Christmas At Timberwoods

by Fern Michaels

  Dressed in his Santa suit he would probably just be mistaken for part of a publicity stunt for Timberwoods. He was so relieved he waved his arms and laughed. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” he roared, just as a rooftop Santa should.

  Maria Andretti raised a frail arm and waved wildly. He had seen her and waved to her! Her pale little face flushed; her eyes were bright and sparkling. He was her own special miracle.

  Angela had left Amy Summers with a brief wave, promising to get back as soon as possible and help her. It was going to be a long, cold walk to Timberwoods Mall to pick up her car. But with any luck, Charlie would be working and she would be able to apologize for leaving without telling him. She’d decided to tell him that Mrs. Summers had needed her. It hadn’t been the reason she had left in the first place, of course, but it was the reason she’d stayed away so long, and the reason she was going back. The detective’s wife had really reached out to her, and seemed to instinctively understand a lot of the raw emotion Angela tried so hard to hide. Besides that, the warmhearted Amy made her feel needed and useful.

  She would tell Charlie that she’d tried to call him—twice—that she’d let the phone ring and ring. And she would scold him for not having voice mail to take messages. Everybody did these days. Everybody! She hoped he would believe her and if he was mad at her that he would forgive her. Charlie meant something to her in a funny kind of way, and she didn’t want him mad at her.

  Her search for Charlie in Timberwoods led up one alley and down another. The photographer and elves said he was on a break. An overextended break, they complained, adding that Santa was facing an unusually long line of kids. She waited a half hour, and when he still hadn’t returned, left a hasty message with the photographer.

  “Tell him I’ve been trying to call him, that I need to talk to him.”

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him,” the photographer said, then waved her away when a customer approached. Something told Angela that her message would never reach Charlie, but what else could she do? She had to leave. Mrs. Summers was waiting for her; she couldn’t hang around forever waiting for him to get back from wherever he was.

  An hour later Angela managed to find her Porsche in the crowded parking lot and got in, taking a few minutes to collect her thoughts before she turned the key in the ignition. An old, beat-up Volkswagen stopped within a few feet of her car, its door opened and closed, and then the car drove off. Idly she realized that a man was behind the wheel, but she didn’t pick up any more detail than that.

  What was going on? she wondered. Looking over to where the VW had stopped, she saw three small round bundles of fur shivering in the snow. She opened her car door and ran over to them. Quickly she scooped up the shivering puppies, cursing long and loud. “Slimeball!” she screamed. “You’re nothing but a slimy slimeball!” she yelled to the retreating VW.

  Back in her warm car, she turned on the overhead light and stared down at the tiny balls of fur. My God, they were so small. And that awful man left them to die. “You poor little babies,” she said to the whimpering pups. She cuddled them to her, crooning soft words of comfort. “He took you from your mama and left you to die. How could he? Poor babies. I won’t let you die. I’ll help you. I’ll see that you’re taken care of. I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

  Cuddling the puppies beneath her coat, she went back into the mall and headed straight for the pet shop to ask the owner how to feed them. On her way back out she looked to see if Charlie had come back yet. She’d bet he’d be a soft touch for such little puppies. Maybe he would even let her keep them at his house until they were old enough to be given away. Maybe he would want one.

  But Charlie still wasn’t there. The photographer was beginning to look anxious.

  Disappointed, Angela left the mall for the second time that afternoon. On the floorboard she made her scarf into a nest of sorts for the puppies, slipped the Porsche into gear, drove out of the parking lot, and headed for the Summerses’ home.

  Her arms full of squirming puppies, Angela managed to find the doorbell and hit it with her elbow.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Angela, Mrs. Summers.” She heard the chain being removed, and the door opened. “Surprise!” Angela laughed as she held open her coat.

  “Where . . . how . . . whose are they?” Amy was delighted.

  “Some guy just dumped them out in the Timberwoods Mall parking lot and drove off in a hurry while I happened to be watching. I couldn’t leave them there to die, so I brought them here. I didn’t know where else to take them. I bought them some milk replacement. I don’t think they’re old enough to eat solid food by themselves. Look how tiny they are.”

