A/N: And now it's time for The Spirit of Christmas Future. This is a bit of a dark one, as it was in Dickens. Just so you know going in. You might want to grab your teddy or something. Not that you have one, of course... I also just want to add that I don't appear to be getting mail from FanFic at the present (have to bump them about that again...sigh...)so if you review, it may take me a bit to know it. Thanks to everyone who is leaving such wonderful feedback!
The message of Christmas is that the visible material world is bound to the invisible spiritual world. ~Author Unknown
Suddenly, the elevator gave a terrible lurch. Mary spun to look at Shelley, but adding to her horror moments before the elevator was plunged into darkness, she saw that Shelley was gone. She was alone. She reached out for the metal railing that ran around the side of the the elevator and clung to it as the little box seemed to buck and heave in the darkness. From somewhere above her was the sound of grinding metal. Mary screamed in frustration and fear.
Ohnononono. What is this? I don't understand! None of this makes sense!
Finally all motion together stopped. Mary was sitting on the floor now, having been more or less tossed there by the frantic drops and plunges of the elevator. There was silence except for the sound of her panting breaths and the tiny sound of clicking metal somewhere above, as if a cable was gently swinging free and brushing against the top, again, again, again....
Mary was afraid to move, afraid that any motion she might make would cause the elevator to finish its insane plunge to wherever it was that it was going. Yet...
I can't just keep sitting here, can I? I can't just keep letting fear rule me, can I?
A sound like a huge bell filled the tiny enclosure. It was almost painfully loud. Mary felt as if she were sitting inside a ringing bell, so strongly did the reverberations of each stroke pulse through her. The bell was deep, the tone so low that it was almost more felt than heard. She counted to herself in the darkness of the claustrophobic elevator.
"One...two...three..." The sensation of the sound continued, and she found herself wondering if get her out of here....she had to get out.... "six....seven..." I can't stay in this box. I can't stay here anymore. I have to get out of here.... Somebody has to get me out of here... Aloud she was saying, "...nine...ten..." and the big-voiced bell stopped its ringing. She shifted ever so slightly, felt the elevator sway unpleasantly in response in the darkness, and thought again, Somebody has to get me out of here!
Suddenly, the elevator doors slid open revealing a blindingly white light. In the middle of it was a tall, slender figure wrapped completely in a dark cloak and hood. Its arms were folded across its chest as if in disapproval of what it saw. She could not see its face beneath the darkness of the cowl. Mary felt more than heard a rasping voice slide over her mind, "Yes. You're right. Somebody does. You. So do it." The tone was deep, as deep as the bell that had just struck ten, and Mary felt dry humor coming from it. She sat staring at it, dazzled both by its sudden appearance and by the light shimmering around it. It made her uneasy in some way she could not explain...
"You will need to hurry it up, though, Mary, if you are going to get out of this trap. You might say escape is something of a limited-time offer...."
From above her, there was a renewed screeching of metal on metal. Mary scrambled forward inelegantly on her hands and knees out the door. Behind her she heard the elevator doors glide closed and another sound, the sound of the box of the elevator falling....
She lay facedown on the floor, panting, happy for that instant just to have gotten out in time. Then she pulled herself to her knees and up to her feet on very wobbly legs indeed. The figure beside her (she could not tell whether it was male or female to be honest) simply stood and and watched. She stared at it, looking for any indication of who or what it might be. After all the other two had been people she knew. Was there something familiar about this one?
The figure endured her scrutiny for a moment or two, and she had a definite sense of ...amusement...from it, somehow. A dry laugh issued from under the cowl.
She felt irritation creep in at that. "So let me guess. You're the Ghost of Christmas Future, right?"
"That is the name I wear at this time, yes. It will suffice."
"And you're here to cart me off somewhere and show me some fantabulous crap about Christmas, right?"
Again that laugh like leftover leaves scuttling in a cold winter wind. "I am come to show you what the future of Christmas will be if you persist in your present path. You will have to judge for yourself the...fantabulosity...of it, Mary."
