EQ themed Christmas story Part II

[Libby]

As Wolf said, we'd thought about a little project with a recurring motif and here is my contribution. More along the lines of 'Mortal Thoughts', since it concerns Errol Partridge.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

Weak and exhausted, the pale winter sun finally gave up its futile battle with the cold and heartless oncoming night. Too tired even for a last salvo of crimson, it limped away behind the dreary grey Librian clouds and sank without ceremony. A few stars flickered listlessly. The apathetic moon didn't even bother to put in an appearance.

Errol Partridge shook his head sadly and turned away from the defeated day. He stripped off his coat of midnight black, raised it briefly to his face, then threw it hard against the huge viewscreen where Father was praising Librians for their fortitude. The stink of gun smoke clogged his nostrils, but even as he dutifully retrieved the coat and proceeded to hang it in its designated place in the tiny cloakroom, he had to admit that GSR smelled infinitely better than the cloying stench of blood and he had seen and smelled far too much of that.

Today as every day, he wondered how much longer he could carry on with the deception, steeling his resolve in the face of so much carnage. Bitterly, he railed once more against the decision taken so long ago, which forever exiled him from the uncomplicated life of a First Class Cleric. Some part of him still envied the blind faith which drove his partner, Grammaton First Class John Preston, which allowed Preston to fall asleep every night secure in the knowledge that the Clerics would eventually prevail. Partridge couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent night's sleep, one that wasn't haunted by the faces of those in their final moments as death streaked its silver clad way to their fear laden hearts.

His eyes rested for a moment upon the twin guns tossed carelessly on the non-descript table. The weight of his sleeve holsters suddenly became unbearable and those, too, swiftly joined their brothers-in-death. Without warning, Partridge became so overwhelmed by the burden he carried that he was momentarily paralysed. He fought against dizziness, but finally stumbled to the bathroom, succumbing to the nausea which threatened to turn him inside out.

Later, amidst clouds of shower steam, with needle points of hot water seeming to pierce his very soul, Errol Partridge replayed the scene again and again. Could he have done more? Could it have gone down any other way? And would what he had finally done be worth it?

**************************************

'There have been some disturbing reports of unusual activity in parts of the City and the Nethers.'

John Preston had adopted his characteristic stance, feet slightly apart, perfectly balanced, ready for anything. His clear eyes focused upon his partner, his body language signalling his expectation of an appropriate response.

As was becoming more usual these days, Errol's mind was elsewhere, touching upon delicate lines of poetry, drinking in gentle painted landscapes of a world long gone and always, always, swirling with thoughts of soft perfumed skin, tumbling locks of lustrous hair and dark beckoning eyes. Only the word 'disturbing', coming as it did from Preston, snapped him back to cold reality.

'What sort of 'activity'?' he queried.

'Offenders are being apprehended trying to distribute EC-10 items to others. Groups of offenders have been discovered hoarding these items. The items themselves are wrapped in coloured paper and have ribbons or some other odd glittery binding around them.'

'Tinsel,' replied Partridge, absently.

'I beg your pardon?' said Preston.

Errol mentally slapped himself hard. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard. Preston was way too smart and one of these days he would put it all together. Only his belief that the Cleric were incorruptible kept him from seeing the truth.

'Er…something I came across a few years ago. It has to do with an ancient festival…'

'That is of no concern to us,' interrupted a disinterested Preston, who was obviously keen to put a stop to whatever was causing this latest crease in the smooth fabric of Librian society. ''We have received intelligence that a substantial amount of such EC-10 items are being stored in a lock-up in the Eastern Nethers. Flynn's bringing the car round. If we are in time, we may well apprehend those responsible. So, if you have no pressing business, we should go now.''

Partridge merely nodded in acquiescence. He didn't trust himself to speak. 'Intelligence'…some poor tortured soul spilling their guts to the Technicians in Clinical Interrogation. The act of rising from his seat allowed him to suppress a shudder. Reluctantly, he followed Preston to the bay where Administrator Kyra Flynn was waiting with their white signature car. She was adjusting her black gloves as they approached and Partridge could almost feel her eyes boring into his as he greeted her. Whereas Preston could not conceive of a Cleric ever being a sense offender, Flynn was more circumspect and he wondered just how much she was squirreling away in that dosed, yet razor sharp mind of hers. Simply looking at that glacial expression and those ice-blue eyes caused Partridge's blood temperature to drop a few degrees.

