From: FNYK09A@prodigy.com (Gary Himes)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: SPIRIT OF THE SEASON 3/3
Date: 17 Jun 1995 14:42:13 GMT
Message-Id: <3rupk5$1h5c@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com>

A fresh snow had fallen that morning over the streets of
Newark, giving way to a black-and-gray slush by nightfall.
The crowd in front of the Rialto could be heard to utter an
occasional curse as they trudged though the mess to attend
the evening show.  Mike blended into the mass of bodies
unobtrusively, unnoticed as most of those around him assumed
he was in the company of another adult herded into line for
tickets.
     The child skittered back and forth up the sidewalk,
looking up and down the streets for any familiar site.  Home,
he thought, gotta go home.  I'll find Santa there and he'll
help me find mom and dad;  he won't try to send me away with
strange people like that bad angel did.
     "Where is it?"  he cried aloud, tears beginning to form
in his eyes.  "I got to go back home!"
     The boy's sudden outburst caught the attention of one of
the theater patrons.  "Hey you, kid!" he yelled.  "You lost?
You want I should call a cop?"
     Oh no!  Mike thought, images of being returned to the
cold rooms of St. Theresa's flashing through his mind.  He
began to back away as the portly man approached him.  Run!
Go home!
     The man reached down to catch hold of Mike's jacket.  As
he did the youngster twisted and bolted away, out into the
middle of the busy street.  His flight was halted when a
taxi, its driver cursing, screeched to a stop in front of
him.  Looking about wildly,  Mike saw a truck bearing down on
him.  He froze as he was caught in the glare of its
headlights, paralyzed by fear.
      The driver slammed on his brakes, but the vehicle
continued to advance as it slid on the icy road toward the
stunned figure of the helpless child.
     Mike covered his eyes with his hands and screamed.
     Seemingly from nowhere, two hands caught Mike and
dragged him back from the truck's path, lifting him out of
the way to safety.  The truck slid to a halt, colliding with
the side of the taxi.  Both drivers surveyed the damage to
their respective conveyances and began a spirited cussing
contest.
     "Are you all right?"  Sam asked the frightened boy,
checking him for injuries.  Though the shock had prompted a
stream of tears, Sam noted that Mike seemed otherwise fine.
     Al appeared beside him.  "You got him--thank God,"  he
said, exhaling with relief.  "Is he okay?"
     Sam nodded in the affirmative, putting the boy down on
the sidewalk.  "Mike, you musn't run away like that!  You
could've gotten yourself killed!"
     "I wanna go home,"  the boy sobbed gently.  "Santa will
be there."
     Sam couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Al turn away
and wipe something from the corner of his eye.  "Sam, I'll
catch up with you back at the little big house, okay?"  he
said, disappearing through the imaging chamber door.
     "Mister, got to find Santa,"  Mike whimpered.  "I just
know he can't find me at the orphan'ge."
     "Oh Mike, you have to believe that--"  Sam's reassurance
was cut short as he realized the child was simply not going
to be convinced by words.  How many explanations had Mike
heard in the last few months, how many excuses?  And to him,
they had all boiled down to the fact that his parents were
gone and he couldn't go home, that strangers were determined
to keep him in a place he found unfamiliar and frightening.
     Now he was pining his last hope of returning to his
former life on the arrival of Santa Claus, the greatest wish
granter of them all.  The physicist knew he couldn't spoil
that particular childhood illusion for the boy, but he also
suspected Mike would never allow himself to be part of a new
family until he accepted that nothing was going to bring back
his old one.  He wished Al hadn't taken off so quickly;
considering his past experiences in the orphanage, maybe he
could've thought of...
     Sam's head snapped up as an idea came to him.  He had to
smile at its simplicity.
     "Mike, don't worry,"  he said softly, taking the boy's
hand to lead him back to the orphanage.  "I think you can
count on Santa finding you after all."

