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12.22.20XX
It was the doctor’s birthday, and there was a dead body. Michael had been hoping that there wouldn’t be a case today, but here they were. The strange part was, it didn’t seem like the doctor minded. He was kneeling by the deceased man with a pleasantly focused face, still humming the song from their car ride that morning. Michael knew he loved work, but didn’t the doctor wish to do something less…bloody for his birthday?
“Ooh, Michael,” the doctor said, not taking his eyes off the body. “The victim has an appendectomy scar. It makes me nostalgic; one Christmas this patient had appendicitis but didn’t want to miss his wife’s Christmas dinner, so he tried to delay going to the hospital. It burst horrendously and his organs were shutting down, so surgery was complicated.” He sighed wistfully. “I miss times like that.”
Perhaps not.
“Think he’s on the naughty list?” Ms. Lopez said, elbowing Michael in the appendix.
Michael frowned. “What?”
“The naughty list,” she reiterated and gestured to the body. The man was dressed in an expensive overcoat and slick black shoes. His face was severely cut and bruised, and blood stained the concrete below his head. “Nico said he was killed with a sock full of coal.”
“I’d say he’s on the list,” Daniel answered for him as he bagged said sock. It was lumpy and bloodied. “Someone was clearly making a statement. It could be the start of a serial killer instead of a personal grudge, although there’s always the chance that’s to throw us off.”
“I’ll check with the other precincts and see if they had any similar bodies,” the doctor said and finally stood. Michael noticed his hair was getting a bit longer, and the curls reached below the collar of his lab coat. Would he cut it soon? Michael was halfway through hoping he wouldn’t before realizing what he was thinking.
The doctor didn’t notice his contemplation and gave a nod to the forensic assistants for them to begin carefully loading the body into the body bag. He put the victim’s wallet inside a bag and handed it to Daniel. “His name was Ethan Shaw. Can I come with you to interview the family before I do the autopsy?”
Daniel nodded. “When I find the address, I’ll text you.” He made his way to the car, but Michael stuck behind. He walked to the doctor and began helping him pack his items, setting them securely in their places.
“I can get the patient history,” Michael offered.
The doctor shot him a strange look.
“I know what to ask for by now,” Michael said. “Well enough.”
“What’s with you?” the doctor said. “Normally you like when I tag along.”
“Yes, but…” It’s…your birthday. Do you wish to go through the tears that accompany telling someone their loved one died?
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t worry about it,” the doctor said, and he zipped his bag shut. “Getting a patient history is part of my job, and I prefer to do it in person.”
“So my brother’s dead, huh,” Emma Lance-Shaw said with crossed arms. She seemed to be a mix of uninterested and annoyed that they were disrupting her holiday season with news of her brother’s death.
“Should we perhaps take this conversation somewhere else?” the doctor said, eyeing Emma’s young boy in the background who was playing a loud game from a handheld device.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Please make this quick. I have dinner to get back to and my in-laws are coming soon.”
“I take it you weren’t close to your brother,” Daniel said.
Emma sighed. “Not for lack of trying. Ethan had an invitation for every holiday, every one of my son’s games and concerts and graduations, and he ignored them all. And if he did manage to show up, he’d spend the entire event glued to his work phone. This time was no different. When he took Aiden out, he came back early due to work. He’s not a part of our lives, so it won’t make much difference now that he’s really gone.” She finished the words and then swallowed, and her gaze broke as she shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, I don’t…” She trailed off.
“Your brother wasn’t married,” the doctor said softly. “So as his closest next of kin, you might be able to help us with understanding him a bit more. Do you know if he had any health conditions or if we can get a copy of his medical records?”
Emma nodded and perked up with a task, and began to rattle off what she knew.
With the patient history obtained, the doctor returned to complete the autopsy, and Daniel and Michael interviewed everyone they could think who may have been close to Ethan, which proved to be a harder task than anticipated. The man was a work-obsessed hermit. The general consensus from his coworkers, though, was that he was unpleasant at best and a bastard at worst. No one could deny the hard work he put in, but even his bosses highlighted how difficult he was to work with. The company’s HR rep noted that she’d received complaints about him implementing poor work-life balances upon those who worked under him. When interviewing their team, Michael noticed a distinct lack of fear; in fact, it seemed like everyone was heaving a collective sigh of relief at his absence.
