Beth Cornelison - The Christmas Stranger

Flipping back her bridal veil for a better view, Holly scanned the unshaven, bedraggled faces of the vagrants who’d gathered this Friday for free hot cider, entertainment and a warm place to pass the chilly October afternoon. Could one of these men have killed Ryan for his watch, wallet and Reeboks?

Apprehension and suspicion crawled up her spine.

Little evidence had been collected at the crime scene just over a year ago when her husband had been murdered and robbed. The local police, including her brother-in-law Robert, called Ryan’s death a tragic, random attack. Robert held out little hope that Ryan’s killer would ever be caught.

But Robert’s gloomy outlook didn’t sit well for Holly. She wanted resolution to the many mysteries concerning Ryan’s attack. She wanted justice. And she needed closure. While she’d come to grips with Ryan’s death and had begun picking up the pieces of her shattered life, she hated all the blanks in the account of what happened the night Ryan was killed.

Maybe the police wouldn’t ever have enough evidence to bring a suspect to trial, as Robert projected. But any tiny shred of understanding would go a long way in settling the nagging questions she had.

“You know, you should have smeared some blood on your face or worn a scary mask.”

Carol Hamburg’s comment yanked Holly from her morose thoughts.

“That wedding dress is great, but you could have come as the Bride of Frankenstein or something.”

Tucking a stray wisp of her blond hair behind her ear, Holly shrugged as she faced the Community Aid Center’s petite director. “I’d considered fake blood, but I really didn’t want to risk getting makeup on the dress. I wore this gown when I married Ryan, and I’ve worn it every year since for Halloween. It’s a tradition.”

“Really? How’d that get started?”

Holly smiled wistfully. “After our wedding, I complained to Ryan about how much the dress cost, to be worn only once. So, frugal and practical man that he was, he dared me to use it every Halloween as my costume.” She paused and sighed. “I almost didn’t put it on today. But I’m glad I did. It makes me feel closer to him.”

Carol blinked her surprise. “I’m just jealous you’re still the same size you were when you got married.”

Before Holly could reply, a loud cry rose over the chatter in the room. She and Carol exchanged a concerned look before moving together in the direction of the commotion. The crowd of curious children, startled mothers and homeless men shrank away from a little boy in superhero pajamas lying on the floor unconscious.

His lips were blue.

Icy horror washed through Holly in concentric waves as the reality of what was happening sank over her.

“Call 9–1–1!” she shouted to Carol as she dashed to the boy’s side and dropped to her knees.

“He’s not breathing!” the child’s mother screamed. The woman dragged the child up by the arms and began pounding on his back.

“Don’t do that!” One of the unshaven men separated from the others and rushed forward. He placed a hand on the frightened mother’s shoulder and met her eyes. “Let me have him.”

The woman hesitated only a second before relinquishing her son to the dark-haired man. “Please! Save him!”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, his voice deep and calm. He gently laid the boy back on the floor. After feeling for a pulse in the boy’s neck, he leaned close to listen and look for signs of breathing.

Glancing at Holly, he said, “Watch his chest for me. Tell me if it rises.”

Nodding, Holly scooted back to give the man room to work as he angled the boy’s head and blew two breaths in the boy’s mouth.

“Anything?”

Holly shook her head. “I didn’t see it move.”

The man frowned. “Something’s obstructing the airway.”

Quickly he moved to straddle the boy’s legs and stacked his hands on the child’s abdomen. “Come on, sport. Stay with me,” he mumbled as he gave five sharp upward thrusts with his palms. Crawling to the boy’s side, the dark-haired man did a visual check of the boy’s mouth then swept his finger inside. With a deep sigh of relief, he withdrew a piece of hard candy and tossed it aside.

But the boy didn’t move, didn’t draw a breath.

Pressing his lips in a taut line, the man glanced up and drilled a hard glare at Holly. His sky-blue eyes were clear and intense. “You, the bride. Help me.”

Holly blinked, rallying from her fear-based daze. “How?”

“Give him two full breaths in his mouth, five seconds apart, every time I say now. ”

She nodded her understanding and scrambled closer as the man started chest compressions. Adrenaline spiked her pulse as she watched the man working to save the young boy.

“Now.” His clear blue eyes met hers, echoing his command.

Holly bent low and covered the boy’s mouth with hers. Blew. Counted five and blew again.

“Good. Just like that.” Jerking a nod, he resumed compressions.

Holly studied the boy now. His lips had regained a bit of their color, but he remained unconscious. She glanced up at his panicked and crying mother. “He’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Why she was so certain, she couldn’t say. It was risky to assure the mother when she didn’t truly know how this rescue effort would go. But a strange assurance and confidence in the man working on the little boy flowed through her, calming her own frayed nerves.

Holly moved her gaze to Carol, who held a cell phone to her ear. With a look, Holly asked for an update.

“An ambulance is on its way. The operator is still on the line,” Carol said softly.

“Now.”

Holly met the man’s eyes briefly before dipping her head to give another breath. Count five. Breath.

As she raised her head from the last puff, the boy coughed, gasped in air.

“Tommy!” his mother cried and tried to hug him.

“Give me a minute,” the boy’s rescuer instructed, sidling between the mother and child. Again he checked the boy’s pulse, lifted his eyelids to check his pupils, examined the child’s fingernails. “Tommy, can you hear me? Can you talk?”

“I want Mommy,” the boy whimpered.

The man smiled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth as he backed up. “She’s right here, sport.”

Holly dropped back on her heels, her muscles going limp with relief. She stared at the man who’d saved the boy, mulling the inconsistencies in his appearance. While she knew better than to judge anyone by how they looked, little about this man fit the profile of the average homeless client who came to the Community Aid Center. Though his cheeks and chin were covered in a few days’ growth of beard like many of the other men the center served, his hair was much cleaner, his beard shorter and his skin healthier. In fact, despite needing a shave and a haircut, the square cut of the man’s jaw, sharp angles of the man’s cheeks and straight nose gave him an ironically patrician appearance.

“Thank you,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. He turned from watching the mother hug her son. “You saved his life.”

Again his bright blue eyes burrowed deep with their cool intensity, stirring an odd swirling in her belly. “No. We did. Together. Thank you. ”

Holly shook her head. “I didn’t—”

He wrapped a large hand around hers, and at his touch, the rest of her reply caught in her throat. A warm ripple of sensation skimmed over her. “Yes, you did.”

She dropped her gaze to his tanned hand and wet her lips. “Really, you’re the one who—” Again her words stalled as she focused on the watch peeking out from under the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

She knew that watch, hadn’t seen that watch since the last morning Ryan left for work. That watch had been stolen from her husband the day he’d been attacked, murdered in an abandoned church not far from the Community Aid Center.