A Father's Gift
by Michael P Calligaro
Little Timmy skipped into the kitchen. The smell of holiday cookies baking in the oven filled the house. He'd filch one as soon as Mommy wasn't looking. "Mommy, where's Daddy?"
She looked at clock on the oven and frowned. Then she smiled. "I'll bet he stopped to talk with Santa Claus on his way home from work."
Timmy jumped and clapped his hands. "Do you think he'll tell Santa I want a Spiderman figure?"
She rubbed his head. "He might. After all, you have been a very good boy this year, haven't you?"
Timmy nodded enthusiastically. There was a knock on the front door, which made Timmy yell, "Daddy!" and run into the entryway.
Mommy followed behind him. She looked through the peephole and gasped. Worried, Timmy grabbed her leg. She unlocked the door and opened it. But Daddy wasn't there. Instead, there was a strange man in a blue plastic suit. He had a scowl on his face and was carrying a big gun. He looked like the kind of bad guy Spiderman would tie up with a web.
Mommy grabbed Timmy and held him in her arms. "What can I do for you, Officer..." she looked down at his name badge, "Jameson?"
The man made a signal with his hand, and lots of other bad men rushed through the door, pushing Mommy aside. They spread out and started walking around Timmy's home. Timmy yelled out, "Hey!" but Mommy quickly said, "Shush. Not now Timmy." She was holding him extra tightly, so he could tell she was scared. He was a little scared, too.
"What's wrong, officer?"
The man walked in and closed the door behind him. In a rough voice, he said, "You are Margaret Stretenbauer, and this is your son Timothy?"
She nodded. Something crashed in the kitchen.
The bad man said, "Your husband has been caught committing crimes against the State and has been executed."
She gasped.
"We can only imagine what traitorous things he had been teaching your son. However, Timothy is young enough to be saved. So he will be taken from you and raised correctly by the State."
"No!" Mommy screamed. She clutched Timmy almost too tightly. But he didn't cry because he could tell that she was very scared.
"Please don't take my baby," she pleaded. "I don't know what my husband did, but I've been teaching Timmy well. Please don't take him from me."
Timmy tried to wrap his arms around her. "Mommy?"
She made shushing sounds.
The bad man stared at her for a moment, then sighed. In a softer voice, he said, "My men are searching your house. If they don't find anything illegal, then we'll let you put Timothy into a State day school. You'll be able to see him on weekends and on some nights."
Tears were flowing down Mommy's eyes. She said, "Thank you. Oh, thank you."
The bad man nodded and walked past her.
Timmy sat there in Mommy's arms while she sobbed. He knew something bad had happened, but he wasn't sure what. Finally, he asked, "Mommy, what does 'x-e-cute-id' mean?"* * *
The alarms reverberated throughout the station. Timothy Stretenbauer hopped out of bed and raced down the hallway to the briefing room. He arrived before his coworkers, but only just. Every member of the elite Teleportation Corps had considerable experience working in emergency situations. They were all young, but they'd been training since they were very young. Now it was their job. Timothy took a seat and glanced down at his wristwatch. Four-oh-five in the afternoon. The Teleportation Corps was usually needed late at night, so they slept during the day.
Captain Williamson strode in purposefully, glanced over the troops, and immediately launched into his briefing. "Gentlemen, we have a hostage situation." The large screen at the front of the room came on, showing an image of a large apartment complex downtown. The image quickly became a schematic of a two-bedroom apartment with a large living room and a separated kitchen. Timothy immediately found north on the schematic and fixed it into his mind.
A red dot appeared in the rear of the living room, near the kitchen. "Timothy, you'll go in there." Two more dots appeared--one in each of the bathrooms. "Steve and Fred, you're on backup. If Timothy has trouble, you'll go to these locations. We know of only one gunman, but our information is spotty at this time. The hostages are a woman and her two small children. We believe that all of them are in the living room. There is some indication that the gunman is the children's father--typical holiday tensions. Do your best to neutralize the gunman without killing him. The normal State police have the place surrounded and will take over as soon as we remove the gunman. Now get going. Your suits have their coordinates."
