Ghosts of Christmas Past

Condensation slowly enveloped the windscreen lazily exploding above the styrene coffee cup that sat cooling on the dashboard. Outside the typical fed hired vehicle, it was a typical Washington December night, although it was cloudless the stars were barely visible through the pollution of the city lights that never allowed the streets to really know what darkness was.

Holly looked up from her notes, her fingers still playing unconsciously coiling long thick strands of hair around a pencil. The notes sat comfortably resting against the steering wheel and propped on her knees. She looked annoyed at the mist forming, which seemed to want to play games with her by blocking her view of house 1013, just across the way. As if tutting at a disobedient child, she opened the passenger compartment and pulled out a cloth, first checking its cleanliness she folded it four ways and started wiping away the mist. Almost at full reach, Holly stopped and reached into her lap, feeling her notes slipping from their precarious perch she pushed herself against the wheel to try and stop them spilling onto the floor. Momentarily, her thoughts on the notes, the cloth hung above the coffee, Holly lunged to stop the notes moving any further and the coffee joined the affray. Spilling its contents onto the dash, the coffee splashed onto the windscreen, the dash and soaked the cloth Holly had now dropped in surprise.

Coffee trickled from the dash, gathering in the grooves around the vents. Following the contours of the dash, the hot liquid pooled at the lowest point, where it slowly dropped to the floor onto her notes. Her eyes rolled towards the half-awakened moon before she closed them tight, a gasp of air escaped her lips as she slouched defeated into her seat.
"Just typical, just bloody typical." She said under her breath. "Why me, why is it always me?" Speaking louder.

Reaching across to the passenger well, the rest of the papers fell to the floor in an act of final defiance, joining the rest amongst the coffee and grime littering the driver's foot well. Stopping briefly to look at the mess, she pursed her lips in annoyance but said nothing. Tugging her bag open, some of its contents spilled onto the floor, moving aside her FBI badge, Holly picked up the sealed tissue bag and scooped the other items back in.

Taking several tissues she began mopping the dash, taking more she picked up her notes from the floor, gently dabbing at the pictures she began to pile them neatly once again on the passenger seat. Her notes were almost illegible, the ink had began to run with the coffee making the print almost unreadable. Trying to dry them as best she could the ink smudges even more, shaking her head slowly in disbelief, she was beginning to think that maybe the best thing to do would be to go home. The thought was pleasurable and relaxed her a little, imagining the hot vapours soothing her aching joints.

Unconsciously she stretched her long legs into the drivers well and stretched her arms above her head. A sharp shooting pain shot through her knee that wrenched her back to reality once again, instinctively she cradled her knee in her hands. Fighting back tears of pain and clenching her teeth in anger, she sat rocking until the pain eased to a mere ache, taking a deep breath she flapped her fingers in front of her eyes hoping the tears would dry. Clenching her fists, she exhaled and took another deep breath and released slowly. Her knee still throbbed, but now it was more of a tingle. Looking at her knee there was a small cut right on top of her kneecap. The ladder in her tights was just another reason to go home, not only was her white blouse coffee stained but also her tights were ripped and her knee was bleeding.

"Absolutely bloody great!" she exclaimed to herself. All around her couples were starting to enjoy the season's festivities. The thought started her on a downward spiral into oblivion of self-pity. It was a basement room she often visited when she felt alone, but one she had managed to keep locked. She friends in abundance and a couple of close friends, ironically supplied by the FBI, but so far a serious relationship had eluded her. Now at twenty-seven, with torn tights and a coffee stained blouse she felt it was time to move on.

Leaning over the seat she felt behind the drivers seat, first pulling a large gold bag out. Reaching back round she grabbed the first aid kit. Looking around it was quiet, a few house lights shone faintly, but then who else in their right mind would be out here. Secretly she hoped her suspect would be out here, otherwise tonight as well as being jinxed would be another dead end in their investigation.

Her tights useless, she started wriggling to try and free herself of the misshapen hosiery, lowering herself in her seat and arching her back she managed what she almost felt was impossible. Kicking her shoes into the darkness of the well she lifted her feet to try and pull the remaining few inches off. The tights stretched refusing to give, leaning forward she almost growled at their stubbornness to be removed. Suddenly the tights gave way, giving into the inevitable. Holly was so determined she had not released the brute force she was applying, surprise and shock registered in her eyes only to late as the hand grasping the ripped tights hurtled towards her. She could only watch in disbelief as the hand in mock slow motion hurtled directly towards her. Free of the unyielding force that had held it in check.

"Ow!" She screamed as her hand landed heavily on her cheek, the ripped tights following behind like vapour streams, wrapped themselves around her head. Scrambling for the door handle with one hand, she fought with the tights once more unravelling them from her head. Throwing them into the foot well, Holly opened her door and was about to step out when stopped in her tracks.
"Not that stupid!" She said to her self, reaching into the foot well she righted her slip on shoes, her feet resisting a little without the smoothness of the tights to aid them. Pushing the door open, she twisted on her seat and almost catapulted herself from the disaster zone of her car. Holly froze, her feet engulfed in freezing water, small pieces of ice circled about her unprotected ankles. The only thing keeping her from crying now was the immortal words from a movie she had seen recently 'Watch that first step, it's a bit of a doozie'. A breeze gently caressed her fiery cheeks and Holly breathed deeply, stepping out of the pothole she shook her feet, knowing she would only remove the slush that had already ruined a perfectly good pair of Patrick Cox shoes. Her feet were now frozen beyond feeling and caring, stepping quickly to the rear of the car she open the boot and removed the warm boots that she quickly put on.

A glance across the road saw the lights wink out, she now knew her evening had been wasted. Getting back into the car, she started up first time and drove off into uncaring Washington thrall. Hoping Christmas Day would be a better day than today.