| §*ß*§ Chapter One §*ß*§ Christmas Past Helena was asleep again, resting comfortably in the knowledge that her vision of Mikkos had simply been a dream. So, she was especially distressed when she was pulled out of her sleep by a tickling sensation on the sole of her right foot. She tried to pull her foot away, but was unable. She awoke, her eyes scanning through the darkness to determine who was there. All she could see was a dark shadow at the foot of her bed. In an authoritative voice, she said, "Who's there! Is that you, Andreas?" "Not Andreas, Hon," came the immediate reply. Helena recognized the voice. "Ah, but a beloved visitor, nonetheless. It is very sweet of you to come by for a holiday visit. Tell me, have you finally come to your senses, or are you still just a naughty tease?" "You'll have to come down here and see." The hand pulled Helena's foot, dragging her down to the edge of the bed. She slid up against him. She pulled his fingers from around her ankle. "So?" "I'd love to cozy up to you, Helena, but we got business." Helena's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Business?" "C'mon, don't pretend like good ole' Mikky hasn't already been by to let you in on the little plan," he said sourly. Helena disentangled herself from the covers and pushed past the man sitting on her bed. What was he doing here? What kind of plot was he unleashing now? This was obviously a scheme designed to make her doubt her sanity. She grew angry as she thought about the implications. Perhaps she could turn the tables. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anyone named Mickey and I certainly haven't had any visitors. Except you, that is," she replied, placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her hand off, standing up so he could look her in the eye. "Now, now, Candy, don't play coy with me. I know that the Frozen Wonder was here. He explained the whole thing, so lets stop fussin' and get this show on the road." Helena looked stricken. "What did you call me?" "Huh?" "What did you call me?!" she screamed. Her eyes grew cloudy and stern as she yanked him towards her by his collar. "Oh," he replied with a goofy grin, "are you talking about that cute little pet name?" "YES! Why did you call me that?" "Don't get your Victoria's in a bunch!" Helena released him. She released the painful breath that was trapped in her throat. She had to get control of herself. Otherwise, he would win. "Don't call me that again." He came up behind her, hunching over so that he could place his chin on her shoulder. "You're wasting my time. Can we just get movin'?" "Moving with what?' "Dense does not suit you. Mikky came. He told you about the three ghosts." "That was a dream!" "Think what you want! I really don't care. Look, all you have to do is come with me. I'll show you your wretched past. You'll cry or laugh or smirk or something and I'll get to go back to the great here after. So, let just do it!" "The great here-after? Please," she declared, her mood brightening, "tell me that you choked on a rib bone last night and that you are really a ghost." "No such luck, little lady. I'm just assuming the form of someone in your life who you've wronged. That's the way it works." "What a pity," she grumbled sadly. "What are the chances that you'll leave without me accompanying you on this little journey?" "Slim, Darlin'. Very slim." "Fine," she said stalking off towards the door. "I'll go...if only to delight in your company. Let's see which low-rate actors you've hired to stage this little production. Is Tiffany Hill still in the business? Of course, she did her better work on her back, not on the stage." "Leave Tiff out of this. She was a fine women with enormous attributes," he said defensively, stepping in front of her and blocking the door. "Attributes? Is that what they are calling them these days?" He gave her a dirty look. "When I open this door, we will be transported back into your past." He opened the door and gestured for her to cross the threshold. Helena started to cross, but paused. "Move it or lose it!" "I just wanted to tell you something first." "What?" he asked in an exasperated tone. "You look absolutely ridiculous in that atrocious hat." Luke Spencer looked injured, bringing his hand up to fondle the fluffy white ball on the end of his red Santa's hat. "There's nothing wrong with my hat!" he protested, pushing her through the door into the pitch black void that used to be the hallway. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ The walls were gray. Pale lifeless gray. Helena quickly turned back towards the door, only to find that it had disappeared. Her eyes widened as she felt the solid gray wall. "The door..." "What about it?" "It's gone...How did you do that?" "I didn't. Do you know where we are?" "Should I?" She turned in a semi-circle, surveying the long narrow hallway. "Try to keep up, here. This is your past. Everything you see with me will be something you have already experienced. Hence my name...The Ghost Of Christmas PAST!" Luke pointed out, slouching against the wall. Helena glared at him, trying to figure out what was going on. This was some dream she was having. "I don't know, Luke. Why don't you just tell me." "You and your son suck all the fun out everything." He took her hand and pulled her to a rickety wooden door. "Well?" "I don't know what you think-" she started, her words coming to an abrupt stop. She raised her hands to glide over