Timothy, Steve, and Fred jumped up and rushed into the next room, leaving the others behind for further briefing. The adjoining room had a number of clear tubes, each containing a red battlesuit. The suits were made of a thick polymer with kevlar padding inside. Timothy held his hand to the panel next to his suit. A green light scanned across his fingers, then the tube opened. He pulled on the separate arms and legs before strapping on the breastplate. His feet slid easily into the thick red boots. The gloves were made of red spandex with a thick plastic backing. He pulled them on and then slid the helmet into place. The helmet was red, like the rest of the suit, and had only a thin slit of tinted plastic for his eyes.
Despite its bulk, the suit felt extremely comfortable. Timothy had spent so much time in it that it felt like his skin. It was tough, callused skin, but skin nonetheless. He grabbed his lightning gun and hit a button on his wrist. "Testing, testing."
A pleasant voice came through on his ear speakers, "Your global radio is working, Timothy. Be careful out there."
Timothy smiled. That was Mary in tactical. She was an aging woman who was practically a mother to all of them. He hit another button. "Steve, Fred, can you hear me?"
He saw the two of them hit their buttons and then heard Steve say, "Local loop is working. We're all set."
Fred added, "Yell if you need us."
Timothy nodded. He readied his lightning gun, found north, and oriented himself so as to face the correct direction in the apartment building. Then he hit the glowing green button on his wrist. He'd teleport in ten seconds. He took a deep breath, brought his weapon up to his shoulder, and flexed his legs.
As was always the case, his fingers and toes tingled, and every hair on his body stood on end. He saw a shimmering light directly outside of his helmet. The shimmering continued for what felt like both an instant and an eternity, then suddenly disappeared.
He took in the scene in an instant. He was in a long, rectangular room, standing next to a dining table. In front of him, a woman was sitting on a couch with her back to him. On the other end of the room was a sliding glass door. A man holding a shotgun was standing in front of the door and looking out. The shotgun was no threat to Timothy, but if the man fired at him, the spread might hit the woman between them.
The man started to spin around. Timothy's heart beat at a normal rate. There was nothing to be excited about. This was a normal day on the job. Methodically, he took careful aim and fired. He hit exactly what he'd aimed for, the end of the shotgun's barrel. It melted. The man dropped the gun and shook his hands. Timothy aimed for his forehead and yelled, "Don't move!"
The man looked down at the woman. She huddled forward and cupped her arms around something. She must have had the kids with her. Timothy commanded, "Don't think about it. You'll be dead before you take a step." The man leaned forward a bit, and the woman cried out. Timothy's finger tightened on the trigger. They stayed there, frozen, for an instant. Then the man stood up straight and held his hands up. Timothy yelled, "Turn around. Hands behind your head."
The man complied. Timothy exhaled slowly. Keeping his gun trained on the guy, he hit the global communications button. "Gunman neutralized. Send in the boys in blue."
Timothy heard the sound of splintering wood as the normal police kicked in the door. Four men in blue battlesuits rushed by Timothy. Two went down the hallways into the bedrooms while the other two rushed up to the gunman, grabbed him, and shoved him to the ground. Timothy finally lowered his weapon.
A fifth officer walked in. He too was wearing a blue battlesuit, but his helmet only covered his head; it didn't obscure his face. Timothy smiled and held a hand out. "Sergeant Jameson, good to see you." The Sargent had been his weapons instructor at the boys' academy.
The sergeant looked at the name badge on Timothy's chest and smiled. Shaking Timothy's hand, he said, "Citizen Stretenbauer, good to see you too." He looked over at the melted shotgun and nodded. "I see you didn't sleep through all of my lectures."
Timothy laughed and released his hand. He'd only slept through one. It was back when he was ten, and they'd kept him up jogging the entire night before. Timothy glanced down at the table, and something caught his eye. There was an unwrapped present sitting there--a Megaman action figure. "Excuse me, Sergeant." He took a deep breath and tried to psyche himself up. Menacing. He was supposed to be menacing. He grabbed the toy and stalked over to the woman. One of the officers was talking with her while another clamped cuffs on the man. She was holding her two small children tightly, a boy and a girl.