“He was an asshole,” Ethan’s neighbor, Tim, said with a sneer. “He never said hello, never helped anyone with their mail, never did anything that wasn’t for himself. On the day of our neighborhood potluck, he’d come to it over and over just to tell us to quiet down, even though he was invited. It’s held on a Saturday at 3 P.M., for Christ’s sake! I think we’re allowed to let the kids laugh and play a little music, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely,” Daniel said. “So that’s why you killed him.”
“Wh—No!” Tim snorted. “I just paid off my mortgage. You think I’d let that asshole ruin my life?”
Daniel made a fair enough expression, but he still glanced at Michael, giving him the silent go-ahead.
“Tim,” Michael said, and he leaned forward, grabbing his gaze. “Tell me: what is your truest fear?”
“I…I fear I’ll end up like my mother.” Tim yelped at the admission and covered his mouth, but Michael just rolled his eyes.
Absolutely useless.
꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱
“Perhaps we could go out to lunch,” Michael said. He was leaning against the table as the doctor fixed coffee. A while ago, the doctor had declared he was going to switch to tea as his first choice for alertness, but Michael had yet to see evidence of that, but he wasn’t going to bring it up today.
The doctor shook his head. “I have way too much paperwork to do if I want to leave before midnight,” he said. “Rain check?”
Birthdays were supposed to be important for humans. All the humans Michael regularly interacted with had made quite the big deal about them, throwing big parties and having wish lists or even taking off work. And it wasn’t like the doctor didn’t understand; for Maybelle and the others, he put quite a lot of effort into ensuring their days were everything they wanted. For Michael’s ‘birthday,’ the doctor would do something for him regardless of if Michael wanted to, but the doctor seemed perfectly content to let his own pass by. At first, Michael had accepted it, or thought they perhaps weren’t close enough for him to be a part of such a day. But now, the doctor had invited him to a birthday dinner in a few weekends (for which Michael had a gift waiting despite the doctor’s assertions), but that date was past even Christmas. Surely the doctor wanted to do something on the actual day, yes?
Assuming we even solve the case before the day is out.
“I have solved the case!” Ms. Lopez sang as she sashayed into the break room, dragging Daniel in. She tapped on her tablet and presented them with a video:
Ethan Shaw walked down the alley he was found in, fingers typing on his phone and eyes trained on the screen. From the shadows behind him a form appeared on the security footage. The coal-stuffed sock lashed out to hit him and Ethan dropped his phone, his hands flying to his head. A person in a red and white suit with a large abdomen stepped out and continued to bash him until Ethan fell to his knees and his hands went limp. The person adjusted their hat and pulled up their pants, but between the fake fluffy beard and the grainy evening footage, their identity could only be boiled down to one entity.
“Santa killed him.”
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Michael followed Daniel through the mall’s double doors and was instantly hit by a wave of nauseating cologne sprayed in his face. He coughed instinctively and drew back with a glare.
“Meeeery Christmas! Want some cologne—”
Michael ignored the chipper greeter and stalked to catch up to Daniel.
“Why are we here?” he growled.
“Emma said that Ethan agreed to take Aiden for the day, and they came here before Ethan returned the kid earlier than he’d promised. Apparently the line for the mall Santa took too long, so he pulled Aiden off of Santa’s lap before the kid could say what he wanted for Christmas and took him home. Considering a Santa is our killer, we should talk to this one first, cause he may be our guy.”
The mall’s Christmas setup was stationed in the middle of a large room with high vaulted ceilings and glamourous windows. A tall tree was decorated to the nines with all sorts or ribbons and sparkling ornaments, and Christmas music was blasting much too loudly from several speakers. Santa Claus was sitting in front of the tree on a large golden throne, and the line to see him coiled around the space, elves shepherding the impatient parents and petulant children. On the sides, mall patrons pushed through the crowds to rush toward last-minute Christmas shopping.
Michael was elbowed in the gut by a mother with a child who looked about as severe as she did, and the child managed to stomp on Daniel’s foot as she marched by.
“Oof,” Daniel winced, and he shook his head. “Let’s get this over with.”
Michael shouldered his way through the crowd and paved a way for Daniel as rowdy parents spat venom in their direction for ‘cutting.’ He ignored them but heard Daniel call back “LAPD! Does it look like we have a kid?”
Michael grit his teeth. He hated these crowds, and he especially hated the fear spiraling around these humans, likely just because they feared missing a chance to meet Santa Claus or obtaining the wrong gift. It clouded his head despite their silly reasoning.
They reached the front of the line and were met with a dour-faced elf who was looking down at his clipboard.
“We need to talk to Santa,” Daniel said.
“So does everyone else,” the elf drawled, not glancing up from his notes to look at the badge Daniel was holding in the air. “Get to the back of the line and wait your turn.”