the fading numbers painted on the door. Apartment Four She jerked her hand back, clutching it against her chest. "Where are we, Helena?" In an emotionless tone, she replied, "Home." "Do you care to elaborate?" "No, I want to leave this place." "But we've come all this way!" She backtracked, returning the way they came. "I will not play your game, Luke," she tossed over her shoulder. As she walked, Luke and the door seemed to move with her. She could never get more than two feet away from them. "How are you doing this!" she shrieked in frustration. "Come inside," he urged, grabbing her wrist. "You'll have to face them eventually." Helena ripped her arm away. "Fine! I'll go in. I'm certainly not afraid of that apartment. It's just a four room hovel in the middle of nowhere. It's not real. Not anymore." She squared her shoulders and boldly turned the doorknob. She stopped in the doorway, peering in. Luke shoved her the rest of the way. Helena stumbled across the scarred wooden floor. She skidded into a wall, bumping her shoulder. She steadied herself. Stepping away, she looked around. It was exactly the same. Exactly the same as the day she left and never came back. The dingy gray paint was peeling in the same places. The tattered furniture was still against the far wall. The large wood oven was still puffing out limited heat. Feeling cold in her slinky black night gown, she wrapped her arms around herself. She moved out into the main room. She let out a long low breath as she saw what else hadn't changed. Her father sat in a worn chair in the corner. His chair. He was sprawled out , his head lolling to the side as he snored loudly. His stained shirt barely covered his bulging girth. One arm hung over the arm of the chair, dragging the floor. The other arm was wrapped protectively around an empty wooden jug of whiskey. Helena closed her eyes to the all too familiar sight. Inside, she could hear the little girl that she used to be, praying. Please, let him stay asleep tonight. All night. If you're really there, then let him stay asleep. How often did that prayer go unanswered? How often did he awake, only to stumble around in a drunken stupor? Only to grumble at finding his bed empty? Only to barge into hers? She shivered, but this time it wasn't from the cold. "What are you thinking?" Luke asked, breaking her thoughts. "I'm thinking that you've won. I almost believed that this was the place I grew up. Almost. Where did you find a man who looked so much like my father? Of course, that beard is obviously fake." "There's nothing fake in this room except for you. You're still trying to pretend that this isn't happening." "It's not!" "Well, I think you're about to get some more proof." From the room in the back of the apartment, appeared three children. A boy of seventeen lead the way, a large canvas bag thrown haphazardly across his shoulder. He was followed by two blond girls, one of ten and the other of seven. They stood in a small circle, the youngest one occasionally checking to see that the hefty man in the chair was still asleep. Helena stood frozen in place. She couldn't believe her eyes. "They can't see me, right? Isn't that a rule?" "Yes. They can't see you or feel you." Helena moved towards the huddled group like a fish on a hook. She listened to the conversation, but she didn't really have to. She knew what they were saying. She had replayed this day so many times throughout her life. The teenaged boy set the bag down and kneeled before his two sisters. A young Helena stared down into her brother's bright green eyes, one of which was discolored by a fading bruise. "You don't have to go," she spoke in German. "You could stay. You would stay if you loved us." The boy smiled, rubbing her arm. "It's not like that! I have to go. Who will fight if I don't?" "One of those other boys. They don't need you, Henry! The SS has so many. They don't need you, too!" "Don't make this hard for me, Candy," he replied. "Why can't you be nice like Irene?" Helena's little sister chewed unhappily on her finger. "I don't want you to go either! Stay!" "Don't you start, too. Now, I want both of you to be good while I'm gone." "What if you don't come back?" Irene asked, growing more anxious when their father shifted. "Would I leave you with that old fat coot? No, I will be back. After we win the war, after we drive all of those beasts into the ground, I will come home a decorated soldier," Henry said proudly. "And I'll get the two of you out of here." Young Helena smiled wanly. "Irene, go and get that Christmas present that we made for Henry." The younger girl nodded, disappearing around the corner. Henry looked at his other sister with a worried glare. "What is it? It must be important if you sent Irene away." "What if we don't win the war?" "Are you serious? God, Candy, you should KNOW that we will. There is nothing the German's can't do! We're strong. We're the chosen ones." "Says who? That ugly little man on the posters? Are you willing to go out and shoot people just because he tells you it's a good thing to do?" "You sound like Mama." "Mama's been dead for a long time. And you're all I have left. I don't want to lose you, too," Young Helena explained sadly. Henry laughed. "You don't have to worry because we are going to crush those dirty Brits. And those sneaky Commies. There is no way we can lose. It's 1940, not 1917. It won't be like the last war. We are living in the age of technology." "Wait until