Timothy thrust the doll in her face and said, "What's this? Superheroes are illegal. They encourage vigilantism, when the State is all people need for protection." Of course, he didn't believe any of his speech. How could toys turn children against the all-powerful State? But the elite protectors of the State had to act in certain ways. They'd taught him that long ago.
The woman frowned. "I'm sorry, sir." She nodded to man on the ground. "My ex-husband brought those toys for his children. When I told him that we couldn't keep them, he went crazy."
Glad that the mask hid his face, Timothy frowned deeply. He looked down at the scared children and stepped back. There were some things he just couldn't do. In a softer voice, he said, "Having a criminal for a father is very ... difficult ... on a child. I recommend that you have as little to do with this guy as possible." He handed the toy to the closest officer and said, "Please dispose of this."
He then walked over to Sergeant Jameson and patted him on the back. Forcing his voice to sound jovial, he said, "Gotta get back."
Jameson nodded. "Hey, you have plans for the holidays? You should stop by."
Timothy nodded and walked out. He wouldn't stop by. He hated the holidays. No matter what the State tried to teach him, he always would.
He moved down the hall to an out-of-the-way place with no one around. Sometimes initiating the teleportation caused trouble for unarmored people. He hit the global communication button and said, "Ready to come back. Setting my coordinates now." He was glad to be done with the job. Since talking with the woman, he'd been finding it hard to concentrate.
Mary's voice came through. "Good job, Timothy. I show your coordinates as correct."
He hit the green button, but noticed that it wasn't glowing. A red button started blinking. "Mary, can you reconfirm those coords? I've got a jump error here."
Fred's voice came over the comm. Trying to hold back a laugh, he said, "Did you forget to check your batteries before jumping? Tisk tisk. Looks like you'll be walking home."
Mary said, "Fred, that's terrible."
"Sorry, Mary. Captain's orders."
Captain Williamson's voice came through. "Indeed. Timothy, good job on the hostage situation. But an emergency is no time to get sloppy. You will jog home. Get to it."
It was over fifteen miles to the station, but Timothy could do that in his sleep. He would normally be angry with himself for screwing up part of the job, but he was too busy thinking about other things. Actually, the thought of a long walk appealed to him. It would take some time to beat his thoughts about his father back into the inner recesses of his mind. "Yes, sir." He cut the communications line, slung his lightning gun over his shoulder, and walked out of the apartment complex. Once again he was glad that the helmet obscured his face. It just wouldn't do for the public to see a member of the elite Teleportation Corps with tears rolling down his cheeks.
As he walked down the street, he garnered attention from everyone. Teleportation Corps members rarely walked around in public. But they were the only State group that wore red, so everyone recognized him. Eventually, he ducked into an alley and continued down streets with fewer people. He didn't fear for his safety. No one in his right mind would attack a member of the Corps. But Timothy was getting tired of the stares.
While walking through an alley, he heard a noise that made him pause. Someone was hiding behind a trash bin. Suspicious, Timothy pulled himself together and drew his lightning gun. "Come out of there, whoever you are."
There was a tense pause before a little girl in a dirty coverall sheepishly stepped forward. Timothy returned his gun to his back and stepped forward. "Hello."
She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Are you Santa Claus?"
Timothy frowned. The girl looked to be about ten. The State required children even younger than her age to not believe in a Santa Claus. Sure, Timothy had still believed back when he was seven, but he had had a criminal for a father then. He shook his head. "No. My name is Timothy. I'm a member of the Teleportation Corps. Have you ever heard of us?"
She crossed her arms. "If you're not Santa, then why are you wearing a red suit?"
She hadn't heard of them. Her parents had not taught her very well. Patiently, he said, "We are a special group of people, so we wear red to distinguish us from the other police forces." He left off the part about instilling fear in adversaries. It didn't seem appropriate.
She thought for a moment, then her face lit up in a smile. "I understand!"
"You do? That's good."
