by Mark Teppo
"Morning," Ring said, nodding at the still-stunned nurse. "Sorry to surprise you." He tilted his head and tapped an antler tip against the wire screen separating him from me. "Does this come out?" he asked.
I glanced at the corners, trying to figure out how the screen was attached. "Not exact—"
He twitched his head, spearing a couple of antler tips through the wire and yanked the whole screen off. "Come on," he said. "We've been waiting all night."
"Wait, what? Waiting? Why?"
Blitzen shuffled around on the ledge. One of his hooves slipped free as he tried to turn around on the narrow beam. "We're cramped and tired, Bernie. Can you ask questions later? We've got work to do still."
"The show?" I asked.
"Later," Ring said. "We've got more important things to do first."
I stared at the IV in the back of my hand, and with a minimum of fuss, I yanked the needle out. The nurse made a noise like a fish surfacing for water bugs when I slipped off the finger cuff, and the monitor over the bed started making funny noises.
"What things?" I asked.
"California," Ring said.
"What's in California?" I asked.
Blitzen clued me in. "Rudolph. They're going to scramble him."
They were the Psychiatric Board of the Beverly Hills Sanitarium. Actually, the tasteful sign out front said The Beverly Hills Bed and Breakfast, and it was a lovely estate up on Coldwater Canyon with a rambling house tucked away behind a high wall and several thick rows of aspen and poplar trees. On the inside, though, word was it was all padded rooms, rubber sheets, and straitjackets.
"Why is he here?" I asked, munching on a drumstick.
We were sequestered on the roof of a house up the road that offered a fairly unobstructed view of the lush lawn at the back of the BHBB house. The reindeer had gotten take-out from Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, which was much better than oatmeal or fruit in a cup, thank you very much.
"They've got one of the best anger management programs in the world," Blitzen explained. "And they do pet treatments."
"Pets," I said. "Like pets of the stars?"
He nodded. Beyond him, Ring gobbled down a whole waffle in two bites. The way the kid was eating, he was going to be bigger than Donner.
"Cats are always angry," Blitzen said.
"So what do they do?" I asked, curious in spite of myself. "To the pets."
"Behavioral modification," Blizten said. "Chemical therapies. In some cases, aversion training."
"Aversion training? Is that what I think it is?"
"Shock therapy?" Blitzen nodded. "Yep."
I saw movement in the yard at the BHBB and raised the binoculars that Blitzen had brought along. I zoomed in, and my heart skipped in my chest as I focused on the four-legged shape of a wobbly reindeer. "He's there," I said. I watched him shy away from the shadow of a palm tree. "He's doped up. Really badly." There was dried drool flecking Rudolph's chin.
Blitzen had laid the story out for me on the flight down. Rudolph had returned to the Pole with Santa and had submitted to the NPC's decree of anger management sessions. At first, it had only been outpatient appointments at Cedar Sinai, and Rudolph was supposed to check in four times a week. He lasted three sessions before he wrecked the office and tossed his therapist out the window, which unfortunately only proved the point everyone was worried about.
Someone in the NPC suggested a rather permanent solution to the problem, which had not gone over very well with Santa and Mrs. C, and the NPC backed down quickly, realizing they had overstepped themselves. A compromise was reached before Rudolph found out about the closed-door meeting, and he checked in at the BHBB. A week passed, and the only reports coming out of the BHBB were that Rudolph was responding well to the treatments.
Mrs. C didn't buy it. It was all too pat. Something was off, and she only got more concerned when she tried to contact me, and I didn't answer. She called up some of the team—Ring and Blitzen flew to Seattle, and Donner and Cupid headed for LA. I was already in the basement by then, and Donner and Cupid found Rudolph so doped up he didn't recognize his flight buddies.
The quartet was under strict orders to do what needed to be done. If they reported back to Mrs. C, it was likely the NPC would find out and everything would grind to a complete halt. There would be calls for meetings and committee studies. Santa would probably threaten to quit. He might even do it publicly, which would be an epic PR disaster, which meant the NPC would gag him as soon as possible if they got any wind that he was thinking of stomping off. No, it was easier if the reindeer solved the problem all on their own.
