Chapter 3 #2
Santa blinked, glancing at Lucas for help. Lucas only smiled apologetically. He waited for Santa to tell his spoiled little brats that they should just ask their grandfather for a super soaker if they're so sure he'll buy it for them, but the man was the epitome of professionalism.
“Anything else you’d like for Christmas? Other than the S-super Soakers?” he asked, keeping his voice…jolly.
Adelyn reached into her pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of paper. “Here’s our list. We’ve also included our sizes and a list of potential stores, just so there’s no mistakes.”
Santa’s bushy brows shot up. “Oh, how…thorough of you.”
Arabella nodded. “Now that you know our list, we have some questions for you.”
“Girls…” August warned, giving them a look.
“No, no. It’s fine,” Santa assured them with a chuckle and a wave of his hand. “I’m happy to answer any questions.”
The twins gave their fathers a smug look, before returning their full attention to Santa.
“First question,” Adelyn said, adjusting her glasses. “Given the population of Earth, the approximate number of children per household, and the circumference of the globe, how exactly are you delivering presents in one night? Even accounting for time zones, it’s statistically impossible.”
“Unless you’re using wormholes,” Arabella said, narrowing her eyes and leaning into his space. “Are you using wormholes? Because I have diagrams, and you don’t look like someone who understands quantum physics.”
Santa cleared his throat, “Well, uh, magic—”
“Magic isn’t a viable answer!” Adelyn interrupted. “It lacks empirical evidence.”
Santa floundered for a long moment, then seemed to regain some of his composure, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, I’m not supposed to say this because I could get in big trouble, but you’re right. I am using wormholes. How else would I be able to pull all this off?”
The twins exchanged glances, nodding slowly as if they were happy Santa was cooperating now.
“Fine. That answer is…acceptable. For now,” Adelyn said.
“So now, if that’s all—” Santa started.
“That’s not all.” Arabella said, cutting him off.
She narrowed her eyes and pulled something else from her pocket, opening it.
Lucas couldn’t see what it was but Santa’s eyes went wide.
“This is a picture of Santa at the South Park mall. That’s not you.
That means there are two of you. Unless you’ve cloned yourself, which we doubt.
So who are you really? Are you subcontracting?
Are the other Santas trained? Do you provide benefits? Health insurance? A living wage?”
The elf from earlier tried to intervene, but Arabella held up her hand. “We weren’t talking to you. Besides, if you’re part of a labor force, this involves you. Do the elves have a union, or are they exploited laborers?”
“Are you being paid in cookies?” Adelyn asked pointedly. “Because that’s illegal in most places.”
Adelyn glowered at him. “Speaking of cookies…You expect us to believe you eat cookies at every house? You’d be in a coma before finishing one neighborhood.
And about your sleigh. How are you carrying millions of pounds of presents?
It violates the laws of physics. And reindeer?
They’re not aerodynamic. Never mind that they’d explode at the speed you’d have to fly, even with wormholes. ”
Arabella nodded. “Rudolph might be aerodynamic. But the others? Dead weight.”
Adelyn tilted her head, glowering at the old man.
“Also, let's talk about this naughty and nice list. How do you define ‘naughty’? If I share dessert with my sister, but shove her off the swing, does that cancel out? What’s your recon process? Who sets the rules? Because if it’s you, that’s a conflict of interest.”
“And how do you protect your data?” Adelyn presses. “Is it encrypted? Because that seems like an invasion of privacy.”
“So, either you don’t exist and this whole thing is a scam to get kids to behave, or you do exist, and you’re violating labor laws, the laws of physics, and possibly some international treaties. Care to explain?”
Santa blinked, glancing at them for help.
Lucas winced. “They’re very… passionate about justice.”
By the time the photo was taken, Santa looked ready to hand in his resignation. “Girls, that’s enough. It's your brother’s turn.”
Santa turned his wary gaze to Alastair, who still clung to Lucas’s leg.
“I promise he is not the interrogating type,” he said, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Santa’s shoulders seemed to fall and he nodded. Alastair was hesitant at first, but Lucas said, “Shields up, baby. It’ll be okay.”
He nodded then clambered up into Santa’s lap.
“What’s your name?” Santa asked.
“Alastair.”
“What a nice name. How old are you, Alastair?”