"Okay. Great. Let's get on with it, then, shall we? I have a phone call I really need to make, then. The elevator is wrecked, and that's how the others got me where we were going, so unless you have alternative transport..."
One thin arm extended, but she was unable to see the hand at the end. The robe draped it completely. "We need no conveyance, Mary. Look about you. We are here."
The light dimmed, and Mary was astonished to recognize that they were back at the office.
"Here? This is where you want to show me the wonder of future Christmases?"
The figure did not speak. It merely inclined its head. Mary surveyed the office. Some things were different; many things were the same. She walked slowly around the big room, inspecting. Eleanor was at her desk, looking much as she always did. Mary noticed with a smirk that a wedding ring now graced her hand and wondered if it had a mate on Stan's. Eleanor was working away, filing, typing, and was totally oblivious to her presence in the office.
A calendar on Eleanor's desk told her it was three years in the future. She glanced at the desks across the room, and noticed that there were three now. Apparently, a new Marshal was going to be added. That Marshal sure didn't have much by way of personal items...even by my standards, that is a bare-ass desk. There were a couple of stacks of folders on the top of it, and the usual assortment of sorter bins and so forth, but nothing else to show the personality of the individual who owned it at all.
Marshall's desk was Christmasy, but not as much as usual. One of the other desks, too, had a strand of garland rather halfheartedly draped across it. That was all. In fact, when she looked around again, she noticed that there was no festive tree, no garland, no kid ornaments, and not one string of lights. What had happened here? Had Stan thrown a fit? Had she? Was Marshall sick? Oh no...surely they hadn't brought her here to show her something like that.... She felt her heart clinch at the thought....
She turned to the dark figure hovering in the corner. "He's okay, isn't he? You wouldn't...you wouldn't..bring me here to see Marshall hurt or injured would you? Because I couldn't...that's not..."
The figure did not move. Its motionless silence was sinister suddenly, and Mary took a quick step toward it. She had to know....
The elevator doors dinged softly and slid open to reveal Marshall. She felt her heart start to beat again in relief. Oh look. He's okay. Her eyes took him in, the lanky frame, the tousled hair, they were the same, and the comfort of that flowed into her.
As she looked at his face, though, those eyes of hers, trained as they were to notice minute differences and details couldn't help but see that three years had somehow wrought great changes to her partner's face. His face, always high cheekboned and angular, was whittled away to its essentials. She ran her gaze over him again. He looked like he hadn't been eating properly....
Marshall? Not eating? What is this? The alarm bells that had been silenced by his appearance began to sound again.
He looked around the office, and his eyes narrowed on the desk in the far corner, the one with the one pitiful strand of garland on it. Shrugging off his coat as he went, he stalked over to the desk and ripped it off with a savage jerk. Eleanor looked up at him as he was crossing the room, and as she realized where he was going, she rose, darting across the room and trying to intercept him before he arrived, but failing to stop him from his goal.
Stan appeared in the doorway of his office with a young, dark-haired man behind him. The young man was looking at Marshall with wide, distressed eyes. Marshall stood holding the garland in his fist, staring at the young man with menace pure and distinct in his glare. Stan pushed the young man with his hand directly in his chest and shut the door to the office, giving Eleanor a speaking glance as he did so.
"Marshall, Marshall, he doesn't know. He didn't mean anything by it. He's new," Eleanor had a restraining hand on Marshall's arm, and she was gently prying the garland out of his hand.
"He needs to by-God learn or I'm going to wrap this around his neck," Marshall growled in a tone Mary had never heard from him before.
"Danny was trying to make things nice around the office, and he found that box of stuff in storage while you were gone and put it up...."
"Didn't you think to tell him to leave that desk alone?"
"No, Marshall. I'm sorry. It didn't occur to me...I knew you wouldn't want anything on yours, but..."