The journey to the Nethers was uneventful. They glided through the desolation of what had once been a thriving community, before the near apocalypse had reduced it to a ravaged landscape of burnt out buildings and roaming gangs of murderers and cannibals, where those who had sought to keep their souls intact lived in terror, until the walls of Libria began to rise above the smoke and offered hope to all. Father's dream…or nightmare, depending on how much Prozium was sluicing through your veins.

[Libby]

Kyra Flynn was updating the two Clerics on the progress of the raid.

'Enforcement troops have already arrived,' she advised. 'It appears that there may be some resistance so they have set up the usual cordon around the building and are awaiting our arrival, which should be in approximately 5 minutes.'

Partridge looked out of the window. Once again he thought about how the Israelites had daubed their doors with the blood from sacrificial lambs to identify themselves so that the Angel of Death would pass over them whereas various buildings on the Clerics' route were boldly marked with the sign of the Tetragrammaton, serving as a warning to all offenders that they'd get them all eventually.

Flynn was accurate in her estimation and five minutes later, the car came to a stop near a dingy single storey wreck of a building. The Clerics and their Administrator alighted, surveying the scene for possible threats, but everything was quiet. No shots had been fired and the Enforcement teams were deferring to the two Sweeper teams which had pulled up alongside.

Partridge was rapidly assessing the chances of those possibly inside. He was concerned for their safety but also angry because the Underground were still repeatedly ignoring his warnings. Jurgen was having real trouble controlling Seamus Clancy and his Acquisitions team. Clancy fancied himself as a bit of a cowboy…'I have GOT to stop reading those 'Wild West' novels!' the Cleric chided himself…and had serious problems with authority – or maybe it was just with Jurgen. Whatever the issue it was impacting on the security of the Resistance and had to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

At a signal from Preston, the first group of Sweepers broke down the main door. Unusually, there was still no yelling or random firing of guns, so the team moved to secure the building. Preston and Partridge remained outside until the Sweeper Captain radioed for the Cleric team. They walked in step along the dusty corridor until they reached a set of narrow stairs leading down and to the right. Preston instinctively withdrew his sidearms from their snug pocket holsters. Partridge followed suit, praying he would not have to use them. They started down the stairs, pausing on the half landing.

The Lead Sweeper and his second tested the double doors at the foot of the stairs. They were locked from inside. Preston indicated they should shoot out the hinges. In the confines of the basement stairwell, the noise of the rifles discharging and the squeal as the heavy metal doors were kicked inward was almost deafening. It briefly masked the beginning of the returning volley of shots from the darkness beyond the now horizontal doors.

What followed was not pretty but it was highly efficient. Partridge was relieved that his indecisiveness went unnoticed as Preston jumped sideways onto the hand rail, gaining momentum as he slid towards the doors. The Sweepers had leapt back as the bullets shrieked past their ears and now they kept firmly out of range as the Cleric vaulted off the end of the rail and stormed through the door, guns raised. One deliberate shot hit the switch, just visible near the opening and the room flooded with sickly yellow light.

Partridge tried to shut his eyes and ears against the expected Kata pattern, but there was nothing, only a studied silence. He paced forward to where Preston was standing and realised why he was still. There was no-one in the room.

In was obvious a split second later, that Preston had spotted one thing and Partridge another. Preston focused on a slight discrepancy in the wall at the back of the room, while Partridge prayed his partner had not noticed a smaller, similar one in the right hand wall behind a table full of boxes.

Preston walked purposefully towards the wall, kicked it hard along a faint black line, then stepped back as a concealed door swung open. More stairs rose steeply. The Cleric took them two at a time and seconds later Partridge heard a terrified shriek . He dashed up the wooden steps, stopping just behind Preston. They were standing in a narrow alleyway between two buildings. At the far end was a brick wall, where a metal ladder had been fixed. Partridge wondered if any of the offenders had managed to escape into the warren of disused buildings.

'Put down your weapons,' ordered Preston.

The offenders stood rooted to the spot.

'Do as he says,' advised Partridge, although he knew what the inevitable outcome would be. Offenders were never released. Their only destination was the next world, be it by bullet or by fire. Partridge knew that Preston was already judging angles and reasoned that a few shots from his own gun would obviate the need for any enquiry as to why, yet again, he had felt it unnecessary to discharge his weapon.

'I'm asking you one more time…put them down.' Preston's tone had darkened.

