chair, and the children gather around. I pull my coat a little closer to me to keep out the chill, but I still can’t move. I tell myself my quarry is in there and I need to watch for him so I can do my job and get the hell home and back to my own life. Santa extends his arms, and the first child races to him, hugs him, and receives a hug in return. Santa doesn’t put the little girl on his lap, and I know it’s because there is no “what do you want for Christmas” talk coming. For kids like these, like I was, no one asks. You get what you’re given and that’s all.
What surprises me is how tactile and warm the Santa seems to be. He spends a few minutes with each child, holding them as though he knows just how badly they need it.
I blink once again. I don’t want to remember how terribly I’d wanted to be hugged and held when my mother and father were no longer around. But I didn’t get that. Obviously, things have changed, because even the nun touches the children as she gently guides them to Santa.
Once he’s talked to each of them, Santa reaches into his bag, rummaging so dramatically that I can’t help smiling. Then his hand emerges with a present and he gives it to the child. I wish I could see the light in their eyes for only a second. But then, I don’t need to, because I can remember the years I’d gotten a gift from the Santa at the home, and I knew what it meant to know that someone hadn’t forgotten me and that there was even just one present out there with my name on it.
Finally this shit is over, and I am about to turn to leave. Let the children have their happy night—Lord knows they deserve it. I’d pick up my quarry in the morning and take care of business then. I take one last look at the scene in front of me and stifle a gasp as Santa lifts his gaze and looks straight at me.
Those eyes, a deep cerulean blue, are unforgettable. I’ve seen them before—I’ve been following their owner for days. They belong to my quarry, and I swallow hard. My quarry, the guy I’m supposed to kill, spends his off time at an orphanage, playing Santa Claus and making sure these children—the ones no one seems to want, kids like I was—have a merry Christmas. Something isn’t fucking right.
I step back, away from the window, and into the shadow and darkness where I belong. I’m not concerned that he’ll recognize me or anything. Hell, I’m not even sure he can actually see me through the window. The room is bright and ablaze with warmth and comfort.
I, on the other hand, am outside in the dark. I never meant for my life to turn out this way, but it became very clear to me from an early age that I belonged in the shadows. That way no one saw me, didn’t bother me or pick on me. Night, shadow, and blackness were my friends and allowed me to exist, providing safety of a sort.
I sigh and decide to take a chance. I take a step forward, walk in front of the windows, and chance a look inside. What I see stops me in my tracks. He, my quarry, the one in the Santa suit, is surrounded by the excited, jumping children, accepting hugs. They’re all holding presents, and as I continue on, they sit and began ripping open the packages. I don’t see what each of them gets, but I’m curious beyond belief. They’ve passed out of sight, and I have to let it all go. It’s too dangerous to walk past again and draw suspicion, so I continue on, debating whether I should lie in wait or simply go home. I opt for the latter and pick up my pace.
The walk home gets more and more miserable with each step. The concentration that kept the cold and wet out of my mind is now gone, and as soon as I don’t have anything more important to worry about, the discomfort roars into my brain. I pull my coat tighter around me, picking up my pace, and try to forget about the warmest, bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life. They stay with me the entire trip, keeping some of the chill at bay.
Once I reach my building, I use my pass
What surprises me is how tactile and warm the Santa seems to be. He spends a few minutes with each child, holding them as though he knows just how badly they need it.
I blink once again. I don’t want to remember how terribly I’d wanted to be hugged and held when my mother and father were no longer around. But I didn’t get that. Obviously, things have changed, because even the nun touches the children as she gently guides them to Santa.
Once he’s talked to each of them, Santa reaches into his bag, rummaging so dramatically that I can’t help smiling. Then his hand emerges with a present and he gives it to the child. I wish I could see the light in their eyes for only a second. But then, I don’t need to, because I can remember the years I’d gotten a gift from the Santa at the home, and I knew what it meant to know that someone hadn’t forgotten me and that there was even just one present out there with my name on it.
Finally this shit is over, and I am about to turn to leave. Let the children have their happy night—Lord knows they deserve it. I’d pick up my quarry in the morning and take care of business then. I take one last look at the scene in front of me and stifle a gasp as Santa lifts his gaze and looks straight at me.
Those eyes, a deep cerulean blue, are unforgettable. I’ve seen them before—I’ve been following their owner for days. They belong to my quarry, and I swallow hard. My quarry, the guy I’m supposed to kill, spends his off time at an orphanage, playing Santa Claus and making sure these children—the ones no one seems to want, kids like I was—have a merry Christmas. Something isn’t fucking right.
I step back, away from the window, and into the shadow and darkness where I belong. I’m not concerned that he’ll recognize me or anything. Hell, I’m not even sure he can actually see me through the window. The room is bright and ablaze with warmth and comfort.
I, on the other hand, am outside in the dark. I never meant for my life to turn out this way, but it became very clear to me from an early age that I belonged in the shadows. That way no one saw me, didn’t bother me or pick on me. Night, shadow, and blackness were my friends and allowed me to exist, providing safety of a sort.
I sigh and decide to take a chance. I take a step forward, walk in front of the windows, and chance a look inside. What I see stops me in my tracks. He, my quarry, the one in the Santa suit, is surrounded by the excited, jumping children, accepting hugs. They’re all holding presents, and as I continue on, they sit and began ripping open the packages. I don’t see what each of them gets, but I’m curious beyond belief. They’ve passed out of sight, and I have to let it all go. It’s too dangerous to walk past again and draw suspicion, so I continue on, debating whether I should lie in wait or simply go home. I opt for the latter and pick up my pace.
The walk home gets more and more miserable with each step. The concentration that kept the cold and wet out of my mind is now gone, and as soon as I don’t have anything more important to worry about, the discomfort roars into my brain. I pull my coat tighter around me, picking up my pace, and try to forget about the warmest, bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life. They stay with me the entire trip, keeping some of the chill at bay.
Once I reach my building, I use my pass
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