Braxton_A Scrooged Christmas Page 2

  Completely confused, he took a seat on the edge of his bed and continued to glance between the fireplace and the window.

  “What’s going on? Am I dreaming?” he wondered aloud.

  “You’re most certainly not dreaming,” a familiar voice answered.

  All the blood drained from Braxton’s face and he slipped off the edge of the bed, landing hard on his butt. “How did you get in here? Why do you look like me?” he asked, bending his knees up to his chest and tugging on his hair. “This can’t be real. I must be dreaming.”

  The man reached out and pinched Braxton’s arm.

  “Ouch! What’d you do that for?”

  “I told you, you’re not dreaming,” his identical twin repeated.

  Is this man my brother? He must be he looks like a carbon copy of me. Even the suit he’s wearing is identical to one of the suits I own. In fact, it’s the same one I wore into work today.

  As if the man could read Braxton’s mind, he answered, “I’m not your twin I’m not even your brother and yes, this is your suit.”

  Braxton got to his feet, grabbed his robe, and tossed it around himself. “I’m calling the cops!” He reached for his cell phone on the nightstand, but it was gone. “Shit!” I must have knocked it off when I was kicking my way out of the bed. Making sure he didn’t take his eyes off the stranger, he moved to his knees and quickly glanced under the bed.

  “Looking for this?” The stranger waved Braxton’s phone in the air.

  “Give me that!” He reached for his phone, but before he could get his hand on it, the device vanished.

  “Not until you and I go on a little journey.” The stranger crossed his arms and let Braxton’s famous vengeful chuckle leave his chest.

  Wow, that is an evil laugh I have. “I’m not going anywhere with you! Now, get the hell out of my home.”

  “Home?” The merciless chuckle came again. “Look around, Braxton Scrooge. This is no home. This is a New York penthouse.”

  That comment ticked Braxton off. “This place cost more than ten point five million dollars! It’s not just some place in a rundown, podunk town!”

  “The fact that you think the price of this place is what makes this place a home proves it’s not.”

  “Quit talking in riddles and get out! And take off my suit before you leave!”

  The man grabbed him by the wrist. “I told you, not until we go on a little journey.” With a death grip on Braxton’s wrist, he began pulling him toward the picture window.

  Braxton put on the brakes, leaning back and digging his heels into the carpet, but it did no good. The man was too strong for him. He continued to skid across the carpet, as he was dragged closer to the window.

  He swatted at the man’s arm with his free hand but it went straight through, as if he were a ghost.

  “STOP! STOP!” Braxton screamed. “We’re on the top floor! Forty levels from the ground!” He continued to trying to shake his arm free. “This window doesn’t even open!”

  “Sure it does. You don’t think I came in through your door, do you?”

  The men slipped through the window like it didn’t exist.

  Cold winter air struck Braxton in the face like a frostbite. As he began to fall, his robe whipped open and flakes of snow began to hit like pricking needles.

  The speed of the fall increased and the buildings began to look like a blur of brown and tan bricks. He was falling faster than the snowflakes, and the snow was coming down so heavy the cars’ headlights were only flickers between the white fragments. He wanted to scream, but when he opened his mouth, it was like his voice had been taken away.

  Looking to his right, he could see his look-alike. Although he was also falling, the man made it look like falling from the sky was a common, everyday thing. In fact, as silly as he looked, he was sitting cross-legged, eating a cookie, and drinking a cup of hot chocolate. “Beautiful night for a drift, don’t you think, good sir?” he asked in a terrible British accent.

  Braxton found his voice asking, “What the hell is going on? Who are you?” He continued to glance between the man and the cars zooming by on the ground. They were plummeting fast from the sky, yet the fall felt endless. Surely, any second he would turn into a splattered body across some rich man’s Maserati except every time he glanced down, the ground seemed no closer than the last time he’d checked.

  “You can’t possibly be that dense, Mr. Scrooge. You’ve seen the Christmas movies.”

