'd have draped the house and yard in lights and got a tree for every room if it made me happy. It was me. That awful first year, he'd tried to get me interested in snow and lights and the fact that Santa was coming, but I just cried and screamed and begged him to keep Santa away, and not to make me go out in the snow.
When I was in kindergarten, Dad got called to go up to the hospital. We'd been making paper snowmen and I'd erupted into hysterics, and none of the teachers could calm me down. They'd called an ambulance, because they thought it must be some kind of fit. He said when he got to the hospital, I was still screaming and crying. I was in that part of the ER where they put kids, so it was decorated for Christmas. I guess most kids like to look at pictures of Santa and stuff. Anyway, I wailed and shook and sobbed so hysterically that even my Dad couldn't understand what I was saying. The Doctors were just explaining to Dad that they might have no choice but to dope his four year old up on sedatives. But I kept pointing at the walls, and he had this sudden horrified realisation. He told them to move me into a different part of ER. A grown up part, where there were no reindeer or snowmen or Christmas trees.
And bingo. Little Ellie stopped screaming and settled down into a more manageable soft crying. Finding nothing was wrong with me physically, they brought out the child psychiatrist to talk to me. It was obvious what I was so upset about, and why I didn't like the Christmas decorations. But they wanted to see what I remembered, so they could help me by giving me therapy.
I told the doctors I didn't remember anything. I told my daddy I didn't remember anything. Years of therapy and I always always said I didn't remember anything.
Because I didn't know that Dad knew the truth. I didn't even really understand what I'd seen. But I knew, even then, that there are some things grown-ups just won't believe.
"I know you don't remember," Dad had said, all those years later. "Thank God you don't remember. But I think it's in there somewhere, buried in your brain. And the snow and the decorations just bring it out again. Maybe you don't remember what happened, but I think you remember how scared you were."
Twenty-two years later and my Dad still didn't know. I remembered every damn second.