“LAPD,” Daniel said, sliding his badge onto the elf’s clipboard. “Santa needs to take a five-minute break.”
Michael felt a towering crash of fear and as he looked up, he saw Santa shove a kid off his lap and bolt toward the exit, right past a young girl whose eyes bulged out of her head at the display. He didn’t make it far before getting caught in the crowd, and Michael yanked him back by the scruff of his coat. He landed with a groan in a pile of fake snow that wasn’t nearly as fluffy as it appeared.
“Uggggghhh…” he moaned in pain.
“Right down Santa Claus Lane,” Daniel said, with a tone of voice that sounded like he was quite satisfied with himself for such a stupid line, but it was almost Christmas, so Michael held his tongue.
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“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Then why did you run?”
Now that the Santa, whose real name was Gavin Peevey, had disrobed his hat, beard and fake belly, he looked considerably less like Old Saint Nick. He was younger, and seemed to be in shape—enough to beat a man to death, Michael supposed, but Gavin was adamant he wasn’t guilty.
Not that that means much.
“I…I haven’t…exactly paid my child support lately.”
“You’re Santa,” Daniel said.
“And you thought throwing a child off of your lap was going to improve your monetary situation,” Michael continued dryly.
“This is a seasonal job!” Gavin snapped. “And it doesn’t exactly pay much. People aren’t exactly going to tip Saint Nick to magically get their kids a present. And it’s horrible. You constantly have a heavy kid weighing you down while you’re wearing a big fake belly and a hat and a beard. It’s three thousand degrees and the kids are sneezing—”
“You’re not helping your case.”
“Why would I kill some guy I don’t even know?” The guy sighed. “Look. I was on shift that day you said Ethan came in. But so were the other guys! We rotate so we can take breaks on heavy traffic days. And we see hundreds of people. I couldn’t even recognize the kid. I’m definitely not going to be able to recognize the parents.”
Daniel exchanged a look with Michael. “How many other Santas are there?”
The mall manager spread out a large schedule on his desk. It showed the mall hours on the day the Christmas events were held and had a list of designated Santas for each time slot.
“This just says Santa number one, Santa number two…” Daniel counted off. “Where is the list of which numbers correspond with the names of people?”
The manager shrugged. “I don’t have one. Seasonal workers are hard to pin down. I assign numbers verbally on day one, and then I let them sort things out for themselves. If someone can’t take a shift, they have someone else fill in, and they get paid in cash after their shift. I can’t be dealing with a thousand requests for changes.”
“Do you remember who you saw come in to work on the day Ethan came in?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “They come in and grab a costume to get changed first thing. By the time I see them, they’re decked out in hats and beards.”
“Which means if they are using each other as an alibi, we have no way of knowing,” Michael said.
“So we have to gather everyone,” Daniel said with a huff. “Just bring in all…” He looked down at the list. “Seven Santas, and we’ll see who says they were working during that time.”
Santa No. 1:
“Uhhh, I don’t know, man. I can’t remember if I was working that day.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked. “It was only two days ago.”
The Santa gave a nervous laugh and scratched at the short hair on the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I’ve kinda been…you know…”
Daniel sighed, and Michael knew what he was thinking, because he could smell it too. The stench of marijuana was seeping off his body like sweat.
“You’re really gonna smell like that around the kids?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug, and Dan let the file fall to the desk and gestured to Michael to hurry up with the lost cause.
“Tell me.” Michael leaned forward and the guy edged warily back. “What do you truly fear?”
“Death, man,” he said. “And the heat death of the universe. How do we know how we’re gonna stop that?”
Daniel groaned loudly. “Next!”
Santa No. 2:
“I have to say,” Daniel said. “I don’t see many female Santas.”
“Well, how often do you look in the Santa circuit?” Cassidy said.
Daniel laughed. “I guess I’m not well versed.”
Despite Daniel’s observation, Michael had to admit that she looked the part. She was in no need of the Santa belly, and she had the rosy cheeks befitting the image and a surprisingly gruff voice. She looked like someone who was quick to laugh, with a twinkle in her eye even as she sat in the makeshift interrogation room in the back office of the mall.
“Were you working at the mall on the day that Ethan Shaw visited?”
Cassidy shook her head. “Nah, I was doing a bit at a bar on Lexington. They have a holiday drag special called ‘Sleigh, Sister.’ There should be plenty of footage of my show then.”
I feel like Maybelle would find that amusing, Michael thought. Would the doctor like it? He frowned. I think I’ve heard him mention such shows before, but they do not seem particularly special to him. He may find it entertaining to watch, but it isn’t exactly a birthday event.