                          * * * * *

     Luckily Sam and Mike had not been gone long enough to be
missed so that they managed to sneak back into the building
without incident.  The boy had put up a minor struggle to
avoid returning, but in truth he was too tired and scared to
resist.  Sam managed to get him tucked into bed with a
promise that, despite his fears, he would see Santa Claus
soon.
     Sam left the children's quarters to find Al waiting for
him in the hallway.
     "Where did you go?" Sam demanded.
     "When I saw you had the situation under control, I
ducked into the Rialto,"  Al explained.  "They were showing
JET PILOT. Y'know, most people don't give Howard Hughes the
credit he deserves for making great films like that.  I
remember taking Angie DiMarco to the Rialto to see THE THING
there; we snuck up to the balcony and--"
     "Al, this is not the time for your perverted nostalgia."
     "Bunch of kids up there doin' it tonight,"  he
continued.  "Guess everybody wants to follow the example of
the master."
     "Al!"
     "Okay, okay,"  Al pleaded.  "Sister Mary Margaret used
to yell at me that same way.  I've wondered once in a while
if you two aren't related."
     "What does Ziggy say know about Mike's chances of being
adopted?"  Sam asked, ignoring his friend's dig.
     "No better;  he's going to try and run away again later
tonight.  And, even if you stop him, he'll be so hostile to
the prospective parents tomorrow that he still won't get
adopted."
     Sam paced back and forth a bit.  "I was afraid of that;
Al, the only way Mike is ever going to get a new home and
family is if we can get him to accept that he can't go back
to his old one."
     "So, how do we do that?"  Al demanded.  "He really
hasn't listened to anybody since his folks died.  Sam, I hate
to say it, but you just don't know how he feels."
     Sam took a deep breath; he knew what he was about to say
would not go down easy.  "I realize I don't know how he
feels--I've never been totally alone, not even since I
started leaping.  But,"  his voice dropped down, "you know."
     "Well of course I know," Al replied testily.  "But how
does that help...Sam, what are you looking at?"
     "Just wondering how you would look in red."
     "Red?" Al shot him a curious look. "I look great in red,
but what does that have to do with..."  Al noticed the faux
nun's wicked smile, the pieces suddenly falling into place.
"No, Sam! No no no!"
     "That's pretty close,"  Sam teased  "but try it like
this:  ho...ho...ho."