She leaned forward again and whispered, "You're telling stories so that people don't know who you really are. Don't worry, Santa, your secret's safe with me."
He sighed and nodded. "Thanks. What's your name?"
She curtseyed. "Streta."
A strange name. "Nice to meet you, Streta. It's getting late. I think I should take you home." He hoped she had a home. She was a cute kid. He didn't want to arrest her for being homeless.
She hopped once and clapped her hands. "Oh boy. Does that mean I get to ride in your sleigh?"
Incredulously, he asked, "How far away do you live?"
"Just down the street."
"Well, then, I think we'd better walk. The reindeer don't like short hops."
She frowned but said, "Okay." Then she smiled. "This way. I can't wait to introduce you to Mommy." She raced off down the alleyway. Timothy increased his stride, which allowed him to easily keep up. They quickly came to small house with the porch light on. Streta opened the door and yelled, "Mommy, Mommy, guess who I met."
Timothy stepped in and closed the door behind him. A woman who hardly looked thirty walked in from the kitchen. "Now Streta, it's almost dark. What did I tell you about coming home early?" She looked up and, on seeing Timothy, stood up straight. "Officer. Is there something wrong?"
Streta pulled on her mother's skirt. The woman ignored her and continued to look at Timothy. In a quiet but forceful voice, Streta said, "Mommy."
She looked down at her daughter and said, "What?"
Streta whispered in a voice loud enough to carry to Timothy, "It's Santa Claus."
The woman quickly looked up at Timothy in worry, then she hastily said to Streta, "You run along and get washed up. Let me talk with the nice man."
Streta smiled deviously, nodded, and rushed down the hall. As soon as she closed the bathroom door behind her, Timothy said, "She's a cute kid."
The woman said, "Thank you. My name is Grace McCormick. Won't you come in?"
Timothy nodded and followed her into the kitchen. He sat down at a small table with two place settings. She sat across from him and glanced down at the nametag on his chest. Her eyes went wide. Timothy ignored this and said, "A girl her age shouldn't believe in Santa Claus anymore. You should have taught her by now that the State will provide everything she needs. And where's her father?" He hated this part of his job. But spreading State values was supposed to be just as important as neutralizing criminals.
The woman looked down to avoid his gaze. In a quiet voice, she said, "You don't know, do you? No, of course not. You would have been too young."
Timothy blinked. "What?"
She looked back up at him. "So you became a member of the Teleportation Corps. What a shame."
This was the first time in his life that Timothy had ever heard someone refer to the Corps in anything resembling a negative connotation. "I think you'd better explain yourself. Your daughter has said enough bad things to give me a presumption of guilt on your part."
The woman frowned, not out of fear, but sadness. "I know you don't owe me anything, but would you do me a favor?"
How presumptuous. He now had enough to arrest her on the spot--not that he wanted to. "What?"
"Would you take off your helmet?"
He stared at her for a moment. She didn't look ready to attack. And he could easily defend himself if she did. At seventeen, he'd had more training in hand-to-hand combat than most battle-hardened soldiers got in their entire lives. So it was on a whim that he unlatched the helmet and drew it off.
She stared at him for a moment before she muttered, "So young. But you look just like your father."
Timothy stood up suddenly, causing his chair to screech back. "My father was a criminal. Are you trying to imply that I don't belong in the Corps?"
The woman shook her head. In a soft voice, she said, "A criminal? Is that what they told you? You poor boy."
Confused and a bit angry, Timothy pointed at her and said, "Explain yourself. Now."
She looked around her meager house and hesitated. She seemed to be weighing options. After a long pause, she said, "If I tell you this, you could take everything from me."
Timothy crossed his arms and tapped his foot. "I have enough evidence to take everything from you now. Spill it."
She shook her head. "It's not right what they did to you. You would never have turned out like this if...."
Timothy could see fear in her face. Why was he doing this? It was just wrong that part of his job included making mothers of small children afraid of him. He grabbed the chair and sat down again. In a subdued voice, he said, "I barely knew my father and I ... miss him. If you know anything about him, please tell me."