“We’ll…look into that,” Daniel said, then gave Michael the go ahead.
“Can I ask you a question?” Michael asked, and Cassidy nodded. He leaned forward. “Do you have shows tonight?”
“’Course we do,” Cassidy said. “We have a bunch right up to Christmas and through the new year. Busiest time of the year!”
“How late do they run? Could you do something special for someone’s birthday?”
“We go till about two am or so tonight. Hm, for someone’s birthday, we usually take them on stage and do a lap dance.”
Hm. Maybe not. He didn’t want to know if the doctor would enjoy that, but at the very least, he had an idea of Maybelle’s present in the future.
“Michael,” Daniel prodded, giving him a bewildered look.
Ah. “Tell me, Cassidy. What is it you truly fear?”
“I…” She frowned, almost thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I won’t ever truly be known. That in my relationships, they only see my personas, but the real me evades them, because I don’t even know the real me.”
Oh. Michael opened his mouth to respond, but Daniel interrupted.
“Thank you, Cassidy,” he said. “We’ll check out your alibi and be in touch.”
Santa No. 3:
“You think I killed a parent?” the third Santa asked incredulously. He was the only one so far who had a real beard, and he was about as close to a genuine Saint Nick as Michael could imagine. “Listen, boy,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Daniel. “I’ve been Santa for longer than you’ve been eating solid foods.”
“I’m not that young,” Daniel said, then winced at what he was insinuating about himself.
“I take this seriously. Those other rapscallions, they come and go, but this is my job. All the other jobs I have during the year are seasonal, but this is my career. It’s meaningful work, much better than throwing accusations at people willy-nilly. It means something to these kids. You get to be a part of their childhood. A part of the memories they’ll have forever. You and I know I ain’t Santa Claus, but to them I am. That magic is real. And I wouldn’t throw it away for anything. So get out of here with that bullshit.”
“…All right, sir,” Daniel said, but he glanced at Michael.
He certainly takes the spirit of Christmas seriously. But enough to kill over it?
“Tell me, Santa,” Michael drawled. “What is it you fear most?”
The man’s hard gaze locked on to Michael. For a moment, he tried to resist, discomfort swirling in his eyes. “I…I…”
Michael pushed harder, and the man’s jaw forced open.
“I’m afraid I’ll get pushed out,” he snapped. He jerked back and sighed. He took off his Santa hat and rubbed his bald head before fitting it back on. “Santa’s depicted as old, so you may not know it, but it’s a young man’s game. If you get too old, you look less jolly and more…disconcertin’ to the kids. They don’t like your smell, and they start to get heavier, and then you have trouble doing your job right. I don’t…I don’t know how many years I got left, but this is everything to me. I don’t want to lose it, so I wouldn’t do something so stupid as killing someone.” He sighed. “Besides, I barely have the energy to hoist kids on my lap, much less kill a man.”
Santa No. 4:
Gavin sighed. “Again?”
“Just one more question,” Daniel said.
“…Gavin,” Michael said, catching hold of the man’s annoyed gaze. “Tell me. What is it you truly fear?”
“I…” His face twisted, but he was no match for the celestial pull. “I fear I’m fucking up my life!”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Do we have it?
Gavin groaned into his hands. “I keep telling myself that I didn’t want that kid, that I told Melly I didn’t, so it’s fine that I don’t see Stephen, because we weren’t supposed to even have him. But I-I keep seeing these kids, and I-I try to push it from my mind, but what if I’m making a mistake? What if I’m ruining m-my life—”
At this point, the man dissolved into sobs.
Daniel looked at him for a moment, then dropped his shoulders. “All right, all right. Well, you know, if you feel like that, then you should…try to pay that child support,” he said. “So then if you end up reaching out later, he at least doesn’t see you as a deadbeat.”
“Maybe…that would be a good idea,” Gavin sniffled, and Michael put his hand to his face.
We’re getting nowhere. At this pace, we won’t solve this case until next year.
His phone rang, jarring Gavin, and he took it. It had to be the doctor—he had his phone on do not disturb for everyone else.
“Sorry,” Daniel said to Gavin, and dismissed him and Michael put the doctor on speakerphone.
“Hey,” the doctor said. “Bad news or good news?” There was a slight pause before Michael could respond, then: “Don’t answer that. They’re both sort of bad news, but one has a positive spin. The worst news is that I didn’t uncover anything new in the autopsy, other than finding that Mr. Shaw was an incredibly stressed individual. You could see the wear on his body from stress, likely due to overworking.”