  As to why it took so long for it to finally click, Braxton blamed the shot of whiskey he’d had before climbing into bed. “Are you the Ghost of Christmas Past?”

  “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present and Christmas Future.”

  “What about Christmas Past?”

  “There’s no point in wasting time in the past. We both already know the real reasons you hate Christmas. Your parents died in a car crash just before Christmas. You grew up in an abusive orphanage. They waited only months until after your seventeenth birthday to kick you out onto the street, which happened to be the day before Christmas Eve, and you’ll never forget the Christmas Day you said goodbye to your one true love, whom you haven’t seen since. Does that sum it up?” The ghost didn’t wait for a response. “I think it will do you some good to find out what your future holds, Braxton Scrooge.”

  “Where are we going? Why are we still falling? Why do you look like me?”

  “Would you prefer I look like a snowman?” The ghost disappeared, and the snow began to fall harder. The cold wind started whipping the snow in circles, a big ball of powder forming before Braxton’s eyes. Immediately after that one finished, another one formed. A little smaller than the first one, it settled on top of the other, and when the last rondure formed at the top, button eyes, a carrot nose, and a smile appeared. “Is this better?” the ghost asked.

  “Umm, not really. You look ridiculous.”

  “Okay, then maybe you would prefer Santa Claus’s help.” Fire appeared from thin air in front of the snowman, and he began to liquefy. “I’m melting, I’m melting! Oh, what a world!” The melted snowman transformed into raindrops, which instantly it turned back into snow.

  In the distance, Braxton could hear jingle bells and see a big red light.

  “Ho, ho, ho.” Santa Claus appeared next to him in his sleigh, which was being pulled by reindeer appeared next to him. “Have you been a good little boy this year?”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. If revenge wasn’t evil, then he had been a very good boy.

  “Santa Claus is here to show you the way to happiness.”

  “Enough! Let’s just get this over with! You’re going to show me something so scary, you think it will terrify me into being a better person, but I’m telling you right now, there is no way I’m going to start throwing money out the window, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and if you think death scares me, think again. We all have to die. Now, show me something I don’t already know!”

  Santa Claus vanished without anther word, along with New York City. Just as quickly as they disappeared, a commercial airliner appeared beneath him.

  Braxton flayed his feet and arms in resistance as he crashed through the top of the plane, landing in one of the empty seats. He looked around, expecting to see frightened faces staring at him, but no one acknowledged his existence.

  The ghost reappeared in an empty seat beside him, once again looking like a duplicate of himself.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Take a look at who’s sitting in front of us.” The ghost pointed to a man and a woman.

  Braxton couldn’t see their faces, so he got up for a better look.

  “William Pierce. Did I say you could bring your wife along on this business trip?”

  Gemma and Will were cuddling into each other, sharing a piece of cake and some champagne.

  “Answer me, dammit!” When he stomped his foot, the flight attendant by the cockpit stood and started heading his way with determination in her eyes.r />
  “Don’t you start with me, lady. This is between me and my employee.” The woman didn’t blink an eye as she walked straight through him.

  “For a smart businessman, you’re kind of an idiot,” the ghost said while flipping through a newspaper. “You know no one can see or hear you, so just take a seat and shut up.”

  Braxton crossed his arms and leaned against one of the seats across from Gemma and Will. “I will not take a seat. I want to know how he managed to arrange this. If I find one cent on that business credit card that isn’t business-related, he’s fired. I wonder how long Gemma would stay with his broke ass then.”

  “She will stay with him until the day he dies. They are two souls connected as one, and no amount of money will change that.”

  “Gemma belongs with me!” He slapped the seat behind him, accidentally slapping the man sitting there in his face. “Sorry, sir,” Braxton said quickly, forgetting the man couldn’t feel a thing.

  “You lost your chance back in high school,” he said, flipping a page. “It was going to happen anyway. Will is who her heart belongs to.”

  “But she has my heart.” A small tear traced the wet-line of his eye. “We would still be together if I hadn’t told her I don’t want kids. That could be us sitting there.”

