91 comments/ 100254 views/ 26 favorites A Miracle For Marcy By: DanielQSteele1 © Daniel Quentin Steele 2011 Author's note: This is my Christmas story and I hope LIT readers enjoy it. I didn't submit for the Xmas contest because it doesn't meet the contest rules. On another matter, I was unaware that LIT rules prohibit providing information about off-site publication. There have been major developments in the When We Were Married story and if anyone cares to contact me, I'll let you know where it can be found. And for those who care, there is no sex in this one but I think the story definitely falls into the Loving Wives category. * "Silent Night" echoed through the deserted hallways as he passed the nurse's station. Liz, a small dark woman who often worked the night shift, smiled at him and said, "Merry Christmas, Officer Belker." He glanced down at his watch and realized it was past midnight. Christmas morning. "Merry Christmas, Liz," he said, walking past her and entering a familiar doorway before she had a chance to say anything else, to offer condolences. He bent over and kissed the sleeping blonde princess who was ensnared in a jungle of tubes and cables and wires that invaded every part of her body, hooking her to machines that beeped and gurgled and hummed beside her hospital bed. "Hey, Marcy," he said softly, as he always did when he came in off shift. He pulled a chair up to her bed and turned it around, sitting across it, and held one of her small, cold, unmoving hands in his. Unlike every other night of his eight month vigil, this night he took his ten-shot police-issue Glock pistol out of his service holster and laid it on the bed near his right hand. Talking more to himself than her, he said, "I have to do this now, darling. I won't have the courage later. This has to end tonight." Then he started to talk to her about the day's events, as he always did. "I killed two men this morning. I mean, yesterday morning. The first two men I ever killed, on Christmas Eve." ####################### He had been parked in the darkened drive-through of an abandoned Shell station across the street and on the corner a half block down from the Baymeadows Barnett Bank. It was 2 a.m., the temperature on the sign in front of the bank down to 37 degrees. His sargeant had told him, "George, stay home,", but he could not stay in the warm and comfortable apartment he and Marcy had called home. He could not sleep there now, never could again. Because she was all around him as she had been before the freak medical accident had stolen her from him. Instead, he waited for the Night Depositor - as he had been dubbed by police - to make a visit to this bank as he had to three others in the past two months. The Depositor's MO was deceptively simple, taping an open plastic bag to the interior of a bank's night depository after banking hours so that unwary customers' deposits dropped into the bag. Before the bank opened he retrieved his bag and thousands of dollars in cash. Because of its location and the fact that retailers would be depositing large amounts of cash, he had gambled that the Depositor might hit the Baymeadows Bank, and his gamble had paid off. A late model Chevrolet entered the bank parking lot. The driver got out of his car and approached the depository, festooned with Christmas wreaths and decorations. The driver reached into the depository and pulled out a plastic bag. "Bingo," he said to himself softly and quietly turned the ignition on, picking up his mike and keying it to talk. "This is unit 37," he said, aware that communications knew the location of his off-duty stakeout. "I've got the Night Depositor in my sights. Request backup." A beat up and dusty red Mustang roared into the parking lot, cutting off the Depositor from his car. Two men jumped out of the Mustang, the revolver and shotgun they held frightening the Depositor into throwing up his hands and dropping his bag of money. He could hear the Depositor begging them to take the money, heard the gunmen laughing as they roughly forced him to kneel on the pavement. A BOLO alert from Atlanta had reported a pair of gunmen who preyed on convenience stores and other late night businesses might be heading for Jacksonville . In Atlanta and Charleston they had cold bloodedly executed their victims. "Police, stop." The gunman holding a revolver to the Depositor's head swung around first, bringing the revolver up to fire. A hail of bullets from the Glock threw the gunman onto the hood of the Mustang. The gunman holding the sawed off shotgun was saying something he couldn't make out for the roaring in his ears. Belker's body seemed to be acting on its own as he pumped rounds into the big man firing the shotgun. Something stung his face and he wiped away blood. When it was over, he asked the Depositor, huddling