But they knew they needed help, and so finding me had been the priority. And while they had been tracking me down, Cupid found out that the Board at the BHBB had decided to scramble Rudolph's brain the old fashioned way.
The procedure was scheduled for tomorrow morning, which was why we were doing recon and carbing up. It was going to be a busy night.
We came in through the veranda. Some of the more tractable patients were having dinner at wicker tables, sitting out beneath heat lamps and canvas umbrellas. We dropped from the dark sky like meteors, landing on the grass, and tromping through the beds of daisies that ringed the patio. A white-jacketed employee tried to stop us, but Donner scooped him aside with a simple flip of his rack. Blitzen bit down on the tie of the first doctor we found and dragged him along as we went room to room until we found Rudolph.
Blitzen spat out the mouthful of silk tie, and the doctor sagged to his knees, struggling to breathe. "Get the door open," I said to the others, while I stared daggers at the cringing doctor.
It took Cupid and Donner less than ten seconds to break down the door. Rudolph was on the far side of the room, staring up at the night sky through the tiny window set high above the floor. "Hello," he said, his voice a drugged slur. "Is it time for my bath yet?"
"What's he on?" Blitzen snapped at the doctor.
The man loosened his tie. "I . . . I don't know. He's not my patient."
"Wrong answer." Blitzen stamped his hoof. "Try again."
Ring was reading the clipboard attached to the wall. "What's REBT?" he asked.
I glared at the doctor, who pretended not to know.
"Rational emotive behavior therapy," Blitzen supplied.
"Can I see that chart?" I asked Ring, who grabbed the board with his teeth and brought it over
Rudolph was busy sniffing Donner's flank. The bulky reindeer was a little uncomfortable with the attention, but he held his ground as Rudolph explored with his flat nose. Cupid was back in the hall, moving towards a point position.
I checked Rudolph's chart, trying to decipher the cryptic handwriting. "Let's see . . . Lodopin. Zyprexa. Serdolect. Haldol. Thorazine. Wow, that's a lot of anti-psychotics."
"That's a lot of reindeer," the doctor pointed out. Ring clipped him on the shin.
I kept reading. "Prozac and Darvoset in the morning, and a mega dose of Wellbutrin in the afternoon. To keep him docile." I added the emphasis.
"He's definitely docile," Donner noted as Rudolph started licking his ear.
"Can he fly?" I asked.
"Definitely not—hey!" Blitzen broke off as the doctor made a run for it. Ring darted after him, but the man made it to the end of the hall and slammed the door shut behind him.
"Let him go," I said. "We got what we came for."
"Sort of," Blizten said. "We're going to have to wait for all of those chemicals to wear off. It could take hours. Maybe a day or two."
"We haven't got a day or two," I pointed out. "Can't we shoot him full of amphetamines or something?"
"You're welcome to try," Blitzen said. "But I don't want to be anywhere near him when you do."
"Why?"
He nodded toward Rudolph who was drooping on Donner like a soft watch. "How much are you going to give him? Too little, and you'll want to try again. Too much, and it'll probably make his brain explode."
"Good point," I said, thinking about th
e last time I had drugged Rudolph. I had been hoping to keep him knocked out well past midnight, but he had woken up nearly early enough to spoil things.
"What if we burn it out of him?" Cupid asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Things catch on fire when he glows, right? That means he's hot on the inside too. All we have to do is make him, you know . . ." Cupid trailed off.
"Angry?" I supplied.
Blizten stared at him. Hard. Cupid shrugged his shoulders in response. "You got a better idea?"
Blitzen swiveled his head to look at me.
"I suppose he's right," I said. "It can't hurt to try. What's the worst that could happen?"
Blitzen didn't even bother to answer that question.
"What about that thing in Seattle?" Ring asked. "You know. The one you're working on. With the singing and dancing."
"The musical?" I shook my head. "No way. He can't know about that. That's out of the question."
Yellow lights set along the ceiling started blinking, and we heard a distant sound like a giant gong being struck. "Non-confrontational security," Blitzen said. "We're out of time."
