The Last Christmas On Earth

EPISODE III-4

For the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, Helen and James had fruitlessly stuck looking for an idea, a logical thread, a clue.

"Just yesterday, Stevenson had told me jokingly, but it seems to me to be right in the middle of an episode of X Files ..." Helen murmured suddenly demoralized.

"The only thing I'm sure of is that fortunately, you weren't here last night, everything else counts very little for me..." James answered seriously, and she nodded gravely. He sensed how deeply she was suffering and felt the impulse to embrace her, but after the incident of the night before he was not sure she wanted that too. And then, shortly afterward all the agents would have returned, if someone had caught them in an equivocal attitude they would have added complications to the problems.

"What can we do?" Helen asked in a faint voice.

"I swear I wish I knew," he replied, disheartened.

"Perhaps it would really be appropriate to call the Bureau, what do you think?" She then proposed judging that they had already run out of gas. James looked out the window and found himself frustrated.

If they haven't had all those problems it would have been a wonderful sunny day, one of those that at the end of the shift you take your family and load them in the car driving straight to the sea to take a nice bath, so much for December. And then to eat a sumptuous pizza. He snorted indecisively.

"I believe it would not be good. Obviously, something happened beyond our understanding, there are very powerful forces at play that we do not know and that act in the shadows. Stevenson is probably right, maybe the best thing would be to simply pretend that nothing ever happened ..." he suggested.

"You know it's not possible. Surely sooner or later this story will come up and then someone will come and ask us to give an explanation of what happened," Helen objected.

"On the contrary, it seems to me that whoever is behind all this is working to eliminate all evidence of what happened. Indeed, if we were to tell this story, that someone would do anything to make us ridicule or, worse, to put us in silence. Except for this mysterious box, which until proven otherwise could only be an empty box, we have nothing in hand. And, furthermore, by making this story known, we would be investigated for letting us swindle all the evidence in such a manner," James explained.

"And Harry? What if he saw something? If he speaks he could at least help us to clarify some things, after all on his bike and on the fishing rod there was the same dust."

James thought about his son's strange behavior and frowned.

"In this story, he must not get involved, whatever happened to him I want you to forget as soon as possible," he said.

"But there must be a connection! And then, honestly, I can't understand how he could not have suffered the deadly effects of contact with that stuff."

"Listen," he countered, changing his expression, "if there was a connection I don't know and I don't want to know.

I'm glad that despite behaving a little strangely, Harry is fine, and I just want him to quickly forget that experience. And then, even if we involve him and someone decides to set up an inquiry, the sheriff's son with Down syndrome would certainly not be a reliable witness. I repeat, I think the best thing is to pretend that nothing has ever happened."

"And what do we do with the people of the country?"

"Apparently no one saw or heard anything, so nobody knows exactly what happened. Soon the Festival will begin and everyone will think only and only about that, they are all waiting for the hordes of tourists that will arrive to make up for the economic damages produced by the hurricane Sandra. We will all forget this much sooner than you think."

"Yes, but there are always a few meddlings around."

"We will release a version, it will be enough to say that the case was not ours and that we passed it to another jurisdiction along with all the evidence."

"And old Bob?"

"Proud as he is, he will certainly not go around telling what happened to him, he doesn't want to look like a fool."

"What about the guys?"

"If they don't want to lose their jobs, they'll do better to don't say a word, if feds get here, the whole county police force would be wiped out and replaced within five minutes."

Helen wondered for a long time, tormenting the finger that in the meantime had removed the bandage, to make the skin breathe a little and allow the blood to circulate better. She gave a little more scratching and a small piece of the last fingertip, now completely lifeless, broke away and fell to the ground without causing her any pain. James heard the faint noise produced by the little piece that touched the floor and looked at her with his eyes wide open, on the other hand, she spoke again as if she was completely indifferent to that fact as if losing pieces was the most normal thing in the world.

"Maybe you're right, I see no alternative. I'll talk to them later," she concluded.

"Good," agreed James, rising, "I'll leave you alone so you can prepare your speech. By the way, I would like to keep the box for a few days because I'm going to show it to a friend who understands electronics."

"You can do whatever you want, we don't need it anymore," Helen said.

Coming out to return to his office, James clashed in the doorway with Benelli who was entering quickly.

"Sorry! I didn't see you coming," James apologized.

"Don't worry, it's all right," Benelli replied, pulling toward Helen's desk. James stayed there to hear if there was any news.

"Benelli, what is it?"

"My wife called me because our child had another asthma attack, I have to go and buy some medicine and bring it rapidly."