  “I’m looking, I’m looking, and I think you’re right. How could somebody do such a thing? Poor, precious little puppies,” Amy said, cuddling one of the tiny bundles to her cheek. “They sound hungry. We’d better fix them some of that milk you brought.”

  “But what if they’re too little to drink it out of a bowl?”

  “They probably are, but I have all kinds of baby bottles and things. Let’s go into the kitchen and see what we can do. I’ll make the bottles and you go into the garage and get an empty box. Then get a towel from the bathroom, a nice fluffy one, and we’ll put them in a box near the fireplace, where it’s warm.”

  When Angela came back into the kitchen, Amy said, “I think I’ll mix up the formula powder you got and make a bigger hole in the nipple. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Angela grinned as she folded the fluffy pink bath towel. “I wonder if they’ll like this color. Welcome to the Puppy Hotel,” she told the squirming trio.

  “All ready,” Amy called after about fifteen minutes. She came into the room where Angela was, her hands full of baby bottles. “Let’s feed them one at a time. Wouldn’t you know it, three females,” she said as she examined the puppies. “You were right, Angela, they could never eat on their own. Look, their eyes are barely open.”

  Angela and Amy each took a puppy and put a bottle to its greedy mouth. Angela was suddenly quiet and intent.

  “Angela, do you want to talk about it?” Amy asked after a while.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s no answer. ‘Because.’ What kind of answer is that? Didn’t they teach you any better than that in school?”

  “Sure,” Angela said as she put down one puppy and picked up another. “Do you suppose you have to burp them?”

  “Burp them? Lord, I don’t know. How do you burp a puppy?”

  “Maybe you rub its tummy. I think you do that with babies. They made us take health class back in high school,” Angela said, not adding how often she hadn’t bothered to show up.

  “Wrong. So much for health class. You pat their backs.”

  “Well, I was close.” Angela laughed.

  At 1:30 in the afternoon the phone on Eric Summers’s desk buzzed.

  “Summers here.” He recognized Noel’s low voice when the other man said hello and waited for him to speak.

  Noel didn’t waste time on small talk. “Listen, I want to try hypnotism on Angela.”

  “Okay, Noel. She’s with Amy now. But I won’t have you doing it at my house. It’s too much for Amy.”

  “I understand. But I do need somewhere quiet.”

  “You’ll get it. I have an idea. I can’t leave the mall, but I’ll send Lassiter. Maybe you can use Heather Andrews’s apartment.”

  Heather opened the door of her apartment to admit Noel, Lex, and Angela. She smiled at Angela. “You look frozen. Sit down and I’ll get some nice hot coffee. What about you guys? Would you like coffee or something stronger?”

  “Coffee,” the two men said simultaneously.

  Heather gathered their coats and scarves and hung them in the hall closet. “Be right back.”

  Angela perched on the edge of a chair as if poised for flight. “Are you sure this is the right thing for me to be doing?” she asked Noel. “I
really don’t want to see that again. It was so terrible, and what if I see any of you and I say it while I’m under?”

  “You’re safe here,” he reassured her. “Say whatever comes to mind; it’s as simple as that. We have to do it, Angela. There may be some important details that are hidden in your subconscious. You do understand, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” she answered, taking a cup from Heather’s hands. “I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, but why can’t I convince you that there isn’t anything you can do about it? The things I see in my mind’s eye—they happen. There’s no stopping them.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. We have to try, Angela. Isn’t it better to try than to do nothing at all?”

  Angela nodded as she sipped the steaming coffee. “Why don’t we just get on with it, get it over with?” she asked fearfully.

  “Any time you’re ready,” Noel said, setting down his coffee cup. “Stretch out on the couch and close your eyes.”

  Angela did as she was told. Noel watched her and began to speak to her, his voice calm and soothing. “I want you to trust me, Angela. Nothing will hurt you. I’m your friend. Now, just close your eyes and relax. I want you to listen to my voice. You want to listen to my voice. You can hear me. You trust me. You know I’m your friend.”