on the ground and shaking, "Are you alright?" The slightly built, blond man nodded yes. The gunman with the revolver was dead. A bullet had gone through his heart. The big man had fallen forward on his side. Belker rolled the big man over, feeling for a pulse at his throat. Suddenly, the big man grabbed his hand in a meaty paw. He flinched, but did not pull away. The big man couldn't talk, blood spilling out of his mouth showed that a bullet had gone through a lung. He was drowning in his own blood. He wanted to say something, but what do you say to a dying man you've just killed. He held the big man's hand while he struggled to breath and rhythmically squeezed and relaxed his grip, and the car radio in the Mustang played "Jingle Bell Rock." The big man let go of life and his grip quietly, the heavy, sweaty hand growing slack and loose. Belker was on his knees beside a dead man when he heard the Depositor scrambling to his feet and running to his car. He should have called halt, he should have fired a warning shot, but he couldn't let go of the dead man's hand. He still held it, tears streaming down his face, when the first units arrived. ################# "That's why I didn't come by this morning, Marcy. I was tied up with Internal Affairs investigating the shooting and going to University to get a few shotgun pellets dug out of my face and shoulder. "The Sheriff came by to talk to me. He said nobody blamed me for letting the Depositor go. Shock and reaction to the shooting. But they won't let me go back on the street. I can't blame them. I can't hold things together any more." ##################### Belker sat back in one of the hardback chairs that along with a plain metal desk marked every interrogation room in every police station in the world. Chris Coleman leaned forward in the chair and propped his elbows on the table in front of him. Harry Munson, another IAD spook, leaned his gangly frame back against the wall of the room and chewed on a toothpick. "I know we've been over this a dozen times, but this is the part I don't really understand, Belker. This is Christmas Eve. You're exhausted. Your wife is lying comatose in a hospital. You could have been by her side. Everyone says you are a devoted husband. Instead, you're out in the freezing cold by yourself, on an unauthorized stakeout. On a hunch? Why?" Belker rubbed his eyes. It felt like sand and grit caked the insides of his eyelids. He thought he probably smelled rank. He thought he'd showered yesterday, but the days had begun to run together. "I've already explained it, Coleman. I couldn't stand going back to my....our...place. I can't sleep there...not good. I get more sleep in my cruiser. And....I spend my free time with....Marcy. But I have to get away sometimes. I....I...can't.... "I'd been following the reports of the Depositor's pattern of hitting banks and I just had a hunch he might hit one in the Baymeadows area. It is a big commercial area, there are a lot of department stores so there would be a lot of merchant deposits. I took a chance he might hit this one." "It worked out," Munson said, He was usually the silent one. Coleman had done most of the talking for the last five hours since Belker'd finally finished all the paperwork involving two police shooting homicides and a successful bank robbery. He'd had at least a half dozen cups of coffee and he was still having trouble keeping his eyes open. "You were there, all by yourself, and you had him nailed. And he got away." "With what the bank people tell us could have been as much as a hundred thousand dollars. That's a nice payday," Coleman added. He stared into Belker's eyes. Belker held his gaze unblinking. "You've got a good record. You haven't killed anybody, until this morning, but you've been in shoot-outs, and you did put that one guy into the hospital last year. It's not like you're a rookie. Yet you froze and watched the Depositor drive off with his loot. It doesn't seem....it seems curious." Belker finally stared down at the table. He couldn't explain it to the IAD headhunter because he couldn't explain it to himself. "I don't know why. I've been asking myself why. Ever since this morning. I...just couldn't. Couldn't move." "Why are you still on the street, Belker?" "What else am I going to do?" "You could ask for desk duty. There are jobs you could fill. Jobs that wouldn't put you in situations..." "Where I could let a guy get away with a hundred thousand dollars in bank money? Right?" "Yeah." "You ever had anybody in the hospital, Coleman? Ever had somebody bad sick, hurt bad, in a hospital, for a long time? Ever had to sit and wait and do nothing but think....for hour after hour. I need to be out of the street, doing things. Not sitting behind a desk...thinking..." Coleman was silent. Finally: "No, I've never