The three men and one woman looked fearfully from one Cleric to the other. Their rifles hung at their sides, but none of them let go. It was the woman who raised her weapon first and who was the first to fall, a startled expression replacing the look of hatred as her brain was macerated by Preston's head shot. Both Preston and Partridge fired simultaneously, killing the men before they even had time to react. Partridge knew his eyes had been closed as he fired, his only defence against the haunted faces of his dreams.

As the smoke cleared, the offenders lay on the ground, their blood already mixing with the grey dust which swirled lazily in the alleyway. Partridge was the first to turn and head back to the room. The dead were beyond his help, but perhaps there was still a shred of hope for the living. He wanted to position himself correctly, so that Preston would not see the other concealed door. He could sense his partner following close behind.

All around the room were children's toys, in various states of repair: plastic dolls, some with one or more limbs missing; small vehicles and assorted board games; colouring books and crayons. In one corner was a small wooden train. A string was attached which suggested the train could be pulled along. Boxes packed with still more toys and books covered the tables.

Preston bent down and picked up a small object near his feet. It had partly shattered in the mayhem but there was enough remaining to see it had once been a round ball of some kind, hollow inside with a reflective coating on the outside of its thin shell. On the top was a metal hook and a piece of gold twine.

'Seen anything like this before?' he said to Partridge, who was nonchalantly picking up and examining other items, all the time keeping his back to the wall.

'No…no…can't say I have,' he lied, knowing full well what the delicate bauble was. 'Evidentiary will have to make an assessment.' He was actually quite surprised how even his voice sounded and how regular his heartbeat felt.

'Indeed,' replied Preston, stepping aside to let the clean-up crew up the stairs to remove the bodies. 'We should head back to the car and make our report.'

Partridge's mind scrabbled for a reason to remain. 'Fine…you go ahead. I'll make sure the back door is secured and join you shortly. Evidentiary won't get here for a few hours.'

Preston nodded curtly and made his way out of the room. The bodies were already being dragged unceremoniously across the floor and hauled back up the stairs. Partridge. could hear the shouts of the Sweeper team upstairs declaring the rest of the building clear and knew he had but a few brief minutes before his absence might cause Preston's return.

He ducked under the table and pressed his left hand hard against the wall. A small door, no higher than a metre, swung open. Partridge was careful not to put himself in the line of fire and for his own safety had redrawn his gun, acutely aware of the still warm muzzle. He cocked his head to one side and detected the sound of rapid, shallow breathing and the absence of the all too familiar smell of gun oil. The gun was returned to its holster.

His voice was a harsh whisper into the darkness behind the door.

'If you want to live, come out now…there isn't much time.'

Almost immediately, two pale, terrified faces appeared. The Cleric was shocked to see they belonged to children not more than eight or ten years old, scrawny and dishevelled. Nether Rats. They scrambled out of the small space dragging a third child, a girl with huge brown eyes and long dishwater hair falling unchecked over her elfin face. She in turn was trying to pull something else from the cramped space. Whatever it was, it was stuck fast and the girl began to whimper. One of the other children, a boy, clamped his thin hand over her mouth to silence her.

Partridge reached in past her hand and gripped something sharp and wiry. He yanked hard and to his surprise a small green conifer tree emerged. Wires looped around its artificial branches were still caught on something inside the crawl space and Partridge had no time to free it. He shoved it back, batting the girl's hands away and refastened the door.

None of the petrified children had spoken a word, all believing they were about to die, despite Partridge's claim to the contrary. The Cleric understood the power his Order had over even the youngest offenders and he felt ashamed.

'Look,' he whispered. 'I can get you out of here, but you must do exactly as I say. Do you understand?'

Three heads bobbed in unison.

'I'm going to open the back door again and you must be ready to run. Climb up the ladder, drop down on the other side and go to the left. Don't stop running until you reach somewhere you know. Are you clear?'

Three heads bobbed vigorously. Partridge allowed himself a rueful smile. He had begun to rise when he felt a bony hand on his wrist. The grimy face of the little girl looked up at him and she pointed to the small door, her eyes questioning.

'I'm sorry,' said Partridge gently. 'It'd slow you down and you need to be fast, in case they come looking for you…' He let the rest of the sentence hang and watched the child's eyes widen in understanding.

The Cleric opened the back door to the alleyway as quietly as possible, then motioned the children up the stairs. Conditioned by their harsh existence, they needed no further encouragement and they scampered soundlessly up the wooden steps, raced for the wall, then shimmied up the ladder. One by one they disappeared into an unknown future. Only the little girl turned and smiled briefly at her black coated saviour before she, too, dropped out of sight. Partridge stepped back into the room and shut the door again. He could do no more for them.