Wait, what the hell? Marshall's desk is the one that's decorated...
Mary looked again at the desk with the decorations, took a good hard look, and she realized that it was different. None of Marshall's little knickknacks were present. There were a few items there, and she walked over to glance at them quickly. There was a framed photo of a young man and a woman, and as she lifted it to look, she realized that it was the dark-haired guy standing behind Stan.
This isn't Marshall's desk anymore? Why not? What's going on here?
Marshall was relinquishing the strand of red and green to Eleanor with a disgusted oath. "Take it. I don't even want to see it near me. I can't control what he does at his own station, but I don't want it on mine, and if I see it...if I see it...there....again, so help me, Eleanor..."
So wait, he doesn't sit there, either? Why the hell does he care if somebody puts Christmas crap on it, then? What business of it is his? And when did he turn into such a damn grouch? Marshall was never this way. He's always Mr. Freakin' Holiday Sunshine Cheer...
She looked at the only desk that was left. It was a cheerless place. Nothing on it looked like Marshall. There was not one piece of quirky, geeky charm that she associated with her partner on it. It looked as if everything she associated with him had been ruthlessly stripped away, leaving only the barest of necessities, a shell of what she'd known.
Where is all his stuff? What is this? Why is he so different?
Eleanor softly squeezed his arm. "I know. It's okay. I'm sorry. It was thoughtless on my part. It's gone. It's gone." She walked away, leaving Marshall standing and staring at the now-denuded desk. He walked over and ran his hands over the top, leaned heavily on the desk, his head bowing as if he were in prayer or deep thought.
He was still standing there when Stan came out of his office a few minutes later. Mary saw the new Marshal, Danny, scurry toward the elevator. Marshall did not turn to see him go. Stan placed his hand on Marshall's shoulder.
"You need to take a few days. This time of year is rough on lots of people, Marshall, for various reasons. I'm giving you a week. Go see your Mom and Dad. Get the hell out of Albuquerque for the holiday."
Marshall did not raise his head. His hand smoothed slowly over the surface of the desk in front of him. "They've already called me about ten times, and I've told them I can't come right now. They don't need to see me like this, Stan. I'd just ruin the holiday for them." He finally stood up, and he laughed. It was the darkest, most bitter laugh she'd ever heard from her partner, and it made her want to hug him, to shake him. Marshall was not supposed to sound like that. Ever.....
"They still have that whole 'holly jolly' thing going at home, and I just...can't...anymore. Not after...." He stopped, the words dying in his throat.
Stan waited patiently.
Marshall cleared his throat, forced a happier tone, looked out the window at the fading winter afternoon there. "Besides. I have to go see her. I always do, you know."
Stan looked at Marshall with genuine pity in his eyes. His tone was gentle when he spoke. "You know I've stayed out of this for a long time, but I have to say something now, Marshall. You need to let it go. That's not your job, not your burden. You don't have to keep..."
Marshall's eyes snapped to Stan, and his face was a mask of rage and pain. "Not my job? Not my burden? Who the hell else will do it then, Stan? Who? The family?" He gave an incredulous little laugh. "They took what they wanted while they could, used her up, and then they got what was left after it was over, and nobody even knows where the hell they are. You know that just as well as I do. No. I'm it. I'm all there is. If it gets done, it gets done by me." He raked a hand that trembled slightly through his hair.
Stan paused a moment, started to speak, thought better of it and shook his head, then simply laid his hand on Marshall's shoulder again and squeezed. "Take the rest of the week, Marshall. Do whatever you need. Try to get some rest, too, though, okay?"
Marshall stared up at him with haunted eyes and laughed that bitter laugh again. "Sure, Stan. Whatever you say." He picked up his coat and walked toward the elevator without another word or backward glance.
As he left, Mary felt confusion flood her. Where was she? What was going on with Marshall and why wasn't she here to help?