had anybody in the hospital. Not like your wife. And that's the only reason we're not coming down on you with both feet. You nailed two bad guys this morning. Good for you. But you let a thief skate with a hundred grand. Most departments I know of, that wouldn't get you any commendations." There was nothing he could say to that. He picked up the styrofoam coffee cup and sipped the coffee inside. It was cold and bitter. The door to the interrogation room opened. A short, pudgy, rumpled-looking guy with light brown, sparse hair and an expressonless face, wearing a sweater and a pair of brown slacks, walked in. He nodded toward the two IAD detectives and Coleman got up. Both men followed him outside. Belker recognized him. He was just surprised to see him at the Cop Shop on Christmas Eve. Belker made himself sip more of the cold, bitter coffee to put something in his stomach. Ten minutes later the door opened again and the rumpled guy walked back in. He stared at Belker for just a moment, then sat down opposite him. "It's nothing personal, Officer Belker." "I know, Mr. Maitland." "IAD guys don't trust their own mothers. Occupational hazard. A thief gets away with a hundred grand when you could have popped him and the first thought in their heads is that you worked a deal with him. Took a cut." "I didn't." "I know. I believe you. We've -- our office and IAD -- checked it out under a microscope. Everything you've told us fits. The first officers on the scene told us you were in shock. I doubt many people are good enough actors to fool a bunch of street cops. "You have shotgun pellet holes in your face and shoulder. A little closer or better aim on the part of the guy with the .45 and you wouldn't be sitting here right now." Maitland stared into his eyes and Belker had to fight the feeling that he was staring into his soul. He was just good at his job. He'd been the guy who did most of the heavy lifting over at the State Attorney's Office for a few years and Belker was used to seeing him at crime scenes when in other years younger men and women would be out in the rain and after hours. "And, if you were dirty, you'd have raised a lot more than $250,000 to get that British doctor over here to see if he could help your wife. Yeah, I knew something about your situation but today I did some in-depth checking. It's a million, right? A million dollars is what it would cost to get that experimental treatment and that team of docs over here." "Yeah. A million dollars. That's all." "A lot of money, but a dirty cop might be able to raise it." "A million dollars is further away than the moon, Mr. Maitland. If I thought it would have given Marcy a chance, I'd have been the dirtiest cop that ever lived. But, I still couldn't raise a million dollars. And I couldn't face her if I'd saved her by doing that. She would hate me. Even so, I think I would. I'd rather have her alive and hating me, than....the way it is now. But it wouldn't work..." A tall dark haired man with a face pockmarked by teenage acne wearing Jacksonville Sheriff's Department blues stepped into the room and exchanged glances with Maitland, then looked at Belker? "How are you doing, Officer?" "Alright sir." Sheriff Gerald Knight looked back at Maitland with an unspoken question. Maitland stared at Belker but he was talking to the Sheriff. "It was a clean shoot, Sheriff. I'll make sure the paperwork is filed and I'll sign off on it. Cut the dog and pony show. Let Belker go. Okay?" Knight just looked at him for a moment, then walked over until he was standing beside Belker, who had to crane his neck up. Knight was a tall man. "You know I can't let you go back out on the street, right?" "I...uh....I kind of thought that was how it would go down." Knight rested his hand on Belker's shoulder. "You're a good cop, and a good man, Belker. You did a standup thing, taking out those two killers the way you did. And I know...I still dream about the first guy I ever killed. And that was 20 years ago. It's harder than it looks in the movies. But..." "But....?" "You can't have officers out on the street who freeze. If the Depositor had been any other kind of guy, you'd be lying on a slab right now. Forget about the money he got away with. You could get other officers, or civilians killed. I can't take that chance." "I understand." Knight shook his head a little. "I know the FOP has done some things to help raise money for you, but I could pass the word to work on it harder. Remember, there's always hope as long as she's alive." Belker examined the pockmarked moon surface of the metal interrogation table as he said, "She doesn't have forever. They're keeping her alive, but the doctors say it's not a stable situation. Little by little, she's slipping away, shutting down. She has months, maybe, maybe weeks. Not years. After