Free Home for the Holidays: A Short Story by James A. Moore Page A

lack of looking over the years. 
    As he often did, he made sure she forgot about his existence and what had been done to her, with the simple added command that she would remember him and how to contact him should she run across another situation where he might be useful.  
    Two decades later she called him about a friend of the family.  
    “I still can’t get over how little you’ve changed…” Her voice drifted almost sleepily. He hadn’t changed. She had. Two decades weighed on her, etching fine lines in her features and transforming her from a tiny sexpot into a mother of three with the hips to prove it. Crowley looked exactly the same. The only noticeable difference was likely in his clothes and that was just because it was a damned site colder in New England at Christmastime than it was in California at the height of the summer. 
    “That’s not why we’re here, Laura. You wanted to tell me about your husband’s friend.” He allowed himself a small flash of a smile and waited while she thought over the situation.  
    Her eyes traveled along the length of him, not ogling, but absorbing. He was not normal and sometimes it took people a while to adjust to that fact. He was tolerant. Well, at least for the moment. The silences were stretching his willingness to behave himself. 
    “He’s not…” She sighed. “He’s not my husband’s friend. He’s my uncle. I just, I didn’t know if you would take me seriously if I said he was a family member.”  
    His lips pressed together and he forced himself to remain pleasant. He wasn’t known for his patience, and liars, while amazingly common in his experience, almost always managed to piss him off.  
    “Oh, nothing to worry about. I don’t need him to be anything to you one way or the other. I just need to know what the situation is that has me in Rhode Island instead of home for the holidays.” He stared pointedly until she got the hint and nodded her head. He had nothing to go home to, but that wasn’t any of her business and so he opted not to share the information. 
    “Turner is my uncle. My mother’s brother, but a lot younger than her. He’s only around five years older than me. We have never been overly close, but we know each other, of course.” She smiled apologetically and Crowley nodded his encouragement. For some people talking about family was like pulling teeth. “He lost his family a few years ago.” She looked out the passenger’s side window of his car as he moved slowly, smoothly down the road. “He was at work, and somebody broke in. Somebody killed all of them. His wife, his children.” She sounded apologetic, as if she were responsible for the entire situation. He was always amazed by how many people seemed to worry about that. 
    The silence stretched again, until he shook his head. “We’re almost there. You should give me the details. Hit the high points.” 
    “Well, the murders, they changed him. Turner became sullen, withdrawn, not that anyone blamed him, of course. He got better when he remarried, that made a big difference. It was almost like he’d been sick for a long time and then recovered. I don’t know. Maybe it’s that some people just need to have family with them to be complete, you know?” 
    He nodded. He could remember what that was like.  
    “Anyway, last year everything started going south again. He was fine, his new wife, his new step kids, even the new baby on the way, everything seemed like it was perfect and then he just…he lost it.”  
    The light on the road ahead turned red and Crowley slowed the car down and stopped. He turned to look at her. Her expression was one he’d grown far too familiar with over the years; she looked quietly, desperately stunned, as if she’d just survived an unexpected car wreck where she was fine and everyone else was mangled.  
    When she spoke again the words were rushed, as if getting them out quickly would make it easier somehow. “Turner was fine