And where do I sit now? She surveyed the office again. That little detail had escaped her a moment ago. She'd been so concerned by Marshall's behavior that she hadn't noticed that with the now-shifted seating order, the only desk unoccupied was the one Marshall had been so upset about Marshal Danny draping with the garland. She was walking toward it to inspect it more thoroughly when that dry rustling voice called to her from near the elevator.
"Aren't you curious about where he's going? Don't you want to know why he's so upset? Or does he truly mean nothing to you?"
She jumped. "Oh. It's just that the other two of these things have sort of happened in one location...."
"Well, this one doesn't. Follow him."
Mary glared at the shrouded figure, but she crossed the office leaving the mystery of the desk unsolved. As she approached it, the elevator opened, perfectly whole, well-lit, functional-looking and safe. Mary paused before it.
"So I'm to take it that this thing is safe now?"
"Do you really have a choice?" A hand that was far harder than it should have been was suddenly in the middle of her back, and she was shoved inside with enough force to make her very nearly fall.
Once she was inside and the doors were closed, she turned to glare at the robed form standing at its ease beside her. "Nobody does that to me and lives to tell the tale, you know." Its only response was more of that rustling laughter. Mary felt a cold shiver chase its way up her spine.
The elevator hummed its way down again without further incident, and Mary breathed a sigh of relief when the doors purred open, both for having survived the trip and for the ability to get away from the figure at her side who was increasingly menacing for no reason she could name. It seemed to be growing more and more substantial, larger, gaining bulk, somehow.....
She stepped out of the elevator into a small paved parking lot. "Okay. Where are we now?"
The figure did not answer. Instead it merely raised its finger and pointed. She turned and saw Marshall's truck parked in a slot, further along the lot, and beyond the truck and lot, she saw rows and rows of tombstones.
"Oh, what is this about? He said he was coming to visit somebody, but this isn't visiting, is it?"
No reply from the figure. It merely continued to point. She saw Marshall walking down one of the winding cemetery paths far away. He had a bundle of flowers in his hands.
"What? I'm supposed to go see who he's 'visiting?' Will that help me understand what's going on with him? Why he's turned into mean, sad Marshall?"
Again, silence was her only response. Really. Was that damn thing getting bigger? And had it had those wings the whole time?
"Useful as hell, aren't you?" She sighed and started down the path after Marshall. It was cold, and although she really hadn't been aware of temperatures anywhere she'd been. She wished she had her coat as she hurried to catch up to him.
He had topped a gentle hill, and was kneeling beside one of the graves. A few old leaves had clustered near the tombstone, and he was raking them away with his gloved fingertips. She stood on the path and watched struck motionless by the pain in his face. She'd never, ever seen such misery there before. It made her want to run to him and put her arms around him, cling to him, tell him that everything would be okay....
His voice cracked as he spoke. "Damn useless family of yours is living off your insurance but can't even be bothered to come out here and clean the leaves away. But then we always knew they were worthless, right?" She saw him reach up and angrily swipe away a tear. He sat back on his haunches, surveyed his work, whispered softly, "Didn't stop you from trying so hard to save them, though.... I miss you so much." He slipped the flowers he'd brought into the vase of the simple tombstone, fiddled with them gently.
"Stan put me on a week's worth of paid leave if you can believe it. I went off on Eleanor because the new guy, Danny, decorated in the office." He laughed through tears that were now coming regularly despite his efforts to stop them. "Do you remember how much I used to love Christmas?"
Who is he talking to? Who would know all this about him? Who has he lost that has affected him this much?
Behind her, there was a rustling of wings. "Why don't you just step around that stone and see?"
Mary felt as though her feet had been cemented to the ground. "No..." she whispered.
Marshall, unaware of their presence, continued. "You always used to make fun of me so much for the way I decorated the house, but still, I think you enjoyed it, at least just a little. At least I hope you did. God, I hope you got some happiness from it. I can't bear to think about it otherwise. You had so little happiness in your life...."
