It was at this, the least opportune of moments, that no fewer than a dozen bullets ripped into Trevor's back. He groaned and slumped over the railing. Adrian grabbed a hold of his pant leg before he could fall. "Up there," Ambrose pointed. Yet another helicopter had arrived on the scene, and it now fired a missile at Ertley's chopper. "OH MOTHER--!" Ertley managed to scream before both he and his escape chopper were blown into a million pieces. "Hey, not fair!" Adrian shouted at the intruder as it made a beeline for the coast and disappeared behind the hills. The detective could feel Trevor starting to slip out of his grasp. "Who was it?" he asked loudly, knowing this was probably his last chance, "Who ordered Trudy dead, Trevor?"
"It's…too…late…Monk!" a mortally wounded Trevor moaned. Seconds later, Adrian lost his grip. He watched with disappointment as the body of the man he'd come to loathe so much tumbled into the dark waters of the bay. "I was that close!" he lamented, kicking at the air in frustration, "I was THAT close!"
"But at least we know more of the puzzle," Ambrose tried to console him, "I for one feel a lot better now."
"I understand," Adrian nodded, "Thank, thank you for the assist, Ambrose. I don't think I could have done it without you."
"Hey, isn't that what brothers are for?" Ambrose asked, for once smiling, "Now could we get inside somewhere? My head's really spinning right now."
"I can live with that," Adrian wanted to get the albatross droppings and paint off his clothes quickly now. "Taxi," he flagged down one coming from the Oakland side of the bridge. "You know, it's kind of ironic justice at work here," he told Ambrose as they walked toward it together, "When we found Amanda Graystone in Chicago, she was reluctant to give us information at first, but after we prodded her a little bit, she was about to tell us Trevor was responsible seconds before he killed her. I can't help wondering," he looked up at the sky, "if Amanda enacted some kind of payback just now."
"Could have been," Ambrose stared up himself, "You never do know. Especially when it comes to tragic love."
Adrian stretched as he woke up the next morning. Christmas morning. He'd made it through the holiday despite the odds. And better yet was the fact, as he'd found out once he'd gotten back home, that Stottlemeyer had managed to catch all of the members of Ertley's Caucasian Provinces cell in an all-night dragnet. The streets of San Francisco were now safe again with the bombs successfully diffused.
He rolled over on his side to find Trudy lying next to him. "Merry Christmas, Trudy Ann Ellison Monk," he told her, not at all surprised to find her there.
"Merry Christmas to you too, Adrian Monk," she smiled at him, "Excellent work last night. I'd say that's your finest hour so far."
"You do?" he was awed, "Well, I'd do the same for you if I could, Trudy."
"I know," she told him, allowing him to lay his head in her lap, "You're a good man, Adrian. You deserve a good Christmas today, and I think you're going to get one."
"I would hope," he looked at her eternally young and beautiful face, "You know, I've been thinking, maybe once we finish opening the presents, if there are any presents, and after we eat, maybe I'll take everyone caroling today."
"So you'd consider caroling again?" she chuckled.
"Hey, I never told you while you were in this world, but that was one of the happiest nights of my life," he said with a rare deep smile, "I've come to realize now that I'd love to relive it."
"Well it looks like you'll have perfect weather for it," Trudy glanced toward the window. Adrian's jaw dropped after he followed her glance. "It's snowing!" he exclaimed, jumping out of bed and running to the window. At least five inches were on the ground already, and it was coming down hard. "It's snowing!" he repeated, "It hasn't snowed in San Francisco in over thirty years!" He looked back at Trudy. "You didn't by any chance engineer this, did you?"
"Oh maybe, maybe not," she said with a sly smile.
"You're up, Monk?" came Stottlemeyer's voice from outside the door. Adrian's eyes shot to the clock. It was quarter to eleven already—but then again, it had been close to one in the morning when he'd finally gotten to sleep.
"Yeah, uh, give me a minute," Adrian called out to him. He walked over to his nightstand and withdrew a present in green wrapping from inside. "Before I go, I got you a present this year," he told Trudy, unwrapping it for her, "A golden pen. Cost me five hundred dollars, but you deserve it. I'd give it to you, but obviously you're not going to be able to take it anywhere."
"It's the thought that counts," she eyed it with a big smile, "Thank you Adrian. It's good to know you still care. Now go on out and enjoy it with your friends."
"You'll still be here when I get back?" he asked as he walked toward the door.
"It's Christmas," she said, "Where else would I be?"
"Exactly," Adrian nodded and opened the door to an even bigger surprise. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, MR. MONK!" shouted almost three dozen familiar people. What took Adrian most by surprise, however, was that his apartment had, while he'd slept, been thoroughly decorated from top to bottom, including an enormous Christmas tree in the study next to the bookcase. "Wow!" he exclaimed, thoroughly awed, "Wow! I never imagined…you all did this?"
"Well, we all sort of pitched in," Monica Waters was one of the people who'd arrived. And she was far from the only one Adrian knew personally. Looking around, he recognized just about everyone: Arleen Kassidy, Scott Gregorio, Michele Rivas, Sherry Judd, Garrett Price (whom Adrian had admittedly found himself uncomfortable being attached to during that traffic jam), Grandma Parlo, and numerous other people he'd met on cases. "How you all get here?" he asked, amazed.