She stared at him for another long while, before she frowned and said, "I assume they never told you what he did that was illegal?"
Timothy's heart raced. Did she know? He'd tried repeatedly to find out, but the State had always angrily denied his requests. "No."
"He used to work in a State housing office. His office took houses seized by the State and distributed them to families that needed them. He was just a clerk, though. He didn't get to decide who got which houses. I was hardly older than you are now, but I was pregnant, and my boyfriend had run out on me. The baby was due soon, and I wouldn't be able to work much longer. I was about to become homeless, which was as illegal ten years ago as it is today. I went to his office praying that the State would give me a house."
Timothy shook his head. "The State wouldn't give a house to an under-age single mother. Sex out of wedlock is illegal."
She nodded. "Your father was the clerk who saw me. He couldn't do anything, but he felt sorry for me. After we talked for a while, he told me to come back after closing. I was surprised and a little nervous, but I was also desperate. The office was dark, but he was still there. I almost didn't go in. For your sake, I wish I hadn't. But for Streta's, I'm glad I did."
She took a deep breath, stared at him for another second, then said, "He gave me a key. He'd cooked the books and got me a house." She waved her hand around. "This one. He told me all about his wonderful son and showed me pictures of you. He adored you completely. He then gave me a present he'd bought for you. Said to give it to my baby, and that he could get another one for you. He was such a nice man."
Timothy listened with rapt attention. He'd never heard anyone say anything good about his father. Even his mother had decried his being a criminal. Of course, he'd recently learned that the State had been watching her to make sure she brought him up "correctly."
Grace stood up. "When I learned that your father had been caught, I was scared for a while. But they never came for me. I guess he was able to hide what he did, just not that he'd done something."
Timothy's world began to shake. Since he was seven, he'd been taught day and night that the State was all anyone ever needed. He'd been taught that criminals like his father hurt the State and, thus, hurt all of the State's citizens. Timothy had tried hard to fit in. He'd tried hard to believe what he was taught. But he had to keep trying. Because, deep down inside, he knew their lessons were wrong. The State was not all anyone ever needed. He needed his daddy.
Grace pulled a stool over to the refrigerator and stepped up onto it. She opened the cupboard above the refrigerator and pulled out a small package. Stepping down, she said, "When Streta was born, this didn't seem appropriate for her. But I kept it. I think you should have it."
On seeing the package, Timothy quickly grabbed his helmet and pulled it over his head. He didn't want the woman to see him crying. He took the package from her and held it tightly in his hands. It was the Spiderman action figure he'd been hoping Santa would bring him that Christmas. Instead, Santa had brought him a dead father and a lifetime of State "conditioning."
She couldn't have known. Who kept a dusty Spiderman doll in her cupboard in the hopes that she'd be able to use it to fabricate a story for a police officer? And why give away incriminating information that could make her lose her house? A few easy lies about why Streta believes in Santa Clause would have made him go away. She had nothing to gain from this, and much to lose. She had to be telling the truth. And he wanted to believe her. He had to believe her. But ten years of uncontested teachings from the State didn't disappear instantly.
Still, as he stared down at the box in his slightly shaking hands, he realized that he couldn't help but believe her.
He looked up at the woman and whispered, "Thank you."
She shook her head. "Your father gave me the best gift any person ever could. He was kind to me at a time when everyone else wished I didn't exist. He gave me a chance. He effectively gave Streta a life. Streta believes in Santa because the State does not provide. But your father did. I owe him everything. What he did may have been illegal, but it was not wrong."
Timothy stood up and nodded. Not wrong at all. He turned to see a cleaned up Streta waiting for him. Nodding to her, he cleared his voice and said, "Good bye, Streta. You listen to your mommy. If she says be home by dark, you get yourself home before dark."
Streta nodded and frowned.
Her mother said, "What's wrong, dear?"
Streta twisted her foot on the ground nervously. Finally she said, "Santa, I really do want the doll I talked about in my letter. But Jaime down the street never gets anything. I think she's been really good this year. If ... well, if you can't afford to get anything for her, you can give her my doll."