                          * * * * *

     Mike bumped into the edge of a bed, his eyes not quite
accustomed yet to the darkness.  He had awoke fifteen minutes
earlier with his eyes still red from crying.  Despite what
the man pretending to be Sister Mary Margaret had told him,
Mike was still convinced that Santa would never find him here
and if he was ever to ask him to bring his parents back he
would have to ask him in person.
     Mike rubbed his eyes, clearing them enough to see who he
had bumped.  He swallowed nervously when he saw it was Remo,
who stirred slightly before turning over and going back to
sleep.
     They just didn't understand, Mike thought as he tip toed
into the hallway.  His parents wouldn't just abandon him;
they wouldn't go to heaven and leave him behind.  The problem
was the people who were keeping him here where his mom and
dad couldn't find him. No, he wasn't going to trust the nuns,
or even that man Sam who pretended to be one.  Right now he
knew there was only one person he could trust to take him
back to his mom and dad, if only he could find him.
     As Mike passed Sister Mary Margaret's office on his way
to the exit door he failed to notice it crack slightly as a
pair of green eyes peeked out.
     He slowly opened the door, doing his best to be quiet.
A cold blast of air hit him from outside, causing a shudder
to run through his body.
     Just as he prepared to leave, a strange sound echoed
from far off in the night.  A sound suspiciously like bells.
     "Who's that?"  Mike whispered, peering into the night
sky.  He was rewarded with a pinprick of light that seemed to
grow larger and larger.  Mike stood rooted to the spot,
staring in wonder at the incredible celestial phenomenon.
     The light grew until it filled the sky, then seemed to
burst like a huge soap bubble.  Mike shaded his eyes against
the glare.  When he removed his hands he practically shrieked
at what he saw--only his awe of the scene kept him silent.
     Parked in the playground was a sleigh drawn by eight
reindeer, a chubby man dressed in a red suit climbing out of
it.
     "Santa Claus!"  Mike gasped.  "You found me!"
     "Santa" finished extracating himself from his sleigh and
pulled a cigar from his mouth.  "Shut the door Mike, you'll
catch pneumonia." the jolly old elf ordered.
     Mike obediently slammed the door closed.  He looked at
it for a second before his mouth made a tiny "O" as he
realized he had shut Santa outside.
     "Santa!"  he yelled, desperately tugging on the handle.
"I can't get the door back open!"
     A gravely voice answered him, "Don't worry kid,
I'll...oh hell...come down the chimney."
     Hearing this Mike ran down to the cafeteria where the
long-unused fireplace stood.  As he reached it he could see
Santa's figure actually walk through the bricks!
     "Wow!"  he exclaimed.  "Santa, how did you do that?"
     Santa waved his hand in the air like a magician
flourishing a card trick.  "A little Christmas magic."
     "Oh Santa, I was scared you din know where I was!  I'm
so glad you come to take me home!"  Mike cried, his eyes
shining with happiness.  "But I thought you wouldna come 'til
tomorrow night?"
     "This is a special trip, just for you,"  he answered.
"Mike, do you trust Santa?"
     "Oh yes! More 'n anybody!"
     "I was afraid of that,"  Santa muttered under his
breath.  "Son, I'm afraid Santa can't take you home.  Your
mommy and daddy aren't there anymore."
     The boy's smile vanished.  "But you can do anything
Santa!  I kept wishing to go home, that you'd come and take
me home.  Please Santa, please bring me back to my mommy and
daddy."
     Al choked back his feelings.  "I know how you feel Mike,
and if I could bring your parents back I would.  But bad
things happen sometimes and we can't change them no matter
how much we want to.  We can't even wish them away."
     "Your parents didn't want to leave you;  if there was
any way they could've stayed they would have. But they just
couldn't."
     The boy fell back into a chair, his tiny body slumping
in despair.  "Then I'll never see mommy and daddy again?"
     Al bent down beside him, pulling the cigar from his
mouth and flicking away the ashes before they had a chance to
singe his beard.  "You can see them any time you want son;
just close your eyes."
     Mike did so without question.
     "I want you to think about your dad, think about him
when he was smiling and you both were playing together. Think
about your mom fixing dinner or helping you get dressed, how
pretty her hair was and how nice she smiled when she hugged
you.  Can you do that?"
     Mike nodded.
     "Can you see them in your head?  Just like they used to
look?"  Al asked, his voice both warm and sad with the memory
of things long ago.
     "Yes," Mike answered slowly.
     "Open you eyes," Al told him.  "Mike, you can always do
that.  Your parents will always be with you in your memories,
and they'll always love you as much as you love them.  As
long as you don't forget that then you'll always be able to
feel them here."  Al pointed one gloved finger at Mike's
heart.
     "But what do I do now?" Mike asked.  "I can't go home
and I don't wanna stay here--it's yucky!"
     "You don't have to stay here,"  Al assured him.