The question briefly crossed Michael’s mind of how much stress the doctor had down to his bones, but the idea made him so uncomfortable he pushed it from his mind instantly.
“I can confirm he died from blunt force trauma to his head from the coal, but that’s all I got from the autopsy. However, the semi-bad news is that the other precinct had a similar death. The killer didn’t leave coal, but he was killed Thursday a few blocks away from the mall via blunt force trauma to the head. I know it’s a slim comparison, but it’s something that suggests that this is indeed connected to the mall and possibly serial.”
Daniel sighed. “All right. Thanks, Nico.”
Daniel hung up Michael’s phone for him while Michael’s thoughts were still stuck on stress-related deaths.
Santa No. 5:
“You…changed your name to Kris Kringle,” Daniel said.
Kris Kringle, still dressed in the Santa outfit, nodded.
“Pretty locked in to this seasonal job, huh?”
“Oh, man,” Kris said. “It’s the best. You get to make kids’ dreams come true! During the rest of the year, I go to hospitals and stuff too. And everyone gets a kick out of the name!”
“If you took this seriously enough to change your name,” Daniel said. “Maybe you took it seriously enough to determine for yourself who was naughty and who was nice.”
“Perhaps the lines were blurring,” Michael said in a low, scathing voice. “You deemed Ethan Shaw too…‘naughty’ to stay alive.”
“And who could blame you?” Daniel said. “He was a Scrooge to his own nephew.”
Kris shook his head. “Of course not. Look, I love the Santa schtick. Christmas is the best time of my year, and I’m lucky I get to do the act year-round at hospitals. The happiness you get to bring is amazing. But I’m not crazy. The name I was born with was Chris, so my mom didn’t get too mad at the change. This means a lot to me, and it’s my life’s passion. But I promise, I got all my screws on tight.”
Michael sighed, but did his mojo anyway. “What do you truly fear, Kris Kringle?”
“I’m…I’m terrified of spiders.” He shuddered. “They’re absolutely terrifying!”
Daniel groaned and put his face in his hands.
Santa No. 6:
“You admit to seeing Aiden Shaw,” Daniel balked.
“Well, yeah!” Santa 6 said. “It’s hard to forget a kid being pulled out of my lap. That usually only happens when the kid was acting up, but he’d barely even sat down and was well-behaved. It was crazy that he was taken away before he could say what he wanted.”
“Crazy,” Daniel said. “How’d that make you feel?”
“Mad!” Santa 6 said, like it was obvious. “I mean, the kid waited in the line forever, and you can’t wait two more minutes for your kid to say what he wants? What’s so important to do that for?”
Daniel nodded. “So you decided to teach the guardian a lesson.”
“And killed him,” Michael finished.
“What?” Santa 6 said. “Of course not. Look, I’m just helping you.”
“Ethan Shaw was killed by a Santa,” he said. “The night after he visited your mall, and you were the Santa he visited.”
Santa 6 shifted uncomfortably and Michael felt a short thrum of fear in his heart. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“Well, give us a reason you didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t do that!”
Daniel sighed. “You know we can’t just trust you on that, right?”
“Why not?”
Daniel gave him a I can’t with this guy look, and Michael chuckled. He leaned forward to take over.
“Tell me, Santa Number Six,” he said. “What is it you truly fear?”
“I-I’m scared of dying alone,” Santa 6 said. “I-I don’t want to die alone.” He gasped, recovering himself from Michael’s gasp. “Wh-why did I say that? That’s embarrassing, please don’t…is this being recorded too?”
“Yes, everything’s being recorded,” Daniel said.
“Please don’t show my girlfriend that?”
Michael squinted. “Why would we show your girlfriend the police interrogation tapes?”
“I-I don’t know! Just please don’t tell her. Promise?”
Daniel pressed his hand against his face, dragging it down his cheek. “I promise, man.”
Santa No. 7
“We know you weren’t on duty for Ethan Shaw,” Daniel said. “But we’re covering all our bases.”
“’Course, son,” the Santa said. “Whatever you need to do.”
“What do you think about this death?”
“It’ll put a damper on the holidays, that’s for one. Terrible.”
Daniel nodded, but he got a distant look on his face. Michael began his mojo, but Daniel was barely listening as the Santa rattled off something standard.
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“What did you think?” Daniel asked him once they were alone.
Michael shrugged. “They didn’t seem to be afraid of us. Santa Number Six was, but it may have just been because of the pressure of being accused.” Perhaps he is just very foolish, but I think he would have lied if he did murder the man.