"I really think it's time for you to step around that stone and see, Mary."
"And I really think it's time for you to go to hell," she snarled, but it didn't come out with the force she intended.
The dark figure behind her rustled in humor. "Perhaps. But I don't think you're the one who gets to make that particular command decision."
"You never did tell me why you hated Christmas so much. I always kept hoping you would. There were so many things I kept hoping you'd share. There were so many things I wanted to share with you, so many things I wanted to give you, but you just kept shutting me out, closing doors..."
Mary's heart was pounding. She turned to the ghost. "That could apply to anybody. Anybody. That does not have to be me he's talking about. Lots of people hate Christmas. Maybe he has another friend who kept secrets, kept him at distance." Because I can't be in a box three years from now. I can't be. This can't be my stone Marshall is weeping over....
"Now that you're gone, Mare, I just don't know what to do with myself, really. Nothing has been the same. I go to work, I go home, but it's all just ashes. I miss you so much..."
"NO!!!" She stepped forward, grabbed the top of the stone. "Marshall! I'm not dead! I'm right here! I'm not dead!"
He continued without any pause, unable to hear the anguish in her voice. "...and...and...I just wanted you to know...that I'm sorry that I never told you when it mattered how much I …."
"Marshall! Right here, idiot! Right here! SO very NOT dead!"
"...I love you."
Mary grabbed the tombstone hard and shut up. "You what now?"
As if he'd heard her, he sighed and placed his hand on top of hers on the tombstone. She could not feel it. "I love you, Mary Shannon. And I always will. But I have to go now. It's almost full dark, and they'll be locking the gate soon. They don't like it when I stay in after dark. I'll come back soon."
He laughed that hopeless, broken, most un-Marshall laugh again. "You know I can't stay away from you for long." And he pulled himself up, dusted off his knees, and started to walk slowly down the path toward his truck. Every line of his body was a study in dejection.
Mary would have gone after him, but suddenly the robed figure was blocking her path.
She snarled at it. "Get the hell out of my way. I want to go after Marshall."
"The time for that is past. You had your opportunity to make a future path with him, and you chose not to turn down that road. Instead, your turning has brought you...here."
She looked again at the hunched figure getting more and more distant. "I told you that I need to be with my partner. You're not listening."
"It is not I who is having problems with comprehension here, Mary. You cannot go with him now. The time for that is done."
"Okay. Where am I going now, then?"
The robed figure took a menacing step forward. Mary took an automatic step backward, and just as she realized that she should be tripping over the tombstone, she stepped into nothingness and began to fall.
"Did I say you were going anywhere? Oh, I'm so sorry that you misunderstood, Mary. This is the end of the line for you..."
Mary's back hit the bottom of the now-open grave, and she was looking up at the tombstone that had now reappeared. She could see from her position the carving on it. Her full name and dates appeared on it. She scanned it in fear-driven haste.
Nonononono. This can't be happening. I died? I died on Christmas Eve? How is this possible? I died tonight? I don't understand....
The figure towered over the tomb, and she saw black wings spread open partially, like a bird getting ready to take flight. "Perhaps I should have mentioned to you that I also have other names, Mary Shannon, but I really thought you already knew me. We have spent so much time together you and I, anyway...." The hood slid back far enough for her to see a face like a skull, and for the first time she could see the hands beneath the voluminous sleeves. Bleached white bones protruded.
"It is rare that I am called by the title Christmas Future, in fact. I have other brothers, other relatives who wear that moniker more comfortably than I. I think you and I are more familiar with one another by one of my other names. We've tossed it back and forth between us for a long time, haven't we? Felt familiar when you first saw me, didn't I?"
Mary couldn't speak, and she couldn't move. She was lying rigid, staring up at the stone, at...at....
"Say it at least to yourself. You'll feel better if you do, I think..."
At Death....