Partridge was very much aware of Kyra Flynn's scrutiny as he joined Preston once more and began the journey back to the City. He felt wretched enough without her darting glances through the rear-view mirror and was actually relieved when his interval alarm sounded and he could seek refuge in the liquid amber.

***************************************

As Partridge left his quarters, the frozen night sky had begun to cry tears of snow. The Cleric looked up and blinked rapidly as the flakes landed on his eyelashes, blurring his vision. In his pocket were two important items: the first, a permit to return to the scene of the day's A&R to check that Evidentiary had not 'missed' anything and secondly, something he had 'acquired' in another recent raid.

He passed through the City gates with impunity and drove through the quiet streets. Snow was falling more heavily now, settling on every surface, softening the harsh reality of the Nethers. Here and there were animal tracks in the pristine white carpet and the occasional telling footprints of someone hurrying to shelter. The white car was almost invisible in the flurry of flakes and the wipers struggled to clear the windscreen.

The fledgling plan had formed on the way back to the City and Partridge felt his heart thumping wildly as he approached the building. What if Evidentiary had found it? He prayed they been their usual unimaginative selves.

He pulled up close to the front entrance, and picked his way carefully up the snow-clad steps. The black 'T' was almost obscured as if in defiance. The Cleric pushed open the door and made his way back to the basement. Inside, the room had been stripped bare, but the table at the back had not been moved.

Partridge pulled the table forward to give himself better access to the hidden crawl space. He removed a flashlight from his coat and opened the door. Light bounced off the spiky branches creating strange shadows and Partridge almost cried in relief. In ancient times, holy men persecuted for their faith by the authorities had been hidden in 'priest holes', allowing them to continue performing their religious ceremonies. So it was that this little tree, barely a metre tall, had escaped detection and would rekindle faith and bring hope.

As important as it was, its retrieval from its hiding place was a little brutal. Partridge freed a wire which was hooked around a nail in the wall and wrenched the tree out of the space. He was surprised to see teardrop shaped light bulbs attached to the wire at various points, but had no time to waste in contemplation. He pushed the door closed and returned the table, then opened the back door and scooted up the steps to the alleyway. Once he was halfway up the metal ladder, he lobbed the tree unceremoniously over the wall, hoping that the snow would cushion its impact. There was no way he could walk out of the front door carrying such a thing!

With the car backed up to the side of the building, Partridge made his way quickly to where the tree had landed upside down in a pile of drifted snow…he chuckled softly as he rescued it and placed it gently in the trunk of the car. There was no danger of his being discovered with it as he had no intention of taking it to the City. He brushed snow from his coat stamped his feet and climbed into the driver's seat. The engine purred as he pulled away.

Just half an hour later, the Cleric reached a dilapidated church and cut the engine as he rolled into its shadowed graveyard. He parked near a gnarled old tree, whose branches were heavy with snow and stepped out into the white cold. His breath streamed into the frozen air, but he felt warm and excited.

The church, a place where Partridge often sought solace, was near to Substation 2b, one of the many substations still operating in various parts of the Nethers which provided Libria with additional power when required. Since this one was so close to the City, few offenders were keen to try and scrape a living here…the shadow of the Tetragrammaton hung too heavily.

Partridge popped the trunk and lifted out the precious tree. He wondered what the reaction would be and hoped fervently that it would not be disappointment. He carried it towards a small house to the right of the substation, which had once been part of a row of houses connected to the church. The tired house stood alone now, the windows and door barred by slats of wood, the roof clinging precariously to the rafters.

Around the back of the house was a rusted gate, which led through an overgrown and neglected garden to a fairly sturdy wooden door. On closer inspection, one could see that the handle was in fact smooth and the hinges oiled and well-used. Partridge set the tree down, opened the door and stepped inside.

He stopped abruptly at the familiar sound of a pistol being cocked and sniffed derisively.

'For Libria's sake Jurgen, put that thing away before you actually shoot someone!'

'Well, you should learn to knock!' Jurgen sounded miffed and Partridge had to laugh.

'Just put the damn' light on will you!'

At the flick of a switch, a small lamped flickered on, courtesy of Substation 2b.

'You're late…I was worried something had happened.' Mary O'Brien folded her arms and tried to look disapproving, but she couldn't hide her delight and her luminous smile broke through unbidden. 'Come on, dinner's nearly ready!'