Daniel nodded in agreement. “Kris Kringle seemed most likely to take the Naughty and Nice list into his own hands, but he did seem fairly genuinely in his right mind. I guess my money’s on the third one who got up in arms about his career. Maybe if he felt like this was one of the last years being Santa, he could do something drastic, but…” Daniel sighed. “I’m not really sure I think it’s him. Unfortunately, my gut’s saying it’s none of them.”
“The costumes and fake abdomens are in the supply room,” Michael offered. “Anyone could come and take them.”
“So it could be anyone.”
We’re going to be doing this case well past the doctor’s birthday. Maybe we’ll miss Christmas, too.
“I don’t want this killer to continue,” Daniel said. “But if someone is really trying to preserve the spirit of Christmas even through murdering people, I do have an idea that could contain it and draw him out.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“We have to ruin Christmas.”
“All right, everyone!” Daniel called loudly with the microphone. He stepped out in front of the on-shift Santa, Santa Number Three. Michael held back out of view next to the manager.
“Unfortunately, we’re canceling the Christmas Event,” Daniel said.
Choruses of angry yelling and some curses that did not sound like they were very jolly were called out from the group of parents, with some children joining in.
“Do you know how long we’ve been waiting?!” one called out.
“I’ve been in this line for two hours!”
“This is the only time I could take my son all week!”
“I know, I know,” Daniel said. “But it just can’t happen. And it’s not going to resume tomorrow, either. Christmas is canceled.”
“What?” the manager hissed. “This is the most lucrative time of the year—”
Michael pushed him back.
“Pack it up!” Daniel said, urging the kid off of Santa Number Three’s lap, and the child started crying. Michael saw Daniel wince, but he continued as people called him “Scrooge” and “Grinch” and some more vile names that had nothing to do with Christmas.
“Show’s over!” Daniel said, and he tore down the sign advertising the event and ushered people away from the start of the line. “Better luck next year!”
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Michael ducked into the doctor’s office, hanging near the door. The doctor had earbuds in. Down in his ‘cave,’ no one could hear if he played music from the speakers, but the doctor told him once that sometimes the earbuds helped him focus.
And focused he was. He hadn’t noticed Michael yet, his eyes wide and trained on the document he had open. He was typing something, and typing too hard. Michael could see his brace was unwound and sitting to the side of his laptop, so his left hand only had a thin bandaging on it. Michael had never seen it completely bare for longer than the few minutes it took the doctor to re-wrap it, and even then, Michael usually didn’t get a full view. As the doctor typed, his hand moved less fluidly than his right did, and he’d pause every so often to extend out the fingers in a stretch, but Michael could see the strain in his extensors. Had he taken a break at all today?
The part that made Michael’s lip curl was that this was not a surprising occurrence, but even on his birthday? He frowned as he saw the document on the doctor’s screen. The doctor was looking through cold cases.
Michael walked forward and his shadow passed over the doctor’s workspace.
“Hey,” the doctor said with a smile, and the words Michael had been preparing died on his tongue. He hated what it did to him that the doctor smiled upon seeing him, each and every time. The doctor pulled the earbud out of his ear and caused a curl to bounce, which did not help Michael’s state. “You guys are back. What’s the plan?”
“…Daniel made himself a target. He’s hoping the killer saw him ‘cancel’ Christmas and will go to kill him. He’s pacing somewhere with a security detail.” He took the doctor’s brace and handed it to him with an accusatory glare. The doctor slid it on his hand sheepishly.
“It was annoying me.”
“Because its job is to impede your work.”
“Exactly. I had things to get done.”
“You were looking through cold cases,” Michael said. “How does that have anything to do with this killer?”
The doctor hesitated, which was enough to confirm it had nothing to do with the current case. He closed the doctor’s laptop and stalked from the room. “Come.”
They stood outside in the brisk air near one of the food trucks by the precinct. Michael ordered and handed the doctor a soft pretzel. They walked down the street on the quieter side, away from the busy road.
“The autopsy didn’t uncover anything,” the doctor explained. “I got antsy. I wanted to be productive, but I’d finished my paperwork.” The doctor tore the pretzel in half and offered one to Michael, who sighed but took it. The doctor took a bite of his own and hummed. “This is pretty good.”
“It’s your birthday. You could at least go easy today.”
The doctor snorted. “Birthdays aren’t a big deal.”
“They are to everyone else. You celebrate more for Selina’s birthday than you do your own.”