"There you are. I've walked by your side for years now. I've held your hand numerous times, stroked your hair away from your face on an occasion or two, and one night, I wrapped my hands around yours as you sent a man from this world to the next."
The unwanted memory of her kidnapping and the ending of it shuddered through her, and the unavoidable wave of nausea that always followed rippled through her compounded now by the mental image of this figure hovering over her during the entire hellish event. But how? Why? Why me?
Rustling laughter. "So many questions. Every time. Always the same three. Just once, it would be novel if someone came up with something new."
Mary felt a trickle of irritation and rage cut through the fear, but she still couldn't move.
"You died on that Christmas Eve three years ago when you turned down the invitation to Marshall's party, Mary. That little shock you got when you leaned down to unplug those lights? Well, that, my dear, was actually enough to get you. Not a painful way to go, huh?"
You mean fucking Christmas lights killed me? She was incredulous.
"Yeah. I know. You always thought it would be a bullet in a dark alley, but sometimes Fate has a really odd sense of humor. Anyway, Marshall was never the same after that. He kept trying to call you, all night, if you want to know. He was the only one to be worried about you, gathered up a little search party and everything. When they found you, all the joy in him just died. You just heard why. He loved you. Loves you. Has for years. Because of you, he now hates Christmas, too, just like you always did. The part of him that loved it died when you did. Isn't that charming? Isn't that just what you always would have wanted for him?"
No. I would not want anything to hurt him...
"Well, it's not really your problem now, is it? Probably he'll be okay. I mean, there is that other thing, but..."
Wait. What other thing?
"Oh. Well. His job performance is slipping. Badly. You saw the incident in the office. You saw how much he's changed. There are all kinds of other little things, too. Stan is going to have him put through a psych eval soon. Probably he'll pass, though. If he doesn't, of course, that other thing will happen."
Dammit. What other thing? Her concern for Marshall's future was causing her to forget she was lying in her own grave as she stared up at the creature beside it with fury.
"What the hell do you care for? You couldn't even scratch up enough courage to go to his party, Mary. Why does it matter to you? You knew how important it was to him, and you still hid in that crappy little office instead of doing the one tiny thing that would have brought you both some cheer and joy..." The voice from the skull was cold as ice, and Mary felt shame and pain spear her as she lay against the muddy ground.
I...care. He's my....partner.
"Your...partner. Yes. Well. Doesn't that just drip devotion and concern...." The robed figure turned away from her.
Tell me. I want to know!
"No. I will not. It's not a 'partners' sort of thing." Arctic winters were warmer than this voice ripping into her....
Will he be okay? Is he doing to be hurt? Will he lose his job? That job is everything to him.
"Not everything, Mary. That's the point you keep missing. Not everything to you, either."
I mean it. He'll never survive it if he's fired....
Death was ominously silent. He turned back to her suddenly. The black wings spread wide and blocked out the last of the fading day.
Oh my God. No. No. NO. Let me out of here. I have to...I have to....
"You have to what? You've made your choices, Mary. You've picked your path, closed your doors, decided what you will and won't allow. He's on the outside of every one of those. This is the inevitable result. Didn't you ever stop even once to think that there might be some? Don't worry, though. If it's any consolation at all, I think they bury him just over there."
I'll kill you, you bastard! Let me out of here! No! I'll save him! I'll change it! I won't let you have him!
Death laughed his rustling little laugh and he waved his hand. Dirt from a pile nearby began to fill in the grave, filtering down over Mary's face and partially obscuring her vision of him.
"I'm sure you will. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that? Why don't you just get a little nap now? This will only take a minute, and it won't hurt a bit..."
Mary screamed even as soil filled the narrow confines of her tomb.
I decided that I wanted The Spirit of Christmas Future to be a classic angel of Death. There were a couple of characters from the IPS-verse that I started to press into service, but ultimately, I wanted something faceless and outside their world to come in and bring this last message to Mary. I didn't want more baggage added by it having an IPS background.
One more chapter to go. R&R.