awhile it won't matter if we do get Wallinsky to fly in here. It will be too late. He's not a miracle worker. He can't bring back the dead." Finally Knight reached out to lay his hand on Belker's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'll see what we can do to help. When this is over, get away from here. Take a few days off, a week to get your head together before you come back to active duty." He stopped by Maitland and held out his hand. Maitland reached out and shook the Sheriff's hand. "Thanks for coming out, Bill. You could have sent somebody." "Everybody has plans on Christmas Eve. And Debbie had this thing at UNF so she won't be home till this evening. And the kids...well, they're teenagers. You know." Knight just gave him a slight smile. "Yeah, do I ever know. Mine are 14, 17 and 20. That's the bad thing about family planning. Those teen years last forever." Belker stared at the two men. Joking about teenagers and the challenge of surviving the teen years. He wondered sometimes, staring at the ethereal blonde features of the most beautiful woman in the world sleeping in a medically induced trance that no kiss would ever rouse her from, what their children would have looked like. Would they have been dark and stocky and Eastern European-looking like him, or blonde and fair and lithe like their mother. He'd never know. He had finally made himself face it. There wouldn't be any children. Ever. The Sheriff looked back at him one last time but said nothing. Then he was gone. Maitland leaned back in his chair. "You're free to go, Officer Belker. I know this has been a really shitty way to spend Christmas Eve. A really shitty eight months. I wish....I wish there was something I could do. But, I don't come from money and I really don't know anybody I could hit up." "A very shitty eight months, Mr. Maitland. But..." Maitland looked at him curiously. "I know two men are dead, and the bank is out a hundred grand, but I'm not sorry that I saved his life -- the Depositor. He's a thief, but he didn't deserve to be executed. Nobody deserves to die like that." Maitland stood up. He looked down at Belker, then said, "What are you going to do when you walk out of here. Going to see Marcy?" "Yeah, eventually. I...see her every day. Every day. But..today I'm going to go home and shower, go out and get something to eat and then I'm heading over to Baptist to see her. I don't have any family. Both my parents are dead. So it's just....me and her. I...won't be leaving her...until Christmas is past." "I have a better idea. I'll follow you to your place, let you get a shower, and then I want you to follow me. We're spending Christmas Eve and having dinner with my wife's parents, Roy and Cathy Bascomb. Spend the evening with us, have a good dinner, and then you can go be with Marcy." "I couldn't. Christmas is for spending time with your family. I'd...be a downer if I came over. You don't need my troubles." "Please. I can't do anything about your real problem, but nobody should be as alone as you are on Christmas Eve. I'll feel better if you come over. Just for a few hours." At 7 p.m. he was following Maitland's Escalade into a residential neighborhood and finally pulled up into a circular driveway leading up to a two-story brick home. Metal deer gamboled inside a forest of wire christmas trees and the house flashed a cheery red/green/blue message of "Merry Xmas" and "A Happy 2005." He stepped out of his cruiser and followed Maitland toward the front door. Before they reached the porch a blonde woman dressed in a green dress and wearing an apron covered with white powder looking like something out of a Betty Crocker ad opened the door and came up to Maitland, enveloping him in a hug. "Bill, I'm glad you made it here. Roy and I have almost had to sit on those two to keep them from going out with their friends. We're not the world's most popular grandparents right now." "You did the right thing. Deb should be here soon. I haven't been able to reach her, but you know she turns off her cell at those things." A look flashed between the two and Belker felt for a moment like he was intruding on a private conversation. "You know she has to. It's university policy. She'll be here soon." Cathy Bascomb put one hand out to touch his arm in an oddly maternal gesture and said, "Oh...alright. I'm just glad you're both going to be here and that you insisted on BJ and Kelly at least spending dinner with us. Debbie at the university and you gone to the courthouse....it's an old story. Someday..." She stopped in mid-word and almost physically bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else. Maitland turned back to Belker. "We have our Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve, usually with Cathy and Roy. Our kids -- Bj is 13 and Kelly 17, will be gone