  “Don’t forget, you left her behind so you could go to some big Ivy League school and become the big boss man. Money is what has your heart, Braxton Scrooge, not Gemma Pierce.”

  “I’d give it all back to have a second chance with her,” he said, sitting on the lap of the passenger behind him.

  “Second chances are for fairytales. This is your reality.”

  “If I hadn’t been so selfish, we could have four kids and that beautiful home with a white picket fence.

  “No, you couldn’t. Gemma found out last year she can’t have kids. They had two miscarriages before discovering their dreams of having a big family would never happen. You were so vengeful that you tried to keep Will away from her when she needed him the most, and that man loves her so much, he did things you couldn’t imagine in that little brain of yours to make sure he could get his work done for you and not leave her side.

  “Why hasn’t he quit? Gemma should come first. He can always find a different job.”

  “Gemma does come first. If Will quits or you fire him, he loses everything he’s built up for her, including his life insurance. He’s ensuring that when he’s gone, she will only have to work because she wants to. She’ll finally be able to start that dance studio she’s always dreamed of, and it will all be thanks to her husband, not you.”

  “What do you mean, when he’s gone? You talk like he’s going to die.”

  The ghost put his paper down and stared at Braxton without blinking. “He is dying. Will is very sick, and Gemma has no idea. What little time she has with him is continuously being taken from her because of you. You’re a terrible man Braxton Scrooge!”

  A tear fell as he dropped his head into his hands. “What have I done? I’m hurting her when all I’ve ever wanted is to love her.”

  The seat below him disappeared along with the plane, and once again he was free-falling from the sky.

  Instead of panicking or getting angry, he dropped his body back and allowed himself to fall with his back to the ground. Feeling like the worst person who has ever lived, Braxton flopped his arms open and let the world take him.

  The ghost reappeared above him, this time disguised as Mickey Mouse. “Hu-ha! What’s wrong, sport? Feeling a little down? Hu-ha!”

  “Go away, you bumbling buffoon.” Braxton threw an arm over his eyes, willing the ghost away.

  “Well, that’s not very nice of you to say. And here I was going to show you a future with Gemma.”

  At that comment, Braxton flung his arm aside as excitement flooded him, but it was too late. His Ghost of Christmas Future was gone.

  “Wait! Come back! I have a future with Gemma? Or is it the future I could have had?” Before he got an answer, his body landed hard on his bed, sinking deep into the mattress then settling to rest on top of his disheveled blankets. “Shit!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling like he’d missed his chance. “Please, please show me what kind of future I could have had with her. Please, I’m begging you!” He sat up, looking around the room, but aside from his tousled blankets, everything looked normal. The fire that had been burning when he was dragged out the window was out, like it had never been lit to begin with, and of course the window was still a solid piece of glass.

  He jumped out of bed and shouted, “I know how this movie goes! Now, get back here and show me my future, ghost!”

  No sounds, no movements. The ghost was gone.

  He began pacing the bedroom, and then he began pacing the entire house. He finally stopped when his path took him by a bottle of whiskey. A two-finger pour should relax me.

  “What have I done?” he asked out loud. “How can I possibly make this right?”

  Hours went by with hope the ghost would return for one last journey, but he never came. The sun was rising over New York City when Braxton finally fell asleep.

  He had no idea how long he’d slept for, but when he woke, it looked like the sun had just started to set. He looked at his clock, reading six o’clock, and did a double take when it read a.m. – the sun was rising, not setting. Nothing was out of place when he scanned his room for proof that last night hadn’t been a dream. The sheets were tucked neatly around him, just as they had been when he’d crawled into bed before being yanked through his window. His robe lay on the floor exactly where he’d dropped it, and there was no evidence that a fire had been lit.

  Perhaps I did dream all of it.

  From the kitchen, he could hear the sound of a spoon clinking around the inside of a coffee cup.

  Someone’s in my house.

  The scent of the fresh brew pervaded the room and pushed him to his feet. Creeping slowly from his room, he peeked around the corner into the kitchen, half expecting to see last night’s ghost, but what he saw instead had him grabbing for his heart.