"I called around," Dr. Kroger stepped out of the crowd, "I figured maybe you'd like more company this Christmas. You won't believe how readily they all signed up to come, Adrian. You should count yourself lucky to have touched so many people positively."
"I would have stopped by anyway," Kevin Dorfman spoke up from the corner, where he was helping himself to eggnog, "A good neighbor never lets another down during Christmas. Incidentally, I went to Wal-Mart to see if I could get you anything I thought would interest you,but since I know you're a bit tricky to buy for, I…"
"Hold it just one minute," Adrian walked into the study and stretched out on his toes to the top of the tree, where he straightened the star. "There, good," he nodded, "You were saying, Kevin?"
Kevin was now too preoccupied making a pass at Michele. "I hear you did a good job saving the day last night, Adrian," Dwight Ellison and his wife were also present, "You're still the man Trudy fell for."
"I try and do my best, Dad," Adrian told him, blushing. "I, I almost learned another big clue after I saved the day, but the suspect was killed before I could learn who did it. I'm still going to keep looking, though. There's got to be more info out there I haven't found yet."
"Keep up the good work, Adrian," Marsha patted him on the shoulder, "Dwight and I just know deep down that you'll find out in time and give us all peace."
"I'll do my best," he said. He took note a Sharona sitting quietly in the corner, watching with a smile as Benjy unwrapped his presents. She had barely let go of him since Disher had brought him and Julie safely back, the detective had noticed (for which he couldn't blame her at all). He walked toward her. "Feeling better today?" he asked, trying his best to sound sympathetic.
"At least now I know the nightmare's over," Sharona told him softly, "He'll never bother me again. I can't thank you enough for stopping him before he did what he threatened to do, Adrian."
"Nothing I wouldn't do for you, I guess," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I suppose. I wish I'd remembered to get you a present," he voiced a concern he'd just realized.
"Bringing Benjy back safe, that's present enough for me," she told him, "He's more valuable to me than any hairdryer or mixer."
"I know," the detective added.
"Although," a new light had come into Sharona's eyes, "since you admit I did help you solve the case, I suppose you might have something for me after all. Need I remind you, you never gave me severance pay."
"Severance pay? Uh, well, you didn't really ask for it then, so…"
"We're not going through this again, Adrian," she sighed in frustration, "It only takes a little unleashing of the purse strings, that's all."
"I can't deduct from Natalie's paycheck, she'd stab me through the heart."
"I mean your money, Adrian, not…"
"There's presents here for you too, Mr. Monk," Benjy interceded before things could get out of control.
"For me?" Adrian was amazed. He squatted down on the floor and examined a stack of packages with his name on it. "Wait, I know what this one is," he said, holding up one with blue paper.
"You do?" Natalie had joined them in the corner.
"Yes. Was your family OK after what happened last night?" he asked, producing his nail clippers and ever so slowly cutting a perfectly straight line along the topmost piece of tape.
"Luckily those creeps took out much of their rage against the car," Natalie nodded, relieved, "Jonathan was hit once, but it wasn't fatal. I gave them the address, so once they're discharged, they'll be coming over here."
"OK, the more the merrier I guess," Adrian continued cutting. He'd gotten only a few inches open. "Allow me," Natalie took it from him and tore the paper off. "What, don't, now it's ruined!" Adrian protested. She gave him a silencing look. Inside was a large replica of his Jeopardy podium with the autographs of the crew and Alex Trebek, inscribed FROM ALL OF US TO OUR ONE-DAY CHAMP, BEST HOLIDAY WISHES. In the side was a note reading, DEAR ADRIAN, WHEN THE NEXT TOURNAMENT OF CHAMPIONS ROLLS AROUND, I'D ENJOY FACING OFF AGAINST YOU, SIGNED, KEN JENNINGS. "How nice of them to remember," the detective commented, taking the present's paper and cutting off the torn edges. "Is that really necessary?" Sharona had to ask him.
"I like it to be nice and even," Adrian told her. Once the edges were all even, he folded the paper in half four times, then gently dropped it into the nearest trashcan. "That's how you open Christmas presents."
He hefted the next one, an elongated package with red maple leafs on it, and opened it much the same way. Inside was a replica Mountie outfit, along with a card reading GREETINGS FROM TUKTOYUKTUK, NUNAVUT. Adrian opened the card to find a greeting for the man who'd helped in solve the case in Chicago saying, TO A NOBLE OFFICER OF THE LAW, HAPPY HOLIDAYS. CONTINUE MAINTAINING THE RIGHT, DETECTIVE MONK. CONSTABLE BENTON FRASER. "How nice," the detective said, holding the suit up, "Just what I always wanted. A Mountie suit."
"He must really like you, Monk," Disher entered the room, "I thought you'd be going crazy with stuff all over the place."
"Well, it's Christmas, Randy," Adrian told him, folding the uniform neatly back into the box, "Christmas is a special time of year, Trudy always said."