"Go ahead, I think the day can now be considered finished. There are things to discuss, but I suppose we can also do it calmly tomorrow," Helen suggested.

"Thanks, Sheriff, then I'll run away immediately," Benelli said, taking his hands off the desk.

"Just a moment," Helen called him back to ask if there had been any developments.

"Nothing at all. Since I was around and I had time I went to inspection the woods again, I inspected the stream with Claretta, because four eyes see better than two."

"I told you not to do it!" Helen snapped, springing to her feet like a spring, her voice sounded so strident that it seemed close to hysteria. She imagined after that kind of war they had fought the night before, Benelli would have found the forest devastated and the plants charred by those terrible weapons, and then fingerprints and broken branches and who knows what else. Essentially, new mysteries and new problems.

"Sheriff, what's the matter with you?" Asked the agent, bewildered by his reaction. She swallowed embarrassed.

"Nothing ... I'm sorry, but I'm tired and nervous ... it's just that it seemed like a useless waste of time, you've already been there a lot of times ..." she lied.

"I understand," said Benelli unconvinced, he thought her reaction had been excessive anyway.

"Did you ... did you find anything interesting?"

"I told you before, all perfectly the same as yesterday."

"... the same?" She echoed.

"Same ..." Benelli confirmed. "... Why, should I have found something different?" He asked then, her curiosity intrigued him.

"I don't know ... no, I don't think so ... now go or you will find the pharmacy closed, we will think about it tomorrow morning."

"Ok Sheriff ... and thanks again," Benelli replied as he left. James returned to the office and Helen questioned him with her eyes.

"How is it possible?"

"I don't know, I thought the woods would have been burned by those lasers. I just don't know what to think ... maybe they used fake weapons, maybe they made all that mess just to scare us."

"If you think about it, it's ridiculous ... they made all that mess for a fishing rod?" the woman said.

"I don't seem so much ridiculous to me, it was a hundred and fifty dollar fishing rod and moreover it was Harry's favorite one," said James.

"In any case, I think we will never know at this point," she concluded, raising her head.

"I'm going to ring home to hear how Harry is, see you later for the evening meeting," James said, then reached across the desk and caressed her shyly. She instinctively drew back, but soon after she got closer and let him do it because at that moment she needed so much human warmth.

"Cheer up ..." James urged her, then left her alone.

Margareth came out running from the Archive of the Faculty of Anthropology of the Chicago University because as usual, she was late. When she reached the end of the corridor she dangerously descended the stairs two by two. Ten minutes earlier, the custodian had warned her that it was time to shut down and she almost got a heart attack, because as it happened every time she was too much focused on her new research, time literally flew by. She had returned the ancient and very precious volumes to the overseer so that he could put them in their armored cases, then she piled up a stack of notes and dropped them in her bag without even bothering to tidy them up. She knew that would mean more trouble for the next day, but her friend Louise had just broken up with her boyfriend and she had promised her to spend the evening together: dinner at Vito the Italian on the shores of Lake Michigan and then the cinema. Appointment at 9:30 sharp. Once she had strolled down the last step she stopped at the entrance hall and consulted the clock display. She didn't have the time to go back to her room at the Campus and get herself ready; and even going to the appointment dressed as she was and without even refreshing herself, she would have accumulated a delay of at least twenty minutes. She rummaged in her bag in search of the cell phone; she found it submerged under the pile of papers, and dialed her friend's number.

"Louise, I'm Margareth ... yes, unfortunately, you guessed it! No, don't worry, even if I look like a jerk I'm coming as I am," she assured her, starting to pick up the papers that had come out of the bag lying on the floor here and there. "All you have to do is tell Vito that we'll eat just a little later. Of course, I want to spend the evening with you, what are you thinking? Quiet, I'll be there with you in the blink of an eye. Thank you, and I'm sorry again!" She concluded, pushing the last sheets back into her bag. She left the building and as usual, she did not remember where she had parked the car; she made up her mind and left, hoping that this would be the last hitch of the day. At the bottom of the northeast block, she turned left and found herself in front of the large parking lot, practically deserted and almost completely dark. Parked not far from her vintage Beetle, there was only a black Ford Transit with darkened windows, which reminded her of those used by secret agents in spy movies. Intimidated by that gloomy presence, she stopped running to don't draw attention and pulled straight into her car without losing sight of the van, cutting through the flowerbeds to shorten the path. She had almost arrived at the Beetle when the side door of the Transit opened and two well-dressed men came out to meet her slowly. Margareth quickened her pace, was determined to lock herself in the car and start the engine to accelerate at full throttle, but as she grabbed the handle to open the door one of the two men called her by name and surname leaving her astonished.