Clouds passed over the moon as Joan walked across her yard. It was just cold enough to frost her breath, and she found herself wishing that it could be a white Christmas. Though it was probably a silly want considering how infrequently it snowed there at all, she couldn't help but feel cheered at the thought. Even if she was going to have to turn the delectable treats over to someone else.

Joan hadn't reached the neighbor's porch yet when she realized that the little boy was sitting there again. "Where's your coat?" She exclaimed, when she noticed that he wasn't wearing anything to guard against the chill night air.

"I'm not cold," he told her, and she could see that he wasn't shivering.

"Lucky you, I'm freezing. You know, you never told me your name. I'm Joan by the way."

"Luke," the boy told her.

"Hey, that's my little brother's name too, but he's older than you."

"No, he's not," Luke said with some conviction.

"Uh, okay." Joan decided to let that go. She used to think that she'd one day get older than Kevin... And when he'd had his accident, it nearly became reality. "Luke, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What?"

"You told me that something bad happened to make your parents split up, and that it was all your fault. Can you tell me about it?" she said gently.

"No."

"Okay."

Luke looked away, but began to speak. "I was riding my bike when a bad man grabbed me. He hurt me pretty bad. But he wasn't the one who killed me. That was his friend." Joan stared at him with dawning horror. Fortunately the little boy didn't notice. He shrugged his little shoulders. "Daddy and Monica found me a few days later, lying on the ground. Broken. It was the first time I ever saw him cry."

Joan's own eyes welled with tears. "Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry that happened to you."

Luke wasn't the first ghost she'd ever seen, but he was the first one she'd ever met. The others had been of people she'd known in life. A good friend. A child she used to mind.

He patted her shoulder, which made her tears spill over. A murdered child was trying to comfort her about his death. "It's not your fault, Joan."

"Well, it's not your either," she said, sniffling. "You know that, don't you?" But as soon as she saw the look on his face, she knew he didn't. "No, you don't. That's why you're still here."

"I just..." Luke trailed off and stared at his sneakers.

"What?"

"I want to say I'm sorry." Luke said at length. "I never got to tell my Dad that I was sorry that he found me."

"I'm sure he knows-" Joan began, but he shook his head hard. Then he got up and began to run off. "Luke! Wait!"

This time he didn't open the door to go in. Now that she knew his secret, he didn't have to pretend, and simply melted away. To her surprise, however, the door to the house opened again. She was about to say his name when a pair of icy blue eyes met hers. "You're one of the neighbors' kids. Joan. Is there a problem?" Mister Doggett asked her suspiciously.

"No!" she said quickly. "Actually, yeah there is."

"What's that?" He eyed the box she was holding, as if he thought it might contain a bomb.

"Oh, here. My mom sent this over. But that's not the problem..." It only took her a moment to make up her mind. "I was talking to your son just now."

"What are you talking about?" Doggett asked her. "I put Ryan and Henry to bed myself an hour ago."

"No, I meant Luke," she said softly. "I know that sounds crazy, but-"

"What did he say to you?" Doggett demanded in a hoarse voice that took Joan by surprise. It hadn't occurred to her that he might believe she was telling the truth.

"Um." She sat down on the stairs, and he did as well. "He thinks what happened is his fault." She waved a hand. "His death, I mean."

"That's crazy. It wasn't his fault. He was just a little boy."

"I don't know. Little kids think that all sorts of things they have no control over are their fault. Like your divorce." She added. "He said he wanted you to know that he was sorry."

"I know that..."

"Why do you believe me?" Joan asked suddenly. "Why didn't you just think I was crazy?"

Doggett gave her the weakest of smiles. "When I was an FBI agent, I saw so many things that were impossible to believe. Some of them make a little ghost easy to believe in by comparison. Luke died thirteen years ago, but sometimes I still think I hear him laugh."

"He still loves you," Joan told him. "I think that's one of the reasons he's still here."

"But why would he show himself to you and not me?" Doggett's voice suddenly took on a bit of anger, apparently self-directed. "He must hate me."

"No! I'm sure-"

A small blond figure hurdled itself at Doggett, and nearly knocked him over. "I don't hate you, Daddy!"

"Luke! Oh my god, Luke." The look on the man's face was one that Joan had never seen before, such surprised wonder. He pulled the little boy onto his lap. "I thought I'd never see you again, Champ. Why haven't you ever come to me before this?"

Luke's lower lip trembled. "I thought you would be mad at me."

"Why would I be mad?"

"I went with a stranger, even though you told me not to. I tried not to, but he made me."

"That's not your fault. Nothing that happened is your fault."

"Really?" A fragile hope bloomed on the boy's face as he studied his father's.

"Really," Doggett told him, and she could sense that he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. "But it's time for you to go, Luke."

The little boy faded. "You don't want me to stay?"

"Oh, Luke..." His expression gave Joan an idea of what he must have looked like when he discovered his little boy's abused body. "I want you to stay more than anything. But it isn't right. You were a good boy, the best boy, so you know where you're supposed to go."

Luke extended one finger skyward. "There?"

"That's right." Doggett's voice was clotted with tears.

Instead of vanishing into the light, Luke threw his arms around his father's neck. "But I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. But I taught you to do the right thing, didn't I?"

"Yes..."

"Then you need to go. That's what's right."

With a show of reluctance the boy slid off his father's lap. "Promise that you love me as much as them," he said, clearly meaning his half brothers.

"You know I do, Luke."

And then Luke was gone. There was no smoke, no light, no fading into happy oblivion. One second he was there, and the next he wasn't. There was an emptiness to where he'd been and they both felt it keenly.

Neither of them said anything for a couple of minutes. Joan decided to break the ice. "I don't think I could have told him to go." She confessed.

Doggett hitched a sigh. "I didn't think I could, either. But I know that boy...he would have stayed here forever, if he thought it was what I wanted him to do. But it wouldn't have been right."

"Still, that took more selflessness than most people are capable of," Joan told him.

He shook his head. "Any good parent would have been able to do it."

"Maybe..." she said doubtfully. "Are you okay?"

"I know for sure that my son's soul is at peace." Doggett stood up and picked up the box from where he'd placed it on the steps. "I don't think I could have asked for a better Christmas present than that. Thank you."

"Me? I didn't do anything. All I did was listen to a lonely little boy."

"And you have no idea how much that means." Doggett's voice held an awe that she couldn't understand. "Maybe some day you will. Merry Christmas, Joan."

"You too Mister Doggett."

She headed back to her own house once he'd gone into his house and shut the door. To her surprise she was only half way up her driveway when a voice called out, "Jane! There you are!"

She squinted in the dark. "What are you doing, Adam?"

He held up a sheaf of paper. "I thought you might want to go Christmas caroling with me. Grace is inside bullying your brother into coming." He leaned towards her. "Between you and me, Luke's a bit whipped."

"Yeah..."

Adam looked slightly concerned. "Are you okay? You look a little funny."

Joan gave him a wobbly smile. "I saw a miracle tonight."

"Did the blind see and the lame walk?" His voice held a teasing lilt.

"Nope. A father and a son came realized that neither of them blamed the other for growing apart."

"That doesn't sound like much of a miracle to me," Adam said doubtfully.

Their friend Grace chased her younger brother out of the house just then, and they ran by laughing.

"I guess you had to be there." Joan took his hand. "Let's go sing some carols."

The End

Author's Note: Coventry Carol is one of the oldest of traditional Christmas carols, and one of the grimmest. Instead of celebrating the season as most of the songs do, this one asks listeners to remember the children that were murdered by King Herod as he sought the Christ child.