"I already thanked Adrian for saving the kids last night, now I'd like to thank you for making sure they didn't land in the bay," Sharona told the lieutenant.
"Oh, nothing I wouldn't do for you," Disher repeated Adrian's comment on the matter.
"Yeah sure," she said sarcastically.
"I should probably mention though," Disher leaned in close and whispered to her, "I was out with the sweeping units this morning to recover his body, and it doesn't seem to be where witnesses said he landed after he got shot." Noticing the freaked out look this caused to appear on her face, he added, "Which probably doesn't mean a thing. The tide moves pretty heavily through the bay, he probably just got swept out to sea."
"That's probably true," Ambrose had been eavesdropping, "He was shot fifteen times, and at least three vital organs were hit. It's 96.8 percent likely he was dead before he even hit the water."
The doorbell rang at this point. Stottlemeyer, who was closest to it, opened it up to reveal the Harts standing in the hall. "You folks have a good reason to be here?" he said with a slightly dark tinge to his voice.
"Is Detective Monk in?" Eric asked. Adrian looked up from the latest present he'd been opening—a pair of bowling shoes from Abby from Pross, along with a note telling him to use them well, and that she'd been goaded into giving them to him by Dr. Kroger—to see both he and his wife looked quite guilty. "Yes?" he asked, rising up.
"Look, Monk," Eric walked toward him, "Rochelle and I have been doing some thinking since yesterday, and maybe we were wrong about you. I think we were a little harsh on you to begin with, and maybe we've been a little too harsh on you through the years."
"Maybe?" Natalie raised on eyebrow.
"Well, probably," Rochelle admitted, "All that time we've blacklisted you, and you wanted our acceptance. You did give us closure with Clarissa, and we can't thank you enough for that. We were able to get to sleep for the first time in a long time last night, once your captain called and told us what had happened."
"At any rate, we'd like to bury the hatchet, if you'd forgive us, "Eric extended his hand. Adrian looked at it, then shook it firmly. "Why not?" he said, "After all, Christmas is the season of forgiveness. Wipe, wipe, wipe."
"Coming right up," Natalie handed it to him.
"So could we stay?" Rochelle looked around the apartment, also amazed at how well decorated it had been, "Not that you've got…"
"Sure, sure…let me get that button for you," Adrian fixed a button on her coat she'd failed to button up, "In fact, you're formally invite to go caroling with us after we eat."
"We're going caroling?" Stottlemeyer had come over and was frowning, "Don't you think that's a little out of your league, Monk?"
"It's what Trudy would do," Adrian told him, "Everybody," he spoke up loudly, causing everyone to turn to him, "Who's up for caroling later today?"
A healthy applause greeted this suggestion. "I, I can't," Ambrose said nervously, "I've been outside enough yesterday to last the next ten years."
"Hey, if you could make it outside to save my son, surely you could make it out for caroling," Sharona put her arm around him.
"And it's what Trudy would like to see," his brother added.
"Uh, well, um, maybe, uh, well, I might be able to squeeze in about five blocks or so," Ambrose conceded, "No guarantees, though, and that's probably my limit."
"The weather's certainly right," Karen agreed, looking at the still-falling snow outside the window, "We could stop by our place afterwards, I could get my camera, and…"
"Mr. Monk, this just got slipped under the door just now," Julie came running over clutching a card.
"What's this?" Adrian frowned as he slowly and meticulously opened it. What was inscribed on the card made his eyes widen: TO ADRIAN AND AMBROSE, THE TWO BEST SONS A PERSON COULD HAVE, GREAT JOB ON SAVING THE CITY LAST NIGHT. HOPE TO MEET YOU BOTH AGAIN SOON, DAD. "I don't believe it," the detective mumbled to himself, "How did he know where…?"
"I told you so," Ambrose told him matter-of-factually. The instruction manual writer ran to the door and threw it open. "Dad?" he yelled up and down the hall. After a minute of no response, he trudged back in. "Gone already," he lamented, "And we were this close again! Oh well, our paths are bound to meet eventually."
Adrian shook his head, but he was smiling as he did so. The sound of music revving up filled the air. "We waited all through the year," Disher started singing aloud with Bryan Adams on the CD he'd put on, prompting several other guests to join it, "for the day to appear, where we could live in harmony, "You know the time will come, peace on earth for everyone, and we can live forever, in as world where we are free—let it shine for you and me…"
Everyone had almost instinctively formed a circle and was now clapping. For once Adrian didn't mind the loud noise this made. Nor did he mind that his apartment was now very much claustrophobic with everyone bunched together. He was more than happy to join in with everyone else: "There's something about, Christmas time, something about Christmas time, that makes you wish it was Christmas everyday. To see the joy in the children's eyes, to see the old folks smile, says that Christmas will never go away." For the first time in his life, he now felt that he truly belonged, that people really did care. Looking out over the faces that smiled back at him when he gazed at them, he had his first feelings of peace since Trudy had left him. This Christmas was going to be one of the best days of his life—and for once, he wouldn't let germs, crowds or anything else get in the way of his happiness. It was, after all, Christmas.
THE END