like wild horses once they've opened their few presents tomorrow morning. When they get up beyond a certain age, all their presents are expensive and they don't get a bundle. But they'll be happy." He looked back at Cathy. "Cathy, this is George Belker." He held out his hand but she brushed it aside and enveloped him in a hug. She was a tall woman, about five foot eight, and solid, but not fat. As she pulled him to her he felt the soft give of her large breasts and felt embarrassed and aroused at the same time. She was a grandmother, for God's sake. But it had been eight months.... A Miracle For Marcy "Officer Belker, Bill called and told me what had happened. I was so sorry to hear about your wife. I am so glad that you accepted his offer to come and spend a few hours with us. I think you'll enjoy the dinner. Bill says I'm not really a bad cook." Maitland grinned. "You are entirely too good a cook, Cathy, to be constantly angling for compliments. You ever known me to pass up an invitation to eat here?" "You need to pass up a few meals," she said, but the fond smile removed the sting from the words. "Probably." Then he turned back to Belker, who was to surreptitiously trying to adjust his trousers to conceal a growing problem. "Cathy, we'll be right behind you." She turned and walked inside. Belker couldn't help looking at her walk away. God almighty. Maitland glanced back at the front of Belker's trousers. He just shook his head. "Take a minute and then come in." His glance followed the swaying figure of the Betty Crocker grandmother. "Don't be embarrassed, Belker. All the woman in this family have that effect. She's where they get it from." When he could he walked in the door to the smell of turkey and dressing and what he would have sworn was apple pie. From somewhere not too far away rap or some teen type music blasted away. He felt like an alien. This was not his world. Maybe it had been at one time, but no longer. Coming here had been a mistake. Maitland had thought it would make him feel better. It made him feel worse beyond any words. Maitland walked around a corner. "The dinner is ready but we're going to hold off a few more minutes to give Debbie time to get here. You like some coffee, tea? Something stronger?" "Coffee'd be fine. Black." He drank it while meeting Cathy's husband, a tall, balding guy who was watching something on a nature channel. The 13 year-old called BJ just waved at him as his father introduced him and Maitland said that daughter Kelly would be down when it was time to eat. After Belker drank the coffee he told Maitland he wanted to just step outside and enjoy the cool air. He had been cooped inside all day. It was full dark now, the Christmas ornaments lighting up the yard. Looking up and down the middle class street, he saw yards lit with Santa Clauses, elves, deer, garlands of multicolor lights. His breath frosted as he breathed in and out. It came into his mind without his control or bidding. He was sitting inside Marcy's 2000 red Saturn coupe, what she laughingly referred to as the last survivor of her bachelor girl days. They had gone out just driving around Riverside, looking through the neighborhoods that vied for the most elaborate Christmas decorations. He sat back in the passenger seat as they parked on a side street and said, "This is where you tell me you've run out of gas and want to fool around, right?" "In your dreams, cowboy. You've got to wine and dine me first." He picked up the 16 ounce Pepsi in the cupholder and then the supersized SlimJim. "Will this do?" "Good enough," she said with a smile that haunted his dreams as she slid over into his arms. It was their Last Christmas. He came out of the past as a car pulled into the driveway. It was a small sporty thing in the darkness. As it pulled up in front of the front door he could tell in the light from the Christmas decorations that it was a red Audi two-seater. What his friends and single cops on the beat would call a Pussy Wagon. He had never had the money for one, but he'd had a few friends who had. And they did work as magnets for women. Something about that power under the hood, or the wealth they represented. He'd never owned a new car in his life. He stood to one side in the shadows so the people inside the car couldn't see him unless they were looking for him. The woman in the passenger seat was talking and then laughing about something. She opened the door and slid long legs in a short skirt out and then leaned forward to get out. He didn't need an introduction to know who she was. She was her mother's daughter, but even more beautiful. Maitland was a lucky man. The driver said something and touched her on the shoulder. Belker could only see that he was dark haired and young. She leaned over and casually brushed her lips against his and then