"Even if I wanted to share the script of the musical," I said. "I don't have it—"
"It's in the backpack," Ring said, nodding toward the bag that the reindeer had brought along. "We found it in your hotel room. In the bathroom."
"Things are going to get less pleasant here in a few minutes when the security service BHBB uses gets here," Blizten said. "We need Rudolph back, and fast."
I pulled open the bag and found the water-stained stack of pages that was my copy of the script. The one I had nearly dropped in the tub that night when I had first read it.
I slid off Blitzen's back. "This'll do it," I said.
Rudolph spotted me and ambled over, leading with his tongue. "Okay, okay," I said, pushing the wet reindeer tongue away. "I'm happy to see you too."
"It's a talking waffle," Rudolph said, and he crowded up against me, working his tongue across my head.
"Hey," I said, catching his tongue in my hand this time and holding it tightly. "Knock it off."
He pulled gently, his eyes crossing as he tried to figure out why his tongue wasn't going back in his mouth. He said something, but with the drugs in his system and my hand on his tongue, no one understood what he was trying to say.
One-handed, I flipped the script open to a random page and started reading.
ACT III SCENE I: A MOUNTAINTOP
Rudolph stands alone by a pile of rock. Lightning flashes in the background. (SFX: Thunder. Distant. +10 to SUB.)
RUDOLPH: I am to take up offense against heaven and Earth with my actions so vile and wretched. Can I stay from this course? Can I foreswear from the ruin which is sure to follow so swift and sure upon my heels? Is it better to die, trapped in the venom of one's own miasma, or to live, hounded and hunted by every last thinking creature for the reprehensible deed which I must call my own? Must I summon the dark cloud? Must I turn against those who brought me hence and destroy them for their narrow thoughts and helpless mistakes? Ah, to dream, to slumber and partake of a realm so changed from this. That brief, sweet touch does strip away the thousand-fold pricks of this hell, which drains the life and blood from my veins.
I had to turn the page, which was a little complicated with one hand.
"That sounds familiar," Blitzen said.
"Please tell me you haven't read this on the Internet already," I said. "I'm really hoping the only copies are the ones that the company has."
Blitzen shook his head. "No, it sounds like something else. Shakespeare?"
"It's all Shakespeare," I said. "That's all they talk about."
Cupid made a noise in the hall, and Ring stuck his head out of the room. "Is this going to take long?" he asked after he checked on Cupid. He did a little I have to go to the bathroom dance, which I took to mean something else.
"I'm working on it," I said, finding another page to read.
ACT I SCENE III: THE THRONE ROOM
Rudolph is attended by Toad, his familiar. Present are the wretched fiends which populate this dark place. They caper and scamper about the tall statues.
RUDOLPH: I tire, dear Toad, of this life. I tire of this oubliette of stone and filth which is but the extent of my realm.
TOAD: To rule here, Master, or to serve there?
RUDOLPH: I do not wish to rule. I do not want to be king. I have no need of crown or scepter or subjects. I but wish for the sky beneath my feet. I wish to travel across the plane of heaven and touch the stars. I cannot be bound by this foul gravity which holds us all in its bosom. I crave the vastness emptiness of space, Toad. I crave the world beyond. I crave passage between the worlds, to stand at the pinnacle and look back—all the way back—to that first tiny moment when alpha touched omega and the circle was but a singular infinite point.
TOAD (clapping): To be one and many. Yes, Master, to be one and many.
"Toad?" asked Donner.
"He's a mutant elf. Six foot four. All hairy," I explained. "Rudolph's kingdom is populated by rejects."
"The Kingdom of Misfit Toys," Blitzen pointed out.
"Oh, that." Donner rolled his eyes.
Rudolph had stopped tugging on his tongue, and when I let go of it, he rolled it back into his mouth. He didn't move away from me, and his gaze had gone from sugarplum dreamy to sugar coma lethargy. "You in there?" I asked, peering at his dull eyes. "Do you remember me?"
His tongue started to slide out of his mouth.
"Something a little more exciting there, Bernie," Blitzen said. "Stop trying to ease him into it."
I flipped forward a few pages and found one of Rudolph's many speeches.