"Tomorrow Santa is sending you a very special Christmas
present--two people named George and Laura Wilson.  They're
good friends of Santa's, and he's asked them to take care of
you.  Will you trust Santa when he tells you it's all right
to go with them?"
     "Okay Santa, I know you wouldna lie to anybody,"  Mike
said sincerely.
     "Good.  And remember, even if you get to love these new
people, and they love you, then that doesn't mean you still
can't love your real parents."
     "I understand."  Al winked at him playfully.  Gee, he
really is a smart kid, the admiral thought.
     Al pulled out the handlink and prepared to make his exit
when he heard the cafeteria door open.  A hand snapped on the
lightswitch, revealing Sam in his habit standing there
surounded by Mary Margaret's kindergarten class.  The
children, including Susan snuggled in Sam's arms, gaped at
"Santa" in wonder.
     "It is Santa!"  one little boy exclaimed.
     "You said he'd be here!"  Susan said to Sam.
     The crowd of children rushed over and surrounded Al, who
shot his best "I'll get you for this" expression back at Sam.
It was all the time traveller could do to stifle a laugh at
the scene.
     The boy Remo looked Al up and down suspiciously.  "Aw,
he's just some fake in a silly suit?"
     "Oh yeah?" Al shot back.  "You tell me, could a fake do
this?"
     Al laid one finger beside his nose as his other hand
surreptitiously worked the handlink.  To the crowd's
amazement "Santa" began to rise into the air!
     "Yikes!"  Remo exclaimed as the rest of the children
laughed at the show.
     At about ceiling level Al vanished and reappeared beside
Sam.  "What are you doin', bringing all these kids in here? I
thought this little heart-to-heart was just between me and
Mike!"
     Sam threw up his hands feebly.  "C'mon Al, you know what
kind of holiday these kids can expect.  I can't see the harm
in giving them this treat."
     Al shrugged in defeat.  "I guess you're right--just warn
me next time, okay?"
     "Why?"  Sam smiled.  "Don't you know when I've been bad
or good?"
     Al's very loud groan alerted the children to his new
position.  As they once more swarmed around him with the
questions and requests  he noticed that Remo had pushed his
way to the front of the group.
     "If you're the real Santa," he asked, "then why didn't
you bring me that bicycle I wanted last year?"
     Al waved his cigar airily in the boy's direction.
"That's the biz, sweetheart."
     For the next hour Al used the handlink to entertain the
children by creating an elaborate holographic show featuring
dinosaurs, clowns, cartoons, reindeer, and abstract images.
This'll blow the project's power bills sky high, Al
considered, but what the hell--this is Christmas!
     At last Sam could tell by their sleepy expressions that
the kids were worn out, so over many protests he began to
herd them back to bed.  As they marched off each one waved
good-bye, having had it explained to them that on days other
than Christmas Santa was just made of light and couldn't be
hugged.
     The last one to leave was Mike who, before he left,
turned and ran back to Al one last time.
     "Do you swear-really, REALLY swear-that these new people
who'll come get me are gonna be nice?"
     "I swear it,"  Al answered.  "So help me God."
     "So help you God,"  Mike echoed, and then, before Al
could react, reached up and gave Al a tight hug around the
waist.
     Mike disengaged himself and hurried after the rest of
the class.  Al watched him go with wide, disbelieving eyes.
     Sam walked back in to see Al waving his arm
experimentally through the Christmas tree.  "Is that the last
of them?" he asked, looking around.
     "Sam, did you see--I mean, how could he--it isn't
possible!"  Al sputtered.  "I'm just a hologram--he can't do
that!"
     "What?"  Sam queried.
     "Mike! He--"  Al caught himself as he looked at Sam's
confused expression.  "Never mind; you wouldn't believe me
even if I told you.  Let's chalk it up to some of that
'Christmas magic'."
     "Suit yourself," Sam replied. "What does Ziggy say
happens to Mike?"
     Al checked the readout.  "He gets adopted--hey, and get
this:  the Wilsons enjoy having a son so much they adopt
three more kids!  He grows up, goes to college, and becomes a
counselor for abandoned and abused children."
     Sam smiled.  "I guess we did it.  So why haven't I
leaped?"
     "Beats me," Al answered.  "I wish you'd hurry up;  I've
got to get back and play Santa at the Christmas party."
     "Tina talked you into it, huh?"
     "Well, you should've seen her elf costume.  Talk about
joy to the world..."
     Sam was about to make his standard protest when little
Remo stuck his head back through the door.
     "Okay, so maybe you really are Santa Claus!"  he said,
then scurried down the hall.
     The last sound Al heard before the flash of the leap was
Sam roaring with laughter.


FIN

(Author's note:  this story originally appeared in LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP 
#3 as "Kindred Spirits", but to tell the truth I never liked that title.
)

(Also, a free radium accelerator ring to the first person to correctly 
identify the special guest star in this story)