Chapter 10

Greenwich…

Shane McMahon sat with his mother in the parlor and swirled a glass of wine. He stared at a book shelf as if he were in a daze.

"Shane? I think you've had enough wine this evening. You've been staring like that for nearly a half hour." Linda observed. She was always very aware of her son's behavior and any changes occur. "Shane?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry mom. I barely touched this one. Or the one before it."

"Is something on your mind?" She patted the leather sofa for him to join her.

"Yeah, but it's nothing we haven't talked about before." He sat gently, but kept as much room between them as possible. "Same old things."

Linda nodded. There was one topic of conversation between them for nearly a year that plagued Shane's mind. The issues behind it involving his father and the company hurt him deeply. "I know sweetie. Your dad is just trying to do what is best for the company. One man can't run the whole show. It takes a team. Just keep up the hard work and he'll see how much you deserve your job."

"I just don't understand him. I'm his son. I know I have made some…choices…in my life, but I'm still his blood, mom. Some choices I have made haven't been the best, but we all make mistakes. Some choices aren't even choices at all. When you're backed into a corner, it's no longer a choice." He sighed. "Why does he pick Paul over me? Paul's not part of this family."

"You know how your father grew up. He sees things one way and he won't change his mind. He loves you, but he's afraid, Shane. He's got a lot to think about and with the state of public relations in the company, some things just have to be done now to make it better later."

"I know, mom. Merry Christmas." Shane kissed her cheek and picked up his coat on the way out.

Stamford…

Paul tossed and turned in his bed as he tried to sleep. The three ghosts that had already visited him passed in and out of his dreams warning him of the final ghost to come. The ghost of Christmas Future. He woke suddenly and sat straight up in the bed struggling to catch his breath. "Shit. Just a dream. No ghosts. Just dreams." He mumbled.

He glanced around the dark room at the heavy velvet drapes and dark wooden furniture. Slowly, the drapes began to change shape and color. The tall doors of his wardrobe closet began to rattle along with the small items on his nightstand. The temperature in the room grew colder until Trips could see his own breath in front of his face. "There's no ghosts. I'm dreaming again." He whispered pulling the blankets up around himself.

"Paul." A deep, moaning voice called. "Paul, it is time."

Paul stared in shock as the curtains around his large Victorian windows broke from their supports and rose from the floor to take the shape of a black hooded figure with a wooden staff. He crawled backwards on the bed as far as he could to avoid the ominous being. "Who are you? Are you Death? Am I…dead?"

The figure shook its head from side to side slowly and raised a bony, skinless hand from under its shrouds to curl a finger at him. "Come. There is much to see, Paul."

Paul paused for a second before pulling on his robe and reluctantly following the large ghost. "The future?"

Again the figured answered without words and lifted his large staff into the air. After bringing it down with a thunderous crash on the hard wood floors, Paul found himself in another place and time.

To be continued...