“Well, yeah,” the doctor said. “Every year she asks me to get drunk and party with her. That’s my gift to her.”
“You aren’t even going to the bar,” Michael said. “And you scheduled your dinner for after Christmas.”
“There’s a shuffle around the holidays,” he said. “I don’t mind. It makes it feel more special anyway to not compete with Christmas.”
Michael glared at him. You’re lying, he thought, and he knew the doctor could see that accusation on his face.
The doctor sighed. He put the napkin from the finished pretzel in the trash and dusted off his hands. Then he turned to Michael and leaned back on his heels, no longer walking.
“My…mother made my birthday a big deal,” the doctor said finally. “Sometimes she couldn’t get off work on Christmas, but she always made sure to move mountains for my day. Maybe it was because it was so close to Christmas and she was worried it would get overlooked. Maybe it was because it was easier to get off a few days before instead of Christmas day. But whatever the reason, she always made my birthday special. I didn’t realize it back then, but she saved up for it. It was the only time of year I got to go to the aquarium or buy new books instead of just borrowing from the library, and we went to a restaurant, a nice one. But the important part was that we’d spend the whole day together, and that was all that really mattered.” His voice wavered for a moment, and he was no longer looking at Michael. “I…I lost her a few days before my eleventh birthday. That first time without her…it was when it sunk in. I knew she was dead; I’d been there. But in the back of my mind, some part…” He swallowed. “She had never once missed it before, is all.”
The doctor’s eyes found the sidewalk. “It’s never felt the same since then,” he said. He shook his head clear. “I just try to stay busy on the actual day, you know?”
Michael watched the wind tousle the doctor’s hair as the doctor forced a soft smile onto his face.
“But thank you,” he said. “For—”
“Do you think she’d want that for you?”
The doctor stilled. He bit the inside of his cheek. “…Of course not.” His fingers were ghosting over the middle of his chest. Michael couldn’t see it, but he knew his mother’s ring rested there. “I still do the dinners with family,” he said. “Just later.” He shook his head. “You need to finish your pretzel.”
Michael looked down at his pretzel. He had absolutely no desire to eat it. The doctor walked up, close enough for Michael to feel his warmth even in the cold.
“You spent the whole day trying to lighten my load,” he said. “Thank you for that.”
That’s the least I’d do for you, is what Michael thought, but he didn’t say it because the doctor was smoothing out his lapel and Michael’s mind was stuck on the action.
The doctor leaned closer, and Michael stopped. He stopped everything, breathing and thinking, except for his heart continued to pound. And then—
“You…smell.”
“B-bad?” Michael rasped, fear rising in his chest quick enough to make him lose what nonexistent thoughts were in his head.
The doctor frowned and gripped his lapel, leaning forward.
“D-doctor,” Michael choked out, his cheeks flushed. Then, sterner as the doctor pressed his nose against his blazer: “Doctor, what are—”
The doctor’s eyes snapped up to him, large with alarm. “You smell like the victim.”
“…What?”
“That’s not your normal cologne,” the doctor said. “Why do you smell like that?”
Oh no.
“P-put your hands up!” a voice called out.
Michael twisted the doctor behind him. He squinted as a man rounded the corner.
“I said put your hands up!” the man yelled. He was wearing the Santa outfit, but Michael didn’t recognize him as one of the seven. He narrowed his eyes but dropped the pretzel and put his hands up.
“You’re the…perfume guy.”
“I’m the cologne guy!” the perfumer snapped. “And I was supposed to be one of the Santas this year, but I didn’t make the cut. And I said Merry Christmas to you, and you didn’t say it back! You glared at me. It was terrifying! And you were with that guy who shut down Christmas. You ruined everything!”
“So you’re going to kill him over it?” the doctor said, peeking out from behind him, and Michael tried to shift back in front, but the man jerked his gun.
“Stop moving!” he snarled. “He’s—he’s a Grinch. He ruined Christmas. He’s definitely on the naughty list.”
“So where’s your coal?” the doctor said. “Why do you have a gun?”
“Because he…he’s a bit taller than the other guys, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hit him. I’ll put the coal on him after I kill him. He deserves it for canceling Christmas!” He aimed the gun at Michael’s chest. “Say you’re sorry!”
“I’m…sorry,” Michael said dryly. “Please…don’t shoot me, Santa.”
“That didn’t sound like you meant it!”
“Look,” the doctor said slowly. “I get it. Michael can be a little rude. And he’s grumpy all the time, and he wouldn’t wear a Santa hat for the precinct holiday card.”
“Exactly!” the perfumer said and gestured with the gun.