  Angela listened to Noel’s directions. She visibly relaxed. Soon she felt warm and drowsy . . . so sleepy . . . so safe . . .

  “Angela, you know I’m Noel Dayton. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I hear you.”

  “You will listen to me very carefully, Angela, and answer me truthfully at all times. You’re asleep, Angela, sound asleep, but you can hear me speaking to you. You told me something about these visions, but I need to know more. They started when you were young—is that correct?”

  “Yes. I—I saw a dog die in an accident. I was very frightened. I thought it was a dream.”

  “After that you saw many things, is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did that make you feel, Angela?”

  “Frightened. I told my parents and they took me to doctors.”

  “That’s fine, Angela. Remember now, you’re sound asleep but you can hear me. I want to talk to you about one of your latest visions, the one about the Timberwoods Shopping Mall. You will remember how you had the vision and tell me all about it. Can you do that, Angela?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going back in time now, to the day you had the vision. You’re asleep, Angela, but you can hear my voice. It is now the morning of the day you had the vision. It is time to wake up. You have been asleep all night and now it is morning. When you open your eyes, you will see the bright light and you will tell me what you see. When I tell you to open your eyes, you will do so.”

  “Yes,” Angela whispered, the fear and strain showing on her face.

  “The morning is here, Angela. Open your eyes and see your vision.”

  “Oh no, not again!” Angela screamed. “I don’t want to look. Don’t make me look!” Tears gathered in her eyes as she continued to fight to keep her eyes closed. “Please, please, I don’t want to see!”

  “You want to tell me what you see, Angela. After you tell me, you can go to sleep and forget it. What do you see?”

  “Red. Everything is red. All the Christmas colors. All that red. Blood.”

  “Are you sure it’s blood, Angela?”

  “Red. Too much red. I can’t see anything but red. Make it go away,” she begged.

  “Not yet, Angela, you must tell me more.”

  “There’s too much blood. Too much red.” Angela sobbed. “I don’t know what it is. I can’t be in two places at one time. Some man . . . he’s bending over. The red . . . I don’t know what he’s doing! He’s afraid . . . his hands are shaking. Too much red, I can’t see his face. He’s going to kill everyone. He’s sick. The blood’s in his way!”

  “Can you tell me more about him?”

  “No . . . everything is in a red haze. He’s holding something big and round. It’s soft, there’s something in it. He’s sick, he keeps wiping his face. He’s so afraid.”

  “What is he afraid of, Angela?”

  “I don’t know. He has no strength in his hands . . . it won’t move.”

  “What won’t move?”

  “His hand, he’s trying to squeeze something in his hand. He’s cold, the wind is blowing all around him. White and red!” Angela’s voice was a mere whisper; beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. “He’s cursing. He’s angry. Today, he’s saying, it has to be today. This has to work! He wipes his forehead, red is going away. No, it’s back!”

  “Angela, what day is this happening?”

  “Today. I have to die today!”

  “Angela, what day is it?” Noel asked again, this time more firmly.

  “I don’t know what day it is . . . the day he has to die. He’s very angry . . . cursing . . . oh, he fixed it . . . now he’s happy, the red is back.”

  “Think about the day and time, Angela. Did you go into the mall at all?”

  “Yes, I’m in the mall now. Everyone is shopping. Christmas carols are playing. I have to leave now; I have to go outside. Something is going to happen. I have to warn people not to go in there.”

  “Why do you have to go outside?”

  “To warn people. They won’t listen, but I have to try. He wants everyone to die with him.”

  “Where is he now, Angela? Do you know?”

  “He’s walking around the mall. I can’t see him, but I know that’s what he’s doing. I can feel him thinking. It’s almost time for the explosion.”

  “Explosion?” Noel queried. “Is it a bomb?”

  “It just blows up. It’s going to blow up. See all those little boys in their school uniforms? They came on a class trip. They have to leave. There’s a skinny one who can’t see—you have to make him leave! He’s going to get lost! It’s almost time!”

  “The day, Angela, what day is it?” Noel asked, trying to keep his voice calm. Angela was near hysteria now, but he couldn’t bring her out of the hypnotic state until she gave them the details they needed. “What day is it, Angela?”