  “Good morning, sweetheart. I was just about to bring you breakfast.” Gemma stood behind the kitchen island in a long red satin nightgown with two mugs in one hand and a plate of blueberry donuts in the other. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  Unable to speak, he shook his head.

  “Well then, don’t just stand there. Come have a seat. You know I don’t like to eat in bed, but since it’s Christmas, I was going to surprise you.” She giggled.

  Oh, how he had missed that wonderful giggle of hers.

  “Why do you keep staring at me like that?” she asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

  “You…you’re here,” were the only three words he could find.

  “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” she asked, confused. “Did you have a bad dream, hun?”

  She was just about to take a bite of her donut when Braxton asked, “Where’s Will?”

  The donut dropped to the floor and she froze, mouth hanging wide open.

  “That’s not funny, Braxton Scrooge! You know this is a hard time for me. Why would you ask me that?”

  Shit! Was he in the dream of Christmas Present, or was this real? He said the first thing that came to mind, “I did have a terrible dream, and…and I guess nothing feels real right now.”

  Gemma came to stand in front of him and wrapped him in a hug. “Was it about me leaving? I’m here, and I’m never going to let you go,” she said, stroking the back of his neck. “You were the last gift Will gave to me. Nothing is going to separate us, understand?”

  No, he really didn’t understand at all, but he nodded anyway.

  She leaned back to look him in the eyes. “You’re a better man with me in your life. I was Will’s gift to you. A true giver until the end.” Tears appeared in her beautiful hazel eyes, and she buried her face in his neck.

  Braxton held her tight. She was real. His arms didn’t drift through her as if
she was a ghost. He could feel her heat, and the tears dropping onto his chest. He could smell the scent of fresh-baked blueberry donuts in her hair mixing with the scent of her peach body wash.

  As quickly as he realized she was real, Gemma disappeared.

  “Dammit!” He pounded his fist onto the table, smashing the donuts. He stared at the smushed pastry stuck to his hand. How could the donuts be real, but Gemma’s not?

  “There’s no need to take your anger out on these donuts. What’d those poor blueberries ever do to you?” There he was again, the carbon copy of Braxton. The ghost grabbed one of the demolished donuts, leaving crumbs all over the table and floor.

  “What is this?” Braxton demanded.

  “This is your future, Mr. Scrooge, but only if you open your heart and let Will in.”

  “Let Will in? Don’t you mean Gemma?” he snapped.

  “No, I mean Will. Your future lies in the hands of a dying man. Make amends, stop being such a greedy, vengeful scrooge, and this could be your future.”

  The ghost began to slowly disappear. Braxton could see straight through him when he shouted, “Wait! Tell me what I need to do!”

  The Ghost of Christmas Future was nearly gone when his voice peacefully replied, “Have a Christmas party, Mr. Scrooge.” Then he was gone.

  “A Christmas party? But I hate Christmas.” As the words left his mouth, it felt like someone slapped him in the face.

  This was his last chance to change his life, and if he didn’t change, he would die a lonely old scrooge.

  One week later

  “I want to thank you all for joining our very first company Christmas-slash-New-Year’s Party,” Braxton said, looking around the room for Gemma and Will, who still hadn’t arrived. “Please enjoy the all-you-can-eat buffet and open bar.” He chuckled. “Well, at least until we run out. In an hour, I’ll start passing out the Christmas gifts from the Secret Santa drawing. It should be fun to guess who got whom what,” he rambled, wondering if they would even show up. I should have made it a requirement for them to attend. He wondered what Gemma would think of him after all these years. Pure hate is what I’m sure she’ll feel for me. I’ve done nothing but work her husband to death. “Also, please don’t forget the company is paying for everyone’s cab or Uber ride home. We have plenty of drivers parked out front, so as soon as you’re ready to leave, they will be available to you.” He raised his champagne flute. “Merry Christmas, ladies and gentlemen, and happy New Year.”