part 5

December 23rd arrives with a blast of cold air and early darkness. The dreams are getting worse. Last night I woke up three times, each time certain I could hear Tommy calling my name from the bathroom. Cheri says I've been talking in my sleep more, but she won't tell me what I've been saying.

The bookstore is chaos today. Parents desperately searching for last-minute gifts, children running between the aisles, the constant chime of the register. I should be grateful for the distraction, but every time the door opens, letting in a gust of cold air, I remember how cold it was that night.

"Kenny?" Mrs. Henderson's voice makes me jump. I'm standing in the children's section, holding a copy of "The Night Before Christmas." How long have I been here? "The Wilsons are looking for help in Mystery."

"Right. Sorry." I put the book back, but something catches my eye. The illustration on the cover – a family decorating their tree. The mother is wearing red lipstick. Was she wearing that before? No, that's impossible. It's just a children's book. Just a drawing.

"Are you feeling alright, dear?" Mrs. Henderson puts her hand on my arm. "You look just like your mother did that last day she came in. All pale and shaky. The day she asked me about-"

"I need to use the bathroom," I cut her off, pulling away. The fluorescent lights suddenly seem too bright, making everything sharp and harsh.

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. Don't look in the mirror. Don't look in the mirror. Don't-

I look up.

For a moment, everything's normal. Just my own reflection, water dripping down my face. Then I see her standing behind me, her lipstick smeared across her face like a wound.

"Kenny... what did you do with the presents?"

I spin around. The bathroom is empty. Of course it's empty. But I can smell her perfume, the same perfume she always wore at Christmas. Channel No. 5, mixed with pine needles and hot chocolate and-

And copper. The metallic smell of-

No.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me gasp. A text from Cheri: "Got off early! Started wrapping presents. Don't come home for an hour "

Presents. Wrapped in shiny paper with bows and tags. Just like the ones I had wrapped that night, arranged so carefully under the tree. Before Tommy started asking questions. Before Mom found the receipts. Before-

The bathroom door opens and I nearly scream, but it's just a customer. Just a normal person using a normal bathroom on a normal day. Nothing to worry about.

"Excuse me," the man says, giving me an odd look. I realize I'm still standing at the sink, knuckles white where I'm gripping the porcelain.

Back in the store, everything looks different. The Christmas displays seem to pulse with the overhead lights. A child's laughter sounds like screaming. And every book cover, every Christmas card, every holiday advertisement shows the same face.

Mom's face.

"Kenny?" It's Mrs. Henderson again. "Your shift ended twenty minutes ago."

Has it been that long? I check my phone. 6:47 PM. December 23rd.

Twenty-four hours until Christmas Eve.

Twenty-four hours until-

"I have to go," I mumble, grabbing my coat. As I rush past the front window, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the darkened glass. For a second, I swear I see Tommy standing next to me, his face just like it was that night, eyes wide with understanding as he said-

As he said-

What did he say?

I can't remember.

The walk home is a blur of Christmas lights and evening shadows. Every storefront window seems to hold a reflection that shouldn't be there. Every passing stranger wears my mother's face for just a split second before transforming back to normal. The sound of scissors cutting through wrapping paper follows me down the street, though there's no one around me.

*snip*

*snip*

*snip*

The same sound from that night, when Mom was wrapping the last of the presents. The sound that mixed with Tommy's voice as he said... as he said...

I stop walking. I'm standing in front of our apartment building, but I don't remember the last ten minutes of my journey. The Christmas lights in the lobby window blink in a steady rhythm. Red. Green. Red. Green. Red.

Red like lipstick.
Red like-

No.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Cheri: "Coast is clear! Come up whenever you're ready! "

The elevator feels smaller than usual. The mirrors on either side show endless reflections of me, and in each one, I look different. Younger. Older. Covered in... No. Just shadows. Just tricks of the light.

Our apartment door is decorated with a wreath now. Cheri must have put it up today. The pine smell hits me as soon as I reach for the handle, and suddenly I'm back there. Back home. Mom's in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Tommy's by the tree, picking up each present, shaking it, trying to guess what's inside.

"This one's heavy," he says, holding up a box. "What'd you get me, Kenny?"

The receipt is crumpled in my pocket. The one from the pawn shop. The one that would tell them everything if they found it. The one that-

"Kenny? Is that you?"

Cheri's voice snaps me back. I'm standing in our apartment doorway, key still in the lock.

"Yeah," I manage to say. "Just... tired."

The apartment is transformed. Cheri's been busy. Garland hangs from every doorway. More Christmas lights wind around the windows. And in the corner, a small artificial tree, already surrounded by wrapped presents.

"Don't look too closely!" she warns, coming out of the bedroom. She's wearing one of my old sweaters, her hair tied up messily. There's a piece of tape stuck to her cheek. "I'm not quite done wrapping everything."

She looks so normal. So real. This has to be real.

But then I see it. On the coffee table. A pair of scissors, their blades catching the light of the Christmas tree.

*snip*

*snip*

*snip*

"Kenny?" Cheri's voice sounds far away. "You're doing it again. That thing where you go somewhere else."

"Sorry," I say automatically. "Just remembering something."

"About your family?"

Yes. No. Maybe. The memories are there, just out of reach, like a word on the tip of my tongue. Like blood under your fingernails that won't quite wash away no matter how hard you scrub-

"Kenny?"

"I'm fine," I say, but my voice sounds wrong. Everything sounds wrong. The Christmas lights are too bright. The scissors are too sharp. The presents are too perfectly wrapped, just like Mom's always were, just like they were that night before everything went-

"Maybe we should call Dr. Matthews," Cheri says softly. "I know you haven't seen her in a while, but with Christmas coming up..."

Dr. Matthews. Of course. The therapist they made me see after... after...