FanStory.com - Why on Christmas Eve?by Begin Again

The scent of cigar smoke mingled with the rich aroma of brandy as Frank and Sam, long-time friends and former partners in crime, reclined in leather armchairs, their faces bathed in the flickering light of the fireplace. The low crackle of burning wood was the only sound, a familiar comfort that brought back memories of simpler days.

"Remember the old place on Madison Street?" Frank asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes glazing over with nostalgia.

Sam chuckled, the sound raspy from years of cigarette smoke and whiskey. "How could I forget? We were kings of the city back then." His eyes twinkled as he glanced at Frank, recalling those years of power, wealth, and connections.

Frank's expression softened, and he leaned back in his chair, a shadow of regret passing over his features. "Kings, maybe. But not wise men. That came much later." His voice carried the burden that only age and experience could understand.

Sam raised his glass, his usual cocky grin softened by the years. "To living the good life and helping others live it too." He nodded toward Frank, a look of respect in his eyes. "To you, my friend."

They clinked glasses, the sound of crystal meeting crystal briefly filling the room before the warmth of their laughter drowned it out. The joy they shared wasn't just about reminiscing; it was about the brotherhood they'd forged over the years, a bond that had survived more than just the bad times.

A faint chill crept into the room, curling around the fireplace's edges. Frank frowned, the warmth of his brandy suddenly less comforting. "You feel that?"

Sam's hand hovered over his shoulder holster, his sharp gaze scanning the room. "Yeah. Like a ghost walked in."

"Close," came a familiar, teasing voice. A shimmering light coalesced by the doorway, materializing into the forms of Eleanor and Charles. "Try two ghosts."

Eleanor's smile warmed the room more than the fire ever could. "Hello, Frank. Still clinging to your old habits —pretending you're surprised."

Frank sat up straighter, blinking several times before shaking his head. "I've got to be getting soft in my old age. But it's good to see you both." His voice carried a note of genuine affection as he raised his glass in a silent toast to the ghosts.

Charles stepped closer, his gaze as warm as the fire they had been enjoying moments before. "It's good to see you too."

Eleanor smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at Frank and Sam. "It's nice to see you looking so well. You've both lived quite the life. A good one, I'd say. But I hope you've learned by now that it's never too late to be a little wiser."

Frank took a slow sip of his brandy, the familiar warmth of the drink comforting him as he thought about Eleanor's wisdom. "Maybe we have, Eleanor. Maybe we have."

A brief silence fell over them as if the very air in the room had softened. Then, with a gentle, almost playful smile, Eleanor added, "And I'm sure you're still helping others, aren't you?" Her tone was light, but her eyes carried a depth of knowing.

Sam's eyes twinkled, and he leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on his belly. "Helping? It's more like giving people a second chance as long as they don't cross the line. Not to mention the truckload of toys that was delivered to the orphanage anonymously."

Charles laughed softly, stepping back toward the doorway. "You've always had a heart beneath all that bluster, Frankie. Don't forget it."

Eleanor gave a final, lingering smile to both men. "Merry Christmas, my dear friends. And remember, it's never too late to be the man you always wanted to be."

"You passed them, boss. You're Superman in every shape and form." Sam winked at Frank, and all four laughed, cheering, "Merry Christmas."

As Eleanor and Charles's forms began to shimmer and fade, the warmth of their presence lingered in the room. The air settled back to its usual calm, though somehow lighter.

Just as Frank and Sam exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the moment, Frank's phone buzzed sharply, breaking the silence. He glanced at it, and his face fell as he read the message.

The All-Business Frank DiVito was back in charge. "Call in every available hospital personnel, Sam."

Frank sighed and slugged down the last of his whiskey. "There's been a terrible accident on Highway 251, at the turnoff, not far from the prison."

"The text is vague. Sounds like two vehicles." Frankie's phone buzzed again, and his face paled. "It's the bus from the orphanage."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a grave expression. "Any indication how bad it is?"

"Not yet. I just told the sheriff to bring them all here. It's Christmas Eve, and the major Bayside hospitals will be short-staffed. They deserve the best care, and we'll give it."

Eleanor stood outside John Doyle's cell, a cold shiver running through her. The prison was quieter than usual, and something in the air felt off. She approached the steel door with slow, deliberate steps, peering inside the empty cell. There was no sign of Doyle or Vince Rossi.

Her brow furrowed as she reached out to touch the cold metal bars. Her ghostly presence flickered slightly, and she took a step back. Something was wrong — she couldn't shake the feeling.

A soft rustle behind her caught her attention. She turned quickly, ready to fade into the shadows, but the figure was already too close. A prison guard glanced down the hallway at her with the attitude of someone used to running things.

Eleanor's thoughts spun before she straightened herself, forcing her form to solidify. She materialized fully, adopting the guise of a prison guard. She knew she had to blend in to get any information. The guard gave her a quick once-over but didn't seem to recognize her.

"Filling in for someone on holiday leave," she said with a practiced ease, giving him a clipped smile. "Holiday shift."

The guard seemed to hesitate, but eventually nodded. "Alright. Guess you're covering the cell check?" He seemed a bit skeptical, but he didn't press further. "They transferred Doyle and Rossi this morning — a big operation."

Eleanor's heart (what was left of it) skipped a beat. "Transferred?" she repeated, though she could hardly believe her own words.

The guard continued, oblivious to her growing concern. "Yeah, some big move. A bus left here — standard procedure was followed, but then — well, something went wrong." He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the walls might be listening. "There was an accident on the highway — two buses collided. No one knows what happened, but there's talk that it wasn't an accident. They both went off the road. And the thing is, Doyle and Rossi, well — they're not in the wreckage. They're gone."

