2

Andy Davidson strolled through a coffee shop at the mall and scored a cup of coffee from a smiley barista. His Security Uniform was a far reach from the Heddlu one he once wore but since…. Stuff… Torchwood… he preferred a more sedate indoors kinda gig.

It was two weeks before Christmas and shoppers were out in force. Canned Christmas music piped through the sound system, and a giant, eighty-foot Christmas tree was erected under the stained-glass dome of the mall. Every arch was festooned with multi-colour strobe lights, and a dazzling number of golden ornaments and fake snow decorated the windows.

Christmas season.

A time of fake cheer and phony laughter. Just another excuse for businesses to bleed people dry.

Andy's hands shook as he tipped the coffee cup to his lips. Things were rough lately, since moving here from Cardiff in an attempt to get past the Miracle Day riots and the mess it caused. He doesn't trust much these days. Not after what he has seen. Survived.

Andy wandered among the shoppers, almost tripping over a small boy clutching a toy fire truck as if the sum of all happiness resided in that piece of plastic, made in China. The boy's mother grabbed her son's hand and shot Andy a suspicious glare.

This place is such an affluent shopping center where women watched their waistlines and picky children limited themselves to a single food group. Since the customers here were accustomed to maids picking up for them, they oftentimes left entire plates of food on the table without throwing their leftovers into the trash or busing their own trays.

Most people had their noses too far in the air to care, so besotted were they by the imposing architecture, combining an old-world grandeur with futuristic glass and gleam underneath an ostentatious centrepiece dome. The glass panes above were wired with strings of colourful lights for the nightly holiday light show.

Whoop-dee-doo.

Underneath, in the large courtyard, a gigantic winter wonderland playground was set up to indoctrinate children into greed and excess at their most impressionable age. People dressed as ornaments, princesses, nutcrackers, elves, candy canes, and wrapped presents posed for pictures with children as they lined up to sit on the lap of an old fake Santa.

A twenty-dollar sitting fee plus another twenty-five or thirty for the picture. About the price for a lap dance at a seedy strip club. Andy wanted to plug his ears as he passed the line of whiny children. "I wanna," "I wanna," "I wanna." As if the animatronics, light show, and electronic holiday music weren't enough to send a child into stimulus overload, the amount of sugar harboured by the candy canes, gingerbread snacks, and sugar cookies fuelled the ferocity of temper tantrums of children being dragged away from the dazzling array of toy porn displayed prominently in the surrounding store windows.

Andy quickened his steps and cut behind Santa's plastic throne.

"I want a papa for Christmas," a child's voice warbled from the fat man's lap. Good luck with that, Andy whispered under his breath. The hopeful innocence of the little girl's voice brought back his nightly prayers, kneeling at his bedside and believing God would bring his father back.

Eventually his father had returned… in a body bag.

He couldn't help but peek at the source of the tiny voice. She was a sweet little girl, dressed in pink, with a mess of dark-haired pigtails. But what caught his eye was the man standing behind the line, the girl's father. Fuck, was that Rhys Williams? What was he doing here…. Oh. Shit. Anwen? She has grown so much.

Rhys marched his daughter away from Santa, probably upset that Jolly Ol' St. Fake had promised to grant his daughter's wish.

He browsed by the Holiday Express train. Nope, he definitely wasn't interested in taking a ride. It reminded him too much of the train set his father used to set up every Christmas before he'd disappeared during the fight with his Ma.

Andy wandered toward the towering Christmas tree, craning his neck to see the star at the top. Whenever his father had been home for Christmas, Andy had been the one who had sat on his broad shoulders and placed the star on the tip-top branch. He and his mother would have decorated the tree from the bottom up, hanging ornaments and stringing the lights, but they could never reach the top. His mother would take the golden star out of the box and place it on the mantle, waiting for the family to gather around the tree.

There'd be popcorn and Christmas carols, and once his father stepped through the door, he'd pick Andy up and hand him the star. Everyone would clap and cheer as Andy mounted the star. It had made him feel the same as if he'd scored a game winning touchdown. They never had another tree after his father disappeared and was later found dead.

"Mister, can you please take a picture of us?" A young woman waved her hand in front of Andy and gestured to her group of friends. "Sure, no problem."

He took her phone without annoyance as this was something tourists regularly asked of him due to his uniform. "Where's the shutter button?"

"On screen," the woman replied. "Tap the target."

"Sure." Showed how long he'd had his old camera.

He shot a few poses for the family and handed the fancy contraption to the woman. After they gathered their coats and bags from the floor, he noticed they'd left a takeout container. On top was a couple of cookies still in their wrappers and he swiped them for later.

"Papa? Can I have a cookie?" a tiny voice squeaked in close vicinity. It was Anwen, Andy glanced around, but didn't spot the Rhys.

"Where's your father?"

"He's looking for you, but I found you sitting under the big Christmas tree just like Santa pwomised." The girl beamed expectantly at him.

"Well, it isn't Christmas yet. Still two more weeks." Andy wiped his lips with a napkin. "Let's see if we can't find your father."

"Okay, Papa." The girl put her hand in his. "I can't wait to tell him Santa got you for my very own."

Andy wanted to let her hand go. This wouldn't look good. He hastily replaced the lid on the takeout container and dangled the almond cookie. "Here, you can have the cookie, but you must help me find your father. And you know my name is Andy! I used to work with your mother, I guess you were too little to remember. Why you think you know me… you do."

"Yay!" the little girl squealed, snatching the cookie. She ripped the wrapper and took off, running. "Tadda, I found him."

Andy pitched the rest of the food into the trash and loped after her. She could get lost in this crowd, and he wasn't sure he spotted her father anywhere. Sure enough, the little girl's glee turned to confusion and then fear as she whipped her head back and forth, crying, "Tadda? Tadda?"

The cookie dropped to the floor, and her eyes grew big. She paused to take a large breath, the kind children did right before letting out a loud scream. Andy reached for her hand. "Honey, don't be afraid. I'm sure your father's looking for you."

"Tadda," she yelled, screwing her fists into her eye sockets. Several bystanders glared at him, rocking from one foot to the other, as if deciding whether to intervene or not. A woman whipped out her cell phone and snapped a picture.

Great. Just great. He was about to be reported as a child kidnapper. Worse than being called a rent-a-cop?

"Papa!" The girl launched herself at him, hugging him around his legs. "Tadda got lost. We need to put up posters. Offer a reward."

The bystanders who had been watching Andy smiled and shrugged with relief, apparently convinced the child was in no danger. Andy had no choice but to play along. The number one rule, whether in a Hoodlum war zone in Cardiff or after an Alien attack in London was to not draw attention. Walk as if you belonged and blend in with the background.

"Where shall we start, missy?" Andy swung his arm alongside the girl.

He had to find Rhys. After all this time, would he be happy to see him?