Jurgen shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. Errol smiled back at Mary.

'Look,' he said. 'Get everyone into the kitchen, just for a moment. I…I have something to show you all.'

Both looked puzzled and Errol suddenly felt his stomach twist. What if it doesn't work?

Then Mary swirled away in her velvet skirts, dragging Jurgen with her. Errol heard her speak to others and her voice sailed over to him.

'OK…we've gone…this'd better be worth it… the food's getting cold!'

Errol returned to the back door and retrieved the tree. He carried it into a room beyond the hallway and set it down on a battered side table. There was an old plug attached to the wiring and Errol caught his breath as he gingerly pushed it into a socket next to the table and expectantly threw the switch.

Nothing happened.

The Cleric felt bereft. His mouth went dry and he could hardly bring himself to answer Mary as she asked how much longer they all had to wait.

'Just…give me a minute,' he called.

He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. Maybe it's just something simple. He unplugged the tree then methodically checked each one of the twenty bulbs attached to the wiring, making sure they were screwed in tightly. Finally he examined the wiring itself, but could see nothing amiss. Heart thumping , he plugged it in again.

It was as if someone had opened a door to heaven.

The room was illuminated with a near rainbow of red, white, blue and yellow twinkling light. Errol's heart threatened to leap out of his chest. He walked to the kitchen door and asked Jurgen to turn out the lights in there. He heard Tatiana Volkov voice her disapproval at such games, but Jurgen shushed his testy aunt and did as Partridge requested.

'OK…you can all come in now.' The Cleric's own voice was near breaking.

As usual, Mary was first through the door, followed by two of her friends, with Jurgen and Tatiana bringing up the rear. All stood with mouths open, transfixed by the sight which greeted them. The little tree itself seemed to have grown in stature, proudly displaying its glowing branches.

'It's…it's so wonderful,' whispered Tatiana.

'Happy Christmas!' declared Errol Partridge.

After a meal sumptuous by Librian standards, Jurgen produced some mismatched glasses and a dusty bottle from a cupboard in the kitchen.

'Been saving this,' he said. 'Something I…um…acquired from Seamus. Not that he knows, of course.'

Everyone laughed.

Jurgen popped the cork and poured ruby liquid into each glass.

'Sherry,' he said. 'Pure EC-10 in a bottle!'

Tatiana remembered a toast from her childhood and they raised their glasses to freedom. Jurgen put on an old record he had brought with him and they listened to carols, learning the words and trying to sing along.

Later, with the sherry still warming their hearts, Errol and Mary stood by the light of the little tree, each lost in their own thoughts. His arm was around her slender waist and her head rested on his shoulder.

'I wish I could stay here forever,' she whispered. 'But tomorrow I know you'll be back with that monster of a partner, hunting us down and burning us.'

Errol defended Preston. 'He's only doing what he believes in…just like us. One day, maybe he'll change. It's not beyond him you know.'

She clung to him and he stroked her auburn hair tenderly. Then he led her outside, to where the snow had transformed the garden into a magical land.
'Look!' she said, pointing upwards.

In the clear, moonless sky, the stars had changed their minds and were shining as brightly as Errol had ever seen. One star in particular outshone the rest.

'That's our star,' she said. 'Our Christmas star.'

'I have something for you,' he said. Mary looked at him wonderingly.

A small shell encrusted box emerged from the pocket of his black coat. He gave it to her, watching her intently as she admired the box itself, then opened it. Her eyes shone with delight and she reached up, planting butterfly kisses all over his face.

'Thank you,' she breathed. 'Thank you so much!'

Mary wound the red satin ribbon around her delicate fingers, feeling its smoothness. She pulled the stopper from the tiny bottle and breathed in the heavy scent. For a brief moment, when she looked up at him again, Errol almost believed she loved him.

And that was enough.

[Witcher Wolf]

*claps enthusiastically*

Bravo, truly and simply wonderful!

[frivolity]

Oh, Libby that was wonderful. Thank you. Happy, happy Christmas, Babes. *mwah* XXXXx

[Libby]

Thank you ClericWolf and Frivvy...I really enjoyed writing it, too, must be the Christmas muse! (or maybe the M & S Christmas port!)

[mawa]

Absolutly splendid job, Libby! Can't say any more ATM. The most coinstructive thing I am able to say right now is: I love it!

[Libby]

Thank you! Much appreciated.

[JenGe]

Absolutely wonderful Libby!!!

Thank you so much guys for making this the Merriest EQ Christmas ever!!!