slid out of the car. "You going to that party?" "Yeah. Nowhere else to go. No family down here. But it should be nice. You have a nice evening with your family and a very merry Christmas." "You too, Doug, and if I don't see you before then, a happy New Year. Just don't get too drunk and do something you won't remember -- or will regret later." "You too." She swiveled her head toward the house and an expression flashed across her face so quickly he couldn't label it. "No chance of that, Doug. Drive carefully." She was walking up toward the door as the Audi smoothly slid away. She saw him and stopped. "You must be Mrs. Maitland. Didn't mean to startle you. My name is Belker. Patrolman George Belker." "Patrolman....? You're not in uniform so this isn't anything official. Can I ask..." "I...your husband felt sorry for me because I'm....alone...this Christmas and invited me here for a few hours to have dinner with you guys. I hope I'm not intruding on your family time." She gave him a look that as good as said he was intruding and a pain in the ass, but she said, "You did startle me, Officer Belker, but I shouldn't have been surprised. I don't know why you're alone, but you're welcome to share our food and our company. I can't imagine what it would be like....to be alone on Christmas Eve." The door opened and Maitland stepped out. The two exchanged glances and then Maitland, standing above her on the porch, stepped forward and grabbed her chin and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her lips. Somehow his lips slid until they landed on her cheek. "It was a good thing, a kind thing, inviting Officer Belker to spend Christmas Eve with us, Bill, but I wish you'd called and let me know. I'd have come home earlier..." "Would you?" She gave him a hard look. "Business is social and vice versa. We both know that. This was social but it's part of the game. You had to be there. No reason for you to come home early. And I didn't call you because your cell was turned off." She turned back to Belker. "Anyway, Officer, we always have more than enough food for an army. My mother cooks like the end of the world is around the corner. I imagine the dinner is ready and that they were holding everything for me. Usually it's my husband that's late or never shows up, but this time it's me." "Thank you, Mrs. Maitland. I'll be right in. I....uh....was just...thinking about some things out here. Alone. It helps." She stared at him and he thought for the first time that night she was seeing him as a human being. "Come in whenever you're ready, officer." She turned to walk in and as she passed her husband she leaned in to give him a quick hug and patted his belly. "And no thirds this time, okay. I want to be an old widow, not a young one." "As long as we die in bed together." She just shook her head and walked past him and into the house. So they had problems. Maitland had told him they'd been married for nearly 20 years and together for two years before that. It was plain to see that she had her life and he had his. It wasn't that unusual. But they were still married. They still slept in the same bed. He'd have given anything in the world to be an old, grumpy couple with Marcy. He opened and closed the door behind him quietly. He expected they'd have moved into the large dining room but as he approached the den he heard them talking and stopped. "...so why am I not surprised, Bill. I show up to spend a few hours with my husband and kids and parents -- my family -- away from our jobs -- and you've dragged up another stray." "You can't be that fucking cold. I know you don't give a damn about my job or what I do, but the poor bastard just killed two men, got kicked off the street away from the job he loves, and his wife of four years is dying in an irreversible coma. And he's alone on Christmas Eve. I don't make any excuses for inviting him into our home for a few hours. And if you don't like it, tough shit." "Oh, make me the bitch, like you always do. I feel sorry for him. I didn't know any of that and it's terrible. But I was thinking...hoping...that once, just once, we'd be able to sit around and eat turkey and tease our kids....pretend like we're a normal family. Spend a holiday with just us...not the ghosts you carry around, not the victims of the cases you're trying, not the all the terrible things out there that most people never think about. Maybe that makes me a bitch, but I wanted it to be about US...for a change." There was a long silence and Belker was trying to figure out if he should start walking again, when he heard, "I don't think you're a bitch, Deb. I get angry at you sometimes, but you're still the woman I love. I wish I could give you what you want, but we're not a normal family. I am who I am and the world is what it is. Do you think....think we can pretend that we are a normal family for a few days. Not just for him, for us. It's been too long. I just want us to have a good Christmas Eve and Christmas...the way it used to be." "It will never be the way it was, Bill." "You don't believe that." "...sometimes." There was a longer silence. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a bitch. I don't know where that comes from sometimes. I know why you invited him here. It's who you are. It's why I love you, even when you irritate the hell out of me." "As long as you still love me." "Never doubt that, Mr. Maitland." "I never have." An hour later Belker made a "no mas" gesture to Cathy Bascomb as she tried to pile more turkey and oyster stuffing and candied yams and stuffed mushrooms caps and jellied cranberry sauce onto his plate. "My stomach will explode, Mrs. Bascomb. Please, no more. It was all delicious." Roy Bascomb from the seat at the head of the table laughed and said, "She is not only the hottest grandmother around, she's also the best cook." Cathy Bascomb smiled at her husband and said, "I don't know if that's true, but I haven't had any complaints in either area." The teenager everybody called BJ rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, Jeez, gram, you guys go get a room, or something." His sister who had finally come down and was picking at her food while obviously aching to get away to get back to what he'd been told was a non-stop telephone marathon with at least two boyfriends just gave him a look, obviously wondering if they could be legitimately related. Belker almost felt sorry for the Maitlands. This one was going to be hell on wheels. He was happily married and loved Marcy beyond any limits, but this brunette teenager could tempt a stone statue. Roy Bascomb laughed and told his grandson, "You'll be a lucky man if you get some sweet young thing that's half the woman your grandmother is. Debbie Bascomb joined the laughter and said, "I hate to agree with BJ, but folks, get a room. You're embarassing our guest." "No," Belker found himself saying. "Two people that care for each other after a long time...that's nothing to be embarrassed about. I wish...." He pushed himself away from the table. "Thank you for the food, Mr. and Mrs. Bascomb, and for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, but it's time I took off. I have things to do and I have to go see Marcy." Cathy Bascomb put one hand on his shoulder to stop him from rising. "At least, Officer Belker, you have to stay and try my home made Dutch Apple Pie. One piece and some coffee and we'll let you go. A few minutes won't kill you." So two coffees and two slices of Dutch Apple Pie later, he finally pushed himself away from the table and made his goodbyes. Kelly Maitland had already vanished, followed closely by her younger brother. "Thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. Bascomb. I...you made this a good Christmas Eve. Thank you." Cathy Bascomb made a move to approach him but he slipped away from the hug. He didn't want to walk away from these nice people with a rampant hard on. "I hope everything works out for you, Officer," she said, with a little smile and what might have been a glance at his groin. He wondered for a second if she was as naïve and innocent a grandmother as she appeared to be. A woman couldn't look like that and be that age and not know the effect she had on men. "God works in mysterious ways. I really believe that. I am a Christian and I believe there is always hope. I'll be praying for a miracle for your Marcy." Roy Bascomb just shook his hand and said, "Good luck, Officer." Cathy Bascomb said, "I'll get Bill and Debbie," but Belker shook his head and said, "I'll say goodbye on my way out. Have a Merry Christmas." They were back in the den and, again, he heard them before he saw them. '....why not? The Hunts have all the money in the world, and Gail is your friend. She runs that place. A half million dollars or so would be pocket change to them. All you'd have to do is ask. You've never asked her for anything, in all the years you worked for that bank or since." "She's my friend BECAUSE I've never asked her for anything, Bill. You have no idea what it's like to be that rich. Everybody always -- always -- wants something. That's why she married her first husband. Because he never wanted anything from her, never asked anything, never cared about her money." "And see how much good that did him. She screwed around on him, dumped him, nearly got him killed, and just walked away from him." "She had reasons." "They always do. I'm not asking you to ask her to help Belker because she's a wonderful woman. I think she's a deceiving, cold hearted bitch, but she is rich. And she is your friend." "I can't, Bill. I'm sorry. I just can't." "Have you forgotten....it was