  Angela squirmed on the sofa as though hot brands were scorching her. “I have to go outside. It’s time. Why are Mr. Summers and Mr. Lassiter running like that? I’m running, too. Fast. Hurry . . . I’m outside in the parking lot . . .” She screamed, pressing her hands against her skull. “Oh my God! Run! Run! Run as fast as you can . . . another one . . . another one . . . everything is black!” Angela went silent.

  Noel, watching her, was deeply troubled. Had he gone too far? The emotions Angela was suffering were so intense that he actually began to be afraid that they were too much for her to handle. He grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse. It was racing far too rapidly for comfort. The girl’s lips held a blue tinge, her eyelids fluttered madly, her skin was cold to the touch—all signs of physical shock. Did he dare to continue with this? Noel’s voice was unsteady. “Angela, you may wake up now. Come back to the present, Angela.”

  “No! No!” Angela’s voice was a low moan coming from deep within her. “I see a word . . . white letters on black . . . one word . . . ” She trailed off, an anguished sob catching in her throat.

  “What is it?”

  She shuddered, still in a trance. Then she answered in a whisper. “Hope.”

  “Just one word? Do you know what it means, Angela?” Noel fell silent, unsure of what to ask next when she didn’t reply.

  Lex was sitting on the edge of his chair, the color gone from his face, leaving a ghostly pallor.

  Heather was gripping the door frame, her eyes bright with tears as she watched Angela. “Hope, huh?” she said in a shaky voice. “That’s better than nothing. I wish she could explain.”

  “It’s dangerous. I have to bring her out of it, now,” Noel replied. “Angela,” he called softly, “Angela, you are still asleep. You are deeply asleep. You cannot see anything but darkne
ss. You are not frightened any longer; you feel peaceful. When I snap my fingers, you will awaken. Sleep, Angela.”

  Noel’s expression was tense and thoughtful. Putting his hand close to Angela’s ear, he snapped his fingers.

  Then he moved the switch on the recorder to Off.

  Chapter 13

  Eric Summers sat down, coffee cup in hand, his long legs stretched out. His dark eyes were brooding as he sipped the bitter leftover brew. “Do you feel it?” he asked. His question hung in the air of the quiet office.

  Harold shot him a look. “What?”

  “We’re doomed. It’s in the air. I know that sounds crazy, but that’s what I feel. And those damn Christmas carols are about to drive me out of my mind! Canned music has got to be the scourge of mankind.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean. But we have to keep going. It ain’t over until it’s over,” Harold said.

  “If there was only something we could do. Anything, anything at all. Angela Steinhart is standing outside the mall and telling people not to shop here. I didn’t tell her to go home. If Richards finds out, he’s going to have the police pick her up. Christ, at least she’s doing something. Say, Baumgarten, you don’t want a dog, do you?”

  “No. What exactly is she saying?”

  “Who the hell knows? The truth of the matter is, I don’t want to know. Mike Wollek called me when the mall opened. I’ve got him stationed at number seven, and she’s doing her thing right there. I told him to leave her alone. People aren’t listening to her, anyway—they’re just rushing past her, calling her crazy if they notice her at all. She must be frozen stiff by now. She’s been out there for three hours and it’s eighteen degrees. She’s trying, though—God, she’s trying. And what the hell am I doing? Nothing! Not a goddamned thing.”

  “Well, I know how she feels. I did something this morning, and it got me nowhere.”

  Eric’s ears pricked up; Harold had his full attention.

  “I called the newspapers, spoke to the editors, and in some cases—when I could get through—to the owners, or board executives. I told them what was going on around here and begged them to print it. Each time their answer was an unequivocal no. Finally, in desperation, I said I was going to take out an ad, warning people not to shop here. They said they wouldn’t print it. They have too much to lose. All the shops here buy advertising space in their papers. No way are they going to take a chance on losing the goodwill of the shop owners. I’ll tell you, Eric, I even thought of having handbills printed and handing them out. But then I reconsidered. I know when someone sticks a handbill at me I don’t pay any attention to it.”