“Almost four.”
Santa chuckled. “Oh, a big boy.”
Alastair nodded, but then glanced over and up at the empty space beside Santa. Goosebumps erupted over Lucas’s skin as Alastair's eyes grew unfocused. Was he seeing a vision? Shielding was so new to him. He was only a baby.
Finally, he seemed to snap out of it, turning his solemn gaze to the old man. “Santa?”
Santa tilted his head. “Yes, little one?”
Something about his son’s serious gaze put Lucas on red alert. He nudged August who was trying to lecture the girls on their tactics.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he warned, standing to give Lucas a curious look. He nodded towards their son.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your mommy’s really pretty.”
Santa barked out a surprised laugh. “What? Do you mean my wife? Mrs. Claus? Cause you’re right, she’s really pretty.”
Alastair shook his head. “My daddies say I can’t just blurt things out, but she’s asking me to tell you this, so I think it’s okay. She still watches over you. She said she’s really proud of you.”
Lucas’s heart plummeted into his shoes, scanning the area, though he didn’t know what he hoped to see. What did he mean she’s asking him to tell him that? His gaze jerked to August who gave a small shake of his head, reminding Lucas not to meltdown in public.
Everyone seemed frozen, from the elf to Mrs. Claus. Even the girls stared at the scene unfolding with interest.
Santa blinked rapidly, then cleared his throat. He removed his glasses, then put them back on, his jovial facade slipping. “My… my mom?”
Alaister nodded solemnly. “She says you’re really good at making people happy, even though you miss her a lot. She said she’s sorry that she died when you were so little.”
Santa cleared his throat once more, sounding choked up as he said, “Well, I… I do miss her and she was really pretty.”
Alastair looked at the air beside the chair as if listening intently. “She said she likes the way you laugh. She said it’s her favorite sound in the whole world. That it was how you used to laugh as a baby, too.”
Santa stared down at Alastair, looking both bewildered and awed. “How do you know that?”
Alaister shrugged in that innocent, childlike way, as if the answer is too obvious to explain. “She told me. She’s really nice. She also said to tell you that the thing you lost in the kitchen fell behind the fridge so you don’t have to feel bad.”
“Well, th-thank you,” he said, taking his glasses off to wipe his eyes. “What do you want from Santa this year?”
Alastair shrugged, then shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Santa said, startled. “At all?”
“We’re rich,” Alastair declared. “I get whatever I want anyway.”
“Oh,” Santa said, giving another laugh, this one much lighter.
But then Alastair’s expression grew troubled again. “Well, there is one thing…”
“What is it?”
He leaned in and whispered something to Santa. Whatever it was made the man’s face fall. “I-I don’t know if I have enough…magic for that, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Alaister gave a single nod.
They took the picture and Alastair slid off the man’s lap with a wave. While August waited for the pictures to print, Santa waved Lucas over to him.
“I’m so sor—” Lucas started.
The man waved his words away, cutting him off to say. “I know you can’t do anything about this anymore than I can, but…he asked if I could take his nightmares away.”
“Wh-what?” Lucas managed.
They knew Alastair had been having night terrors. Lucas had them too when he was his age. “What exactly did he say?”
Santa’s expression turned grim. “He said people come into his room and demand he do things for them. That he thinks they have to be dreams cause they’re scarier than the ones he sees during the day.”
“Ones he sees during the day?” Lucas whispered. “What does that mean?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know. He just asked if I could make it stop.”
Lucas blinked back tears. “Okay, thank you.”
“You have quite the interesting family, Mr. Mulvaney,” Santa added, almost as an afterthought.
“Please, don’t tell anyone about this,” Lucas pleaded.
“I wouldn’t do that,” the man assured him.
Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, fishing out a card. “If there’s ever anything we can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call.”
He pushed the card back at Lucas. “There’s no need for that. Go be with your family. Have a happy holiday.”
“Thank you,” Lucas managed, giving a stilted wave before he turned back to his children.
Present Time
“In the future, you’ll be polite, give him your list and then you’ll get your picture and we’ll go home. Got it?” August chastised.
The girls huffed in unison. “Fine.”
“Good, go brush your teeth,” August said.
“With toothpaste,” Lucas added. “And water. Two minutes at least.”