“Doctor.”
“But,” the doctor said, slowly edging in front of Michael, his hands held out defensively. “He’s kind. And considerate. And he gives his friends gifts on the holidays. And…” The doctor’s eyes flicked back to him. “He’s spent the entire day trying to get me to celebrate. A Scrooge or a Grinch wouldn’t do that, right?”
The perfumer faltered.
“Dan and Michael didn’t cause Christmas to be canceled. They had to shut it down to keep people safe—from you. Think about it. You…you wanted that boy, Aiden, to have a good Christmas, right?”
“His uncle yanked him off of Santa’s lap!”
“Exactly,” the doctor said. “That’s horrible, right, Michael?”
Michael nodded, but his eyes were narrowed. He was ready to move if the perfumer got anywhere close to the trigger.
“But Aiden’s not going to have a good Christmas, not for a very long time. He’s going to forever remember Christmas as the holiday that took his uncle away.”
Michael felt fear bloom in the perfumer’s heart, spiking with the doctor’s words.
“No, he…he…”
“This will scare children away from Christmas,” Michael said. “Perhaps for good.”
“No one will want to come see Santa if they’re afraid their loved ones will get hurt,” the doctor added.
“No, I—”
“But you could stop that,” the doctor said. “If you put down your gun and come with us, you can save Christmas.”
The Santa faltered. “I could save Christmas?”
“Yeah,” the doctor said. “It would be a miracle.”
The Santa’s eyes filled with tears. Slowly, he put the gun on the ground, and Michael went to secure him. The doctor picked up the gun, and Michael felt his fear slowly subside.
꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱
“Thank you for driving me home.”
The doctor laughed as he took his keys out. “You don’t have to say that every time. You’re on my way back, and I never mind.”
I still feel grateful. “Come to my place,” he said.
“…Michael…” the doctor started.
“For a selfish reason,” he continued. “I’m cooking for Dr. Martin’s potluck, and I need a hand.” A transparent lie—the doctor was useless at best in the kitchen, and a detriment at worst, and they both knew it.
The doctor narrowed his eyes, but after a moment’s hesitation, dipped his head. “Fine, then.” He started the ignition and flipped through his phone for a playlist for the drive before selecting one. A song Michael hadn’t heard him play before began.
“Don’t hate me,” the doctor said.
Michael cocked his head, and then he heard the words of the song.
“…But what you said earlier reminded me of this song, and I couldn’t get it out of my head.”
🎵Oh, Santa
🎵Santa’s got a bullet in his gun
🎵Santa’s got a bullet in his gun
🎵Don’t shoot me, Santa Claus
Michael raised an eyebrow, but the doctor was biting his cheek to keep from laughing completely raucously.
“Too soon?”
“Undoubtedly,” Michael said, but he leaned forward and turned up the music. The doctor grinned wide, and he started the car toward home.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Nico sat on Michael’s island chair and hummed along to the music playing softly from the speaker. Michael had given him a few small tasks when they’d arrived, and then he’d been stationed at the island and told not to move, lest he mess something up. And so he watched Michael tending to a dish on the stovetop, watched the curve of his shoulders. When Michael moved one of his arms, Nico could see his shoulder blades shift under his shirt, and he bit the inside of his cheek. He found himself admiring the slightly-slanted broad shoulders of his coworker a bit too often than was good for him.
Cinched around the small of Michael’s waist was the apron May and Nico had bought him when he began learning to cook from Donna. The design on the front read: A Slice of Heaven and had a picture of a slice of cake with a little halo on it. It was so stupid Nico had been positive Michael wouldn’t wear it, but he’d underestimated how much care Michael took to protect his turtlenecks.
The dish Michael had chosen for Linda’s potluck was suspiciously close to Nico’s favorite tres leches recipe, but Nico let it slide. Michael was right—his mother would probably want him to enjoy himself a bit.
A thought crossed his mind, then. It was a habit, one he couldn’t quite help. Even though he didn’t believe in Heaven or an afterlife of any kind, he would, on occasion, say something to his mother, especially on days such as these.
Hey, Mama. I celebrated my birthday with someone today.
Michael turned around, holding up a spoon. “Come taste this sauce. Tell me if it is too sweet.”
Nico smiled and got up. He tasted the sauce and his smile widened and sweetness spread across his tongue. “Perfect.” His eyes trailed to the pots in the sink and he took a step toward the mess.
“No. Go sit down.”
Nico laughed and retreated to his seat, settling back into his viewing.
I wish you could meet him. I think you’d like him as much as I do.