RUDOLPH: But the snow and sky are the realms of my nemesis. He cleaves through the air and water with his sled and his entourage, his rage of angels which accompany his every mission. I cannot face them. I have not the strength nor the power to counteract his magic. I cannot break his foul grip on the world above.
TOAD: Break his magic! Break his magic, Master.
"This Toad fellow is kind of a suck-up for a sidekick," Donner opined.
"Is he talking about Santa?" Ring wanted to know.
I shushed them with my hand and kept reading.
RUDOLPH: Yes, Toad. Yes, that course is laid before me with such clarity. Break his sorcery. Shatter his rooftop laughter and his brazen jocularity. I shall smash his seasonal cheer and tear down his traditions. I will destroy his name. (Laughs) Now, this shall be the winter of their disenchantment. Made glorious by an apocalyptic fire of my design. Now, when their houses are but loosely kept and their crowns slack about their brows; now shall I steal their dreams and darken their fair fields with cloud fearsome and calamitous. I, that am rudely marked with this ruddy proboscis, I shall strip away their laughter and their light with my scheme insidious. Since I cannot prove to be one of their number, since even their dogs do bark at the shadows passed by my illumination, I will prove to be the villain. I hate the indolence of their days and despise the cheerful timelessness of their passion. A plot I will lay, a scheme divine and dark to blast their kingdom of winter virtue into a fallow field of corpses. A smoke I will bring, a fog so deep as to cover the sky and hold them to the ground. I will clout them with vapor and, through their very pores, I will ooze and steam until I have rotted their organs from the inside, until I have choked them with their own breath. I will destroy Christmas afore it has a chance to destroy me.
"What happens next?" Ring's curiosity was almost palpable.
"Oh, seriously?" I asked. "You're not getting wrapped up in this, are you?"
"It's not that bad," Donner said.
"Of course not," Blitzen snorted. "Even as poorly written as it is, it's still Shakespeare."
"I was kidding about that earlier," I said.
"I know you were, but that's what it is," Blizten said. "It's Shakespeare."
"Which one?" Donner wanted to know.
"Who's Shakes
peare?" Ring interjected.
Cupid wiggled in next to Ring. "What's taking so long?" he asked.
"Shakespeare!" Ring said, as if he knew what we were talking about.
"Where?" Cupid looked around the room.
"No, no," Ring said. "Bernie's reading it."
"Oooh," Cupid said. "Which one?"
"That's what I was asking," Donner said, a bit peevishly.
I tuned them out. Reindeer had a tendency to get distracted when they weren't in action. It came from many, many hours of standing around on rooftops, waiting for Santa. The Time Clock put weird pressures on them, and their coping mechanism was to keep up this stream of inane chatter. No one could sustain the sort of directed focus that the Clock wanted out of you.
Well, Rudolph could. After the accident.
He was staring at me now, his skin ruddy and glistening. His pupils had shrunk to tiny dots. His tongue was darting in and out now, licking his moist nose.
"Hey, buddy," I said. "Are you there? Come on back to us, will you? We miss you." He continued to stare at me, and instead of staring back, I turned my attention back to the script, intending to read some more. "‘I will destroy—'" I started.
"I heard you the first time," Rudolph said, in a voice that sounded like someone was strangling a cat in the next room. His face scrunched up as if he was trying to undo a knot someone had tied in his brain, and the glow coming off his skin brightened.
"Uh oh," Donner said, trotting toward the far corner of the room. I stepped back too just as Rudolph sneezed heavily, his whole body convulsing. When he sneezed a second time, he punctuated it with a savage kick with his back legs. His strange radiance increased, and I scrambled out of the way as he put his head down and charged.
Blitzen yelped, leaping aside, and both Ring and Cupid disappeared from the doorway. Rudolph clipped the doorframe as he charged, taking out a big chunk as he plowed into the hallway. The frame was scorched black where his antlers had torn through the wood, and as I stared at the doorway, a tiny finger of flame poked up from a splinter of wood.
"Radiated reindeer coming through," Donner called out from behind me. In case one of the others hadn't figured it out yet.