The girls went to do as they were told. Lucas pretended not to notice them rolling their eyes at them. He needed to focus on the child still sitting in front of them.
“Come here, baby. Come see us.”
Alastair slid off the couch and climbed onto Lucas’s lap.
The boy snuggled into his chest, stress etched on his little face.
“Baby, you’re not in trouble,” Lucas promised. “We just want to talk to you about what you told Santa.”
His face crumpled. “I’m sorry, but she was really insistent and she seemed nice. She wasn’t like the others,” he blurted, fat tears rolling down his ruddy cheeks.
“Shh, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble for talking to…Santa about his mom. That was very sweet of you. But what else did you say to him?”
Alastair hiccuped through another sob. “I-I just told him about my bad dreams about the people in my room.”
“What people in your room?” August asked softly.
Alastair sniffled. “Sometimes they yell at me when I sleep. They want me to do things for them.”
“Do things?” Lucas asked, chest tight. “Like…what?”
“Find their friends or family. Tell them things. Give them things. Some are nice but some are mean and they get mad when I don’t help and some of them are really scary looking,” he sobbed.
“Oh, baby,” Lucas whispered, pulling the boy to him and holding him. “Is that why you’ve been sleeping with your sisters or your mom or us every night?”
He nodded. “They don’t bother me if I’m with them or you.”
They hugged him until he calmed down.
“We’ll figure this out. I promise. Go brush your teeth and then you can sleep with the girls tonight, okay?” Lucas asked.
“Okay,” he said, tears drying as fast as they came.
Kids were so fucking resilient.
When they were alone, Lucas collapsed back against his husband. “And we’re going to do this again? Are we nuts?”
“Well Cricket’s pregnant so it’s a little late to change our minds now,” August teased. “But, on a serious note, this isn’t like your clairvoyance. He’s…seeing dead people. Does that make him a medium?”
Lucas nodded. “I think so, yeah.”
“Maybe it’s time we look for help for him?” August said.
“Who are we gonna call? Ghostbusters?” Lucas asked. “Duke closed their parapsychology department and most other facilities are quacks.”
“True but the Rand Research Center focuses on parapsychological phenomena. I could reach out to them and see if anyone could help,” August said. “They go about everything with rigorous scientific standards.”
“I’ve tried to teach him how to shield himself from unwanted images, but I don’t know how to teach him not to see dead people,” Lucas said, pressing his temple to August’s cheek. “This parenting thing is so hard.”
“We know there are legitimate mediums out there. They find ways to guard their peace and we’ll find a way to do that for him too.”
“And in the meantime?” Lucas asked. “Do we let them terrorize him?”
“Of course not,” August said, pressing a kiss to Lucas’s jaw. “We’ll talk with Cricket and make a schedule. He crawls into bed with someone every night anyway. We’ll just make sure he’s not sleeping alone until we find a way to help him.”
“I would kill for an uneventful Christmas,” Lucas said. “Just once.”
“Who should we kill?” August teased. “Give me a name, I’ll have their teeth on a necklace for you before sun up.”
Lucas’s heart did a little dance behind his ribs. “You sure do have a weird idea of romance, professor.”
August buried his face into Lucas’s neck, pressing his words into his skin. “You seem to like my weird idea of romance, Mr. Blackwell.”
Lucas bit back a small moan, tilting his head to give his husband better access. “That’s because it usually involves more sex and less murder.”
August’s breath puffed against his skin. “Once the kids are in bed, I can make that happen.”
“We still have to shower, and we have papers to grade and I have to finalize our plans for the hotel for our trip.”
August moved to nibble at the shell of his ear. “How about we get the kids into bed, have a quickie in the shower, order cheesecake for dessert and grade papers together? I’ll have the travel agent confirm trip plans in the morning before my ten o’clock class tomorrow.”
“Fine, but tonight, I’m doing you,” Lucas murmured, turning to capture his husband’s lips in a lazy kiss.
“Come tuck us in!” One of the twins shrieked.
Lucas sighed. “Duty calls.”
“Don’t worry, Cricket promised we’ll have plenty of alone time at the hotel in Switzerland,” August said between kisses. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“I’ll hold you to that, professor.”
“I certainly hope so, Mr. Blackwell.”