Season's Greetings

A gunman distraught during the holidays over the loss of his son releases his anguish at a busy shopping center.

SEASONS GREETINGS

It was a dark gloomy overcast day. He calmly loaded his weapons. Placing his sidearm in his holster he walked up to the storefront. He held his shotgun tightly in his hands. But they were too busy, too preoccupied to notice him. He would get heir attention. He racked his shotgun and took aim at the animatronic Santa display at the storefront. Squeezing the trigger Santa and all his presents exploded in a deafening blast. The remains of the display fluttered to the ground. Shoppers screamed and ran from the entrance.

Stepping inside he noticed it was fairly busy for a late morning weekday. But hey it was the holidays. They saw him now. His Kevlar vest giving him a more imposing appearance, adding to his already husky build. They ran away from him in every direction they could. But they had to feel the same fear and helplessness he had endured. He saw another holiday display. This one was high on a shelf. He again took aim and blasted it. The reindeer's were blown backwards taking out a display of holiday cookies and candy with them. As he walked towards the back room it seemed as though everything was moving in slow motion. He could hardly hear the screams and panic, which sounded muffled and distant. But he could clearly hear his own thumping heartbeat and heavy breathing. He pushed open the employee's only door and stepped through.

It was full of stock, yet nobody was back here. Nary an unfortunate stray employee. He methodically walked around, holding his shotgun at waist level. It was totally silent. After wandering around for several more minutes he became bored and turned around. He was startled to see someone. A young man, maybe early twenties. He was tall and slender and bore a resemblance to his son, and would be about his age if he were still alive.

He aimed his shotgun at the young man. Who the hell are you? I am Michael the young man replied. The gunman stood there for a second not knowing what to do. OK, back up over there. Said the gunman sharply. Michael calmly complied and sat down with his back against the pallets of merchandise. Satisfied with the distance between them he somewhat relaxed his grip on the shotgun. What are you doing back here? Where did you come from? Michael reached slowly into his pocket. The gunman suddenly raised his weapon on him. But he remained calm and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Smoke? Michael asked? Oh that's right. You quit smoking.

The police had started evacuating the sprawling shopping center parking lot. They began to move into position. And set up a barricade around the storefront. They positioned officers around side doors and loading docks.

Michael exhaled three perfect billowing smoke rings. He extinguished the cigarette on the concrete. Leaving behind a black smudge. The gunman had now sat down on the floor across from Michael. But he still held the shotgun in his lap. Michael extended his long slender arm behind him and reached for something. Startled the gunman again fixed his aim on Michael. But he didn't even flinch. Bringing his arm back down he produced a six pack of beer. This stuff is hard to find, expensive too. Michael broke one off and rolled another to the gunman. Michael drank deeply. The gunman finally put his weapon down. But he found reaching for the beer to be somewhat difficult due to the cumbersome Kevlar. He removed it and leaned it against the wall. He picked up the beer and noticed it was cold, which he felt was quite odd.

You know, began Michael. They will start sending people in here. The gunman reached for his weapon, but under Michael's gaze he stopped. It isn't too late to surrender. Surrender?!? After what I have done?!? Replied the gunman in an exasperated tone. And what did you do really? You shot up some displays. You scared some people. But you hurt no one. But you... are hurting. The gunman stared back at Michael with a dumbfounded look. But then the gunman shook his head. I am in too deep. Yes, but you don't have to go through this alone. What do you mean? I will go with you. Why would you do that? Asked the gunman in a suspicious tone.

Because said Michael as he stood up. There are some things in life we cannot do alone. We need someone else to help us through. Michael stepped over to the gunman and offered his hand. He hesitated at first, but then accepted his help. Oh, you may want to leave that behind. The gunman was confused initially, but then he realized he was referring to his sidearm. He removed the entire belt and carefully placed it on the ground.

As they slowly walked through the large empty store the gunman could feel his fear escaping him. But as they reached the main doors he stopped dead in his tracks, his fear gripping him once again. What is wrong? Asked Michael. I don't know if I can do this. Remember I will be with you every step of the way. You really mean that? Asked the gunman nervously. Yes Bryan I will. Michael placed his arm around his shoulder. His grip was firm and comforting.

Emboldened with confidence and trust. Bryan stepped through the first set of doors into the vestibule, his boots clunking noisily. As he approached the doors leading to the outside he could see the police barricade. He watched the officers getting into position. The lights flashing. But he felt no fear. As he finally walked outside he was temporarily blinded by the sun which had broke free of the clouds. He stepped outside with his hands in the air and was enveloped by the suns warm rays. It was going to be a beautiful day after all.

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[Jason Scott]

With this story Michael is an Angel of God who bears a resemblance to Bryan's late son. His purpose is to help Bryan through a very difficult time of his life as he is still grieving over the loss of his son.