me in that hospital bed once upon a time? And if it wasn't for the kindness, and mercy of a stranger, I might never have gotten out of it. We wouldn't be here, nor would Kelly and BJ. You do what you have to do, Debbie, but I know what I'd do if she was my friend." Belker let a few moments pass and then stepped hard enough so they could hear him. "Mr. Maitland, I'm going to go now. Mrs. Maitland, thank you for allowing me to share your Christmas Eve. I will never forget it." He walked out before they could say anything. It was nearly 9 p.m. and he could have driven straight to Baptist and Marcy, but she wasn't going anywhere. Until later tonight. And he wanted to take a last look around. So he drove the deserted night streets of Jacksonville, from the Riverwalk to the Courthouse to the Cop Shop to Arlington and out Arlington to Jacksonville Beach. He parked his cruiser in a beach entrance and walked out into the soft sand. He might have been the only person alive in the world. There was only the night sky, a sliver of moon, and the waves rolling in off the ocean. When he left, it felt like he was saying goodbye. ############# He held Marcy's small hand in his as he thought over the events of the last nearly 24 hours. She now knew what had happened, and she'd understand. "It's like I've been tired and haven't been able to think straight, but while I was holding that guy's hand, it all became clear. It's all a lie. Christmas, miracles, happiness. None of it is real. I can't afford the million dollars it would take to bring that specialist from London and I never will. And someday, someday soon, after you've suffered too long, you'll die." Shivering and feeling like a weak old man, he picked the Glock off her bed with his right hand and, disengaging his left hand from hers, brushed the hair back from her face. "I won't let you go alone, Marcy. I'll go with you now and we'll be together again. God, I've missed you." "Officer Belker!" Liz's slim body was outlined in the doorway by light from the hall. Something glinted on her cheeks and he realized she was crying too. "It's a miracle! The chief of surgery said Dr. Wallinsky called a few minutes ago from London. Somebody - they don't know who - has paid the way for his entire surgical team to fly here next week." Wallinsky's experimental surgery might not save Marcy, but it gave her a chance. Who could have come up with that money? Eight months of begging and fund raising hadn't come close to a raising more than a quarter of the million dollars for the procedure. The phone by the bed rang. He holstered the Glock and picked the receiver up. "I'm calling from the hospital pay phone in the lobby. There's no way you could catch me before I get out of here." With the first words he knew who the caller was. "Why?" "You saved my life. They were going to kill me. I owe you -- big time. So I got with a friend of mine who does magic with computers. We did a little checking and found out about your wife- and about Dr. Wallinski in London. "Trouble was, all I could come up with was 500K. But it was better than nothing. I have it set up where I can transfer it electronically on the last day of the world. Then my friend tells me there's a $500,000 deposit made into your Marcy fund an hour ago. Who the hell comes up with $500,000 on Christmas Eve with all the banks closed?" He didn't even know he was talking until he heard himself say, "Gail Hunt." "How did you....yeah, Gail Hunt of the Hunt Bank clan. I don't know how you know them, but....anyway, I had to dip into -- that's clean out - my savings to pay my part for that English doctor, but I'll make it up next year. There are always more banks. Who knows, Ms. Hunt might make up part of my losses." "If I tell anyone where the money -your money - is coming from?" "How are you going to prove it? The money is clean - and anonymous. The doctor is paid and he's not going to give his fee back. Relax, Officer Belker. This is Christmas. It's the time for giving gifts - and accepting them." After a moment's silence, the Night Depositor added, "Merry Christmas, Officer Belker. I hope your wife makes it." There was more silence and then he heard himself say, "Thank you." He knew he was thanking more than a grateful thief, more than a compassionate prosecutor, more than a woman who had remembered what mercy felt like, and a woman who might be a deceiving, cold-hearted bitch, but had not forgotten what friendship was. He wanted to laugh, and he wanted to cry. He settled for kissing Marcy's hand, picking Liz up in a bear hug and swinging her around and kissing her on the forehead. He knew Marcy wouldn't mind. Liz smiled up at him through her tears. "This really is a miracle, isn't it?" Now he could laugh and he did, stopping only to say, "Oh yes, more than you will ever know." THE END