Eleanor's mind raced with the implications. This was no random crash. Someone had orchestrated it. And John Doyle and Vince Rossi had escaped.

She took a sharp breath, her form flickering as she moved to step back. "Where were they being transferred to?" she asked, her voice coming out more strained than she'd intended.

The guard didn't notice, too focused on the routine of his job. "Some high-security place. Couldn't say exactly where, but it's the kind of place no one gets out of unless they have help. And I'm talking serious help."

Eleanor nodded, her thoughts spinning. This wasn't a simple prison transfer. This was a setup — one that left both Doyle and Rossi free to make their move. And that meant trouble for everyone.

With a final glance back at the empty cell, Eleanor allowed herself to flicker back into the shadows, her mind already working overtime. She had to warn everyone. This wasn't just about a couple of criminals escaping — it was a declaration of war.

Meanwhile, Jack Lexington was leaning back in his leather desk chair, the end of a cigar glowing faintly. He'd just finished a long day's work and was about to pour himself a drink when his phone rang.

The voice on the other end growled, "Thought you might want to know that Rossi and Doyle are on the loose."

Jack slammed his fist against his desk, snapping, "Whose idea of a stupid joke is this? They're locked up in Joliet."

Jack poured a double shot of whiskey in his glass and slammed it, feeling the burn in his throat. Somehow, Doyle and Rossi had delivered a sack of coal to almost everyone they knew, including the mob.

He poured another drink and dialed Frankie's number. After three rings, Sam answered, "Frank DiVito's office, this is Sam."

"I don't have all the details yet. Frankie got a text from the sheriff asking if we could help them. It's bad. Kids from the orphanage."

"How bad?

"Two dead. At least six others are in critical condition. I'm headed for the hospital now. They're saying it was the driver's fault, but I don't know if I buy it."

Jack was silent for a moment, his fingers tightening around the cigar. The news was heavy, but he was no stranger to loss. He stood up, pacing in his office, his mind racing with thoughts of what needed to be done. "Sam, I know you guys are overwhelmed right now with the kids, but tell Frank I got a call saying Doyle and Rossi escaped."

"What? We've been busy calling in people who were off because of the holiday. I haven't heard anything. Are you sure?"

"I'm going to start making calls. I'll let you know. Keep me informed on what's happening at your end."

Jack ended the call, staring out the window into the city's skyline. He snuffed out the cigar, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. There were lives on the line, including his own, and he wasn't about to let it slip away without doing everything he could to fix it.

*****

Jenna rocked the baby gently, her movements rhythmic and slow, though her heart raced like a runaway train. The house was silent, save for the faint creak of the old wooden rocker and the soft breaths of her sleeping infant.

She had turned off most of the lights, hoping the darkness would help her blend in if anyone tried to peer inside. Still, the feeling of being watched refused to leave her, and every little noise outside set her nerves on edge.

Jenna glanced at her phone on the coffee table. There had been no missed calls or texts. Matthew hadn't called back yet, and the pit in her stomach only deepened. He'd gone to the scene of the bus accident, leaving her alone with the baby. And now, she was sure she'd heard footsteps outside the house. Maggie stirred, and Jenna instinctively tightened her hold. She whispered softly, trying to soothe her, though her own voice wavered.

Then it came — a soft scrape against the porch, followed by the unmistakable creak of a loose floorboard near the front door.

Jenna froze. Her breath hitched as she reached for the baseball bat propped up against the wall. The baby whimpered, sensing her fear, and she shushed her as quietly as she could.

She reached for the phone again, her thumb shaking as she tried to redial Matthew's number. Her voice was a hoarse whisper as she left another voicemail. "Matthew, please call me back. I'm scared. Someone's outside. I don't know what to do. Please — just come home."

As she hung up, she heard it again — a soft, deliberate sound like someone shifting something on the porch.

The knob rattled again, more insistently this time, and Jenna's heart thudded painfully in her chest. She clutched the bat tightly, her palms slick with sweat.

A shadow moved outside the door, and then a cold gust of air swept through the room just as it seemed the intruder might push their way in. The baby whimpered again, burying her face against Jenna's neck. Terror clutched Jenna's throat.

The ghostly figure shimmered faintly in the darkness, her expression hard as steel, her focus fixed on the doorway.

She opened the door. The intruder, whoever they were, let out a startled gasp and stumbled backward. Jenna heard hurried footsteps retreating across the porch, then the sound of someone crashing through the bushes.

Jenna's knees buckled, and she sank into the chair, clutching the baby and the bat — like lifelines. "Mom?"

"Yes, dear, it's me." Eleanor glanced toward the window, her spectral form flickering slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you, but I needed to get here as quickly as I could. Doyle and Rossi have escaped."

"There was a prison transfer," Eleanor explained, her voice clipped with urgency. "They staged an accident and got away. You, Matthew, and Margaret are all in danger. Whoever that was — she gestured toward the door — they could have been sent here to find you."

Jenna shivered, Eleanor's words sinking in. "He's at the accident with the orphanage bus. I've been trying to reach him —"

Eleanor nodded, her gaze softening for a moment as she looked at the baby in Jenna's arms. "Then we need to act fast. Lock the doors, keep the lights off, stay away from the windows, and don't let anyone in unless it's Matthew."

"I'll keep watch outside," Eleanor said. "If they come back, I'll make sure they don't get near you. Just stay here and keep the baby safe."

As silence returned to the house, Jenna rocked the baby, her heart still racing but steadied by the knowledge that her mother, her hero, was out there, watching and protecting them.

After patrolling the perimeter and confirming that Jenna's uninvited guests were gone, Eleanor had a plan, and it involved getting Jenna and Maggie to a safe house.