after Christmas, then!" she blurted out in a last ditch effort to make him stay. "Who goes and joins the army on Christmas Eve? Nobody!" "I'm leaving while I have the chance!" He stood and turned to look at his bloated, drunken father. "I'm leaving when he can't stop me. No more blackened eyes for me. From now on, I'm going to be the one giving them out!" Young Helena pushed a wayward strand of blond hair out of his eyes. "I'll never be the same if you don't come back." "I will, Candy. I will!" Henry reached around her, sticking his hand in a side pocket of his bag. He pulled out a small cloth bundle. "This is for you, little sister. Only for you. Don't tell Irene. You know how jealous she is." Young Helena took the bundle. She untied the plain white string that held it together. She unwrapped it. In the center of the bright blue cloth, there was a shiny, if small, silver bell. Her eyes grew large as she rubbed a tiny finger over it. "It's beautiful!" she cried in delight. "It gets better." He took the bell from the cloth, revealing that it was attached to a long red ribbon. "See? You can where it like a necklace." He placed it around her neck. "You look beautiful, Candy." Young Helena began to cry and she wrapped her arms around Henry's neck. "It's okay! You don't have to cry." She pulled out of his arms. "It's not okay! What about Papa?" she asked in a fearful voice. "He's nothing, Candy. Nothing. He's a dirty, nasty, slob and we are so much better than that. We are going to be something! I'm going to be an officer. I'm going to have lots of money. I will buy you real gold and diamond necklaces that will put that bell to shame. You're beautiful," he exclaimed, trying not to see the garish bruise on her neck, "and you should have everything you ever wanted. And even if I don't come back, promise me that you will go out and get those things for yourself." "I promise! Anything shiny. Anything pretty. They'll belong to us. We'll have a big house and Papa can go live in a sewer!" "Yes, Candy! That's the spirit!" He hugged his sister again. Irene came from around the corner where she had been eavesdropping. She pressed the picture that she and Helena had made into his hands. He gushed over how lovely it was and then folded it up and stuck it in his pocket. He wrapped both of his sisters into a suffocating hug. "I love you both." And then, he stood, he turned around, and he walked to the door. The elder Helena had been watching in silence, but when she saw him leaving, she raced after him. "Don't go, Henry! " He stopped, almost as if he had heard her. She came up to him, placing her hand on his cheek. Falling back into her native German tongue, she said, "You are so much better than this. Don't go. Stay with me," she whispered hoarsely. She savored the feel of his smooth skin. "Stay." Henry hefted his bag onto his shoulder and walked through Helena out of the door. She threw herself against the door, forcing back the tears that wanted to come. Luke, who had remained in the background, came forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What happened to Henry?" "What happened?" she raged, flinging the door open and stumbling out into the hallway. "It can't be that hard to figure out. He was a NAZI in World War II, Luke! What do you think happened? He died. He got caught in a winter ambush near Leningrad in '41. Henry was a good boy. Deluded, but good." She calmed herself. "What happened to your sister?" "Don't you already know the answer?" "Humor me." Helena stared at the wall above Luke's head. In it, she could almost see Irene's face. "She's in Tuscany. I think she's on her eighth husband, now. We...we don't talk anymore." "Do you miss Henry?" "NO!" she stormed. "He's been dead a long time. It was his own stupidity, anyway." Luke titled his head, staring at Helena. She was clearly frazzled. She fidgeted, taking quick deep breaths. Amused, he asked, "Why did Henry call you Candy? I mean you guys are in Germany, speaking German, and out of the blue he uses the English word CANDY. What's with that." Helena smiled, but immediately covered her mouth with her hand. She cleared her throat. "It was the only English word he knew. He had been so proud when one of his friends had taught him CANDY. Then, he started calling me that because he said that we had a lot in common. We were both sweet...and we, the word being an English word, were better than this place." She held her head high in intense pride. "Candy. . . " Wistfully, she continued, "Did you notice how much Henry resembles your son? Henry and Lucky had a lot in common...both stubborn. Both invest their loyalties in the wrong places." "Hey, Lucky's no baby killer." "But his father is," she said sharply. She breathed deeply. She had to bring her emotions into check. "I'd like to go back, now. Inside, they could hear the stirrings of a angry man. There were horrible screeches and Helena quickly closed the door. In a hard voice, she said, "Papa's awake." "Do you want to see him?" "I've seen enough of him to last forever. Take me back, Luke." Luke smirked. "No can do. We have more past to see." "Then let's get it over with," Helena said, her body rigid. "Nothing could be worse than being back here." "If you believe that," Luke said putting his arm around her shoulder and leading her to an open door, "I got a couple of national monuments to sell ya. A great big gal in a harbor. You're going to love the big pointy stick in Washington." |