Christmas Nightmare

PART FOUR - THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS

The warm glow of Christmas lights bathed the cozy ranch in holiday cheer. Tango leaned against the kitchen island, bourbon in hand, teasing Danni about her poor aim during target practice.

The doorbell chimed, shattering the festive calm.

"I'll get it," Tango said, setting down his drink. A blast of icy air greeted him as he opened the door to a bundled-up courier holding a package.

"Delivery," the man said, handing it over before disappearing into the snowy night.

Tango closed the door, eyeing the box warily. "We've got a delivery," he announced.

Rebecca looked up from the couch. "From whom?"

Tango squinted at the label. “Joliet State Prison.”

The room fell silent. Garth strode over, his FBI instincts on high alert. "Let me see that."

Tango handed him the package. Rebecca hovered nearby, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think it's from Doyle?"

Before Garth could respond, Miriam entered, her gaze locking onto the package. "That is no Christmas gift," she said, her tone grim.

Tango crossed his arms. "Should we open it or hope it doesn't tick?"

"Take it to the shed," Garth ordered. "And be careful."

"I'm coming," Danni said, grabbing Tango's arm. "You'll need someone to keep you from doing something dumb, like blowing your head off."

As they left, a haggard Eleanor materialized beside Garth.

"Eleanor," Garth said, startled. "You look like you've seen a—" He stopped. "What's happened?"

"It's Doyle and Rossi," she said, trembling. "They've escaped."

Garth's expression darkened. "Explain."

"I don't have all the details, but I went to the prison tonight. The cell was empty. A guard told me Doyle and Rossi were transferred to a maximum-security facility. There was a bus accident, and they couldn't find any bodies from the prison bus."

Garth's expression darkened as he processed the information. "Someone orchestrated this. To pull off something that complex—" he paused, the weight of the realization sinking in. "Who's that powerful?"

Danni reentered the room, her tone sharp and skeptical. "You don't think it's the mob, do you?"

"Of course not. There's no way Frank is involved, and Jack Lexington helped put Rossi in prison; why would he break him out?"

"Then who? Someone new in town?"

Eleanor's ghostly form flickered, her voice filled with dread. "Whoever it is, they've just declared open season on all of us."

*****

Outside, the night had turned colder — a chill seeped into the small town's bones. Snowflakes danced in the moonlight, blanketing the ground in an illusion of peace that betrayed the chaos unfolding.

At the bus crash site, Detective Matthew Donatelli stood frozen for a moment, his breath visible in the frigid air. The glow of emergency lights painted the snow in harsh, flickering colors. His heart twisted as he watched paramedics loading the small, frail bodies of children onto stretchers. The cries and confusion of the injured cut through the night, but Matthew barely registered the noise. As a new father, every broken cry felt like a knife in his chest.

"Donatelli!" an officer called, jogging toward him through the snow. "We've got a problem."

Matthew turned sharply, his instincts kicking in. "What is it?"

The officer's face was pale, and his words rushed. "The other bus was transferring inmates."

Matthew's stomach dropped. "Inmates?"

"Yeah, Detective. And it's bad."

Matthew stepped closer, his voice low and steady. "Who?"

The officer hesitated, then delivered the blow. "Judge Doyle and Vince Rossi."

A chill stronger than the winter air gripped Matthew. Doyle and Rossi—names that carried weight, infamy, and a trail of destruction. "You're telling me those two maniacs are out there? On foot?"

"That's just it," the officer said grimly, glancing around as if the shadows might hold the answer. "They may have had help."

Matthew's mind raced, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying clarity. His breath quickened as he pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly.

"Detective?" the officer asked, concerned.

Once alive with holiday cheer, the cozy ranch felt like a fortress under siege.

"Open season," Tango muttered, pacing near the kitchen island. "Great. Just what we need for Christmas."

Rebecca cradled a mug of hot cocoa, her hands trembling slightly. "What do we do now? We can't just sit here and wait for them to come after us."

"Exactly," Garth said, his tone steely. "We prepare. We won't let them catch us off guard if they're out there."

Miriam moved to stand beside Garth, her gaze steady but filled with concern. "This isn't just about us. It's about everyone connected to us. They'll come at us from all sides, trying to break us down."

Tango scoffed, his bravado kicking in. "Let 'em try. I've been looking for an excuse to use that new shotgun I got for Christmas."

Danni shot him a look. "You can play action hero later, Tango. Right now, we need a plan."

"Step one," Garth said, his voice commanding, "is to secure this place. Tango, double-check the locks, and set up a perimeter. Danni, start calling our contacts. We need eyes and ears everywhere."

"What about Eleanor?" Rebecca asked, glancing at the ghostly figure hovering near the doorway.

Eleanor's voice softened, her ethereal presence somehow grounding them all. "I'll watch over Jenna and the baby tonight. They're the most vulnerable."

A moment of silence followed, each person absorbing the gravity of the situation. Then, Garth straightened, his FBI instincts taking over. "They may have declared open season, but they'll regret underestimating us. We've been through worse—and we've come out stronger."

Outside, the snow fell gently, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within. Somewhere in the distance, the faint jingle of sleigh bells could almost be heard, a cruel reminder of the joy this night was supposed to hold.

But in the faces of those gathered in the ranch, there was no fear—only resolve.

While Christmas may have suffered some damage, its spirit remained intact. If darkness had crept into their lives, they would find a way to drive it out—together.

*****

Jenna sat by the window, the baby now asleep in her arms. The Christmas tree's twinkling lights cast a soft glow, but they seemed dimmer somehow, as though the night or something worse had stolen some of their warmth.

Matthew was still at the accident site, his heart heavy with the chaos of the evening.

And somewhere out there, Doyle and Rossi were on the loose, like wolves prowling through the snowdrifts, their presence a shadow over the season's joy. Or maybe they were laughing in front of a cozy fire, planning their revenge, but with who and at what cost?

Jenna glanced out the window and thought she had caught a glimpse of something—a streak of light high above, cutting across the stars. It looked like Santa's sleigh skimming through the heavens for a brief moment. But the thought was fleeting, overtaken by the darkness that seemed to hover over the town.

Jenna whispered a quiet prayer, her breath fogging the glass as she gazed at the sky. Maybe, just maybe, the light wasn't entirely gone. They could find a way to bring it back in the days ahead.

For now, the town would sleep fitfully, its people on edge, their festive spirit dimmed but not extinguished. And high above, the stars winked as if to remind them that light could still break through even in the darkest nights.