Timothy stared at her in silence for a long moment. Then he looked back to her mother. "That's a very good girl you have there. Please continue to raise her well." Still clutching his action figure, he walked out a trifle too fast.
The captain would be expecting him back soon, so he took off at a fast jog. But he ran on autopilot. He spent the time thinking about his father and what the man had done. Timothy was angry with him for leaving, but he couldn't be angry with him for helping Grace and Streta. The State would say that she'd stolen a house from a more deserving family. But the State was wrong. She'd needed that house. His father had shown compassion when the State had required a cold shoulder. And they killed him for it.
Timothy felt his stride lengthening as he sped up. It felt like a great weight was slowly lifting from him. His father hadn't been a criminal. He'd been the good guy. It was the State who'd been bad, just as little Timmy had originally believed.
As his anger at the State's betrayal grew, Timothy realized that he needed to do something. With his suit and his training, he could do a lot of damage. But he immediately realized that this was the wrong tactic. His father had subverted the State by helping people. In the long run, that had to better than wonton destruction. He thought about what Streta had said and smiled. His training might not prove be very useful, but his suit could certainly come in handy.
Sweating profusely, he arrived at the station to find the captain waiting for him. The captain immediately said, "You're late."
Timothy held up the Spiderman doll and said, "I got sidetracked."
The captain arched his eyebrows. "Wow, I haven't seen one of those in years."
Timothy nodded. Hoping his nervousness wouldn't show through in his voice, he said, "What should I do with it?"
The captain shrugged. "Drop it in a disposal chute. It's illegal."
Timothy nodded to cover his disappointment. He'd hoped the captain would tell him he didn't need to get rid of it. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I couldn't bring myself to bring in the kid I took this from."
The captain shrugged. "We usually don't do much to the kids. They don't know any better. But the people who give them the illegal toys can be arrested."
Timothy nodded. "Unfortunately, this was an anonymous gift."
The captain shrugged. "Not much you can do then. That's okay, there are enough really bad people out there to keep us busy. Go get cleaned up. And, next time, check your batteries before you jump. We can't have you getting stranded in a hostile environment."
"Will do, Captain. Thanks."
Timothy tossed the doll into his locker and pulled off the suit, piece by piece. He set the suit into the tube and went to take a shower. When he got back, he put on some street clothes. Then he looked at the Spiderman doll sitting innocently in his locker. He grabbed it and looked to the disposal chute on the other end of the room. Then he looked at the red suit in the tube. He looked back down at the doll. His father had been right. The State was wrong. He looked back at the disposal chute one more time, then carefully tucked the doll into his locker. As he picked up a shirt to cover the doll, he looked at it one more time. With a smile, he whispered, "Thanks, Daddy."* * *
The shimmering stopped. S.C. had to grab the mantle to steady himself. Jumping so many times in a row was more difficult than he'd expected. In the big mirror over the mantle, he saw a man in a red plastic suit carrying a huge, and heavy, cloth bag full of toys. He also saw a little girl asleep on the couch.
She sat up abruptly and gasped. He crouched down in front of her and held a finger in front of his mouth. Of course, she couldn't see his mouth since the helmet was obscuring it. Still, she understood. In a shocked, but quiet voice, she said, "Santa?"
In a jovial voice, he replied, "Hello, Jaime. I hear that you've been a very good girl this year." He dug around in his sack and drew out a doll--one of the few that the State still considered legal. Her face lit up as he handed it to her.
He knew why his father had become a "criminal." Seeing the little girl's face light up made him feel warm inside. It made him feel much better than he'd ever felt working for the State. He patted Jaime on the head and said, "Now, off to bed with you."
She quickly hugged him, then ran up the stairs. He stood and looked at himself in the mirror again. Need to get a furry hat. Or, maybe he could grow a long beard. Then he wouldn't have to wear the helmet. He touched his finger to the nose-bridge of the helmet, which made a blinking green light on his arm stop blinking. He stood a little straighter and shifted the sack on his back. Ten seconds until the next house. Maybe they'd left him cookies. The End
Copyright Michael P. Calligaro
All Rights Reserved
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