Wake Me When It's Over


Chapter One

A Midnight Clear

The streets were covered in a thick heavy slush, and it came up over my shoes, soaking my socks. My toes were already numb from the cold, and standing inside the back door of the Assembly Hall was doing nothing to warm them up. I looked forward to the chance to be able to change into dry clothes and drink some hot chocolate. More importantly, I looked forward to seeing Rebekah.

She and I had been dating, by the strict definition of the word (we had gone on several dates, hence: dating), But we were not, unfortunately, dating in the sense that she was my girlfriend or that we spent a huge amount of time together or that we held hands or that she looked at me with starry eyes and softly sighed my name.

It could be construed by the outside observer that my presence there in the cold slushy backroom that night, patiently waiting to take her home from one of the biggest performances of her life, might be an indication that things were somewhat serious between us. But they weren't. Serious on my end, certainly. Not so serious on hers. An unbalanced teeter-totter of a relationship: She was resting on the ground, casually ignoring the fact that I was dangling four feet above the sandbox.

I was, in fact, only taking her home from the most important performance of her life simply because I was in town and no one else really was.

She had parents, of course. Biology usually insists upon that. She had a sister even. However, her parents and her sister were in England for Christmas. Rebekah would be flying out tomorrow to join them. Other than that, she had no nearby relatives, and her roommates were generally useless.

There was a small monitor in the back foyer where I could watch her play. It was national TV, and there was Rebekah, front and center. She played the violin. Really, really well. I'll be the first to acknowledge my bias, but you have to be pretty good to be invited to play with world renowned musicians on a live Christmas broadcast.

It was in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square, for reasons that I didn't understand. The Assembly Hall didn't have nearly the seating capacity of the Tabernacle or the Conference Center and, although I am no expert, I doubted that it had equal acoustic quality either. Still, someone had chosen it, and the Christmas concert was underway.

Rebekah looked beautiful, and I say that not because of my previously mentioned bias, but simply because I strive to tell the truth in all things. She had sandy blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back. Normally it was wavy, although she had described to me the extreme lengths that she had gone to straighten it for the performance tonight. The procedure sounded fairly masochistic, but she looked incredible. She had blue eyes, and on the television they positively glowed, and although her face was intense as she drew the bow across her instrument, her skin looked soft and pristine. Her dress, like all of the other women on the stage, was black.

I stared a while at her, thinking to myself both how lucky and unlucky I was. She was going to be staying at my parent's house that night, after which I would drive her to the airport in the morning. Still, she never seemed terribly interested in things progressing past the chauffeur/good friend stage.

What was intriguing tonight, and what gave me a glimmer of hope, was what she was wearing around her neck. She could have chosen anything, and I would have thought that she would have chosen something else. Still, she was wearing the necklace I had given her.

I'm stupid generally, and I am male. Consequently, I hadn't gotten her anything for Christmas. I figured that since we were only casually dating, and since she had never really indicated that our relationship was anything more than that, that Christmas presents were not going to be exchanged. I'd thought about it, of course. I'd discussed it with my friends, and the consensus was that giving her something, at that stage, would be misunderstood. Since no gifts had been exchanged in the past, a gift now would force things to change a little bit. No longer would we be casually dating, but we would be casually dating and gift giving. It's an entirely different arena, they told me, and it wasn't territory that I should venture into unless I was certain that she would happily come along.

So, I didn't get her anything. For Christmas. Once again, I'm stupid.

Anyway, the day before the concert, she called me and told me that she had a gift for me. Not to be repetitive about my mental deficits, but I told her that I had gotten her something too. I figured I could run right out to the store, grab something quick, wrap it up, take it over, and she'd never know the difference. Well, she was calling on a cell phone from her car, and she would be at my apartment in approximately two minutes.

Fortunately, in BYU approved housing girls are not allowed very far into guy's apartments. Had Rebekah come in any farther than six inches, she would have seen the destruction that ensued when my roommates and I tore the place apart in search of something that could pass as a Christmas gift. With an apartment full of nothing but empty fast-food containers and textbooks, we finally settled on the necklace.

It was something that I’d acquired on my mission, and had forgotten about for over a year. In that time, I’d dropped it in a mug that I use for storing car keys and loose change, and ignored it.

It looked good around her neck, as I watched on the small monitor. The chain was thin and delicate, and the pendant was gold. It was inlaid with several tiny rubies, and there was a small design carved into the center. I wasn't sure what the design was, or even if the rubies were real. Still, she seemed to like it.

Rebekah finished playing her piece, and sat down on one of the black metal chairs lined up along the front of the stage. A large bearded man stood and took Rebekah's place, and an unseen pianist played as the tenor sang "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."

The evening wore on. My feet were freezing. Rebekah performed two more pieces during the hour, and received all the applause that the small venue could generate. I really wished that I had a ticket, and that I could sit and watch rather than stand and listen.

With only a few minutes left in the performance, the door opened. I briefly took my eyes off of the monitor to nod a quiet hello to the man, and then turned my gaze back to the screen.

"It's not over?" he asked breathlessly.

"A few more minutes," I answered, looking at him again. He was very tall, taller than nature has determined people are supposed to be. His face was red from running in the cold night air, and I could tell from the white speckles on his black wool overcoat that it had begun snowing again.

He bent over and took a long deep breath. Even folded over, he was slightly taller than me. It made me a little nervous. It wasn't that I thought he looked particularly menacing, but I had an irrational fear that he would challenge me to a quick game of one-on-one.

"Were you supposed to meet someone?" I asked, just making small talk.

No, were you? he would ask.

Yeah, I would say, Rebekah Hughes.

Wow, she's good looking.

Yes she is.

Actually, the tall man in the wool coat didn't say anything. I doubted that he heard me, but I didn't ask the question again in case he had and had chosen to ignore it.

There was uproarious applause from the crowd and I looked back at the monitor in time to see each of the featured performers taking a bow. As Rebekah bowed, I clapped.

"You know her?" the tall man asked, walking up behind me. His voice was wheezy and low.

"Yeah," I answered. "Do you?"

He shook his head uncertainly.

"We're dating," I replied proudly. He didn't seem to care, and, as no response came, I realized how dumb it must have sounded.

The monitor switched to black as the hour ended. Quickly, musicians began filing down the stairs, congratulating each other, and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. I leaned against the wall, trying to stay out of the way. The tall man pushed past the flow of traffic and climbed the stairs.

I told everyone who passed that I thought they had done a really great job. The large tenor shook my hand vigorously and told me that it was people like me that made this so much fun. I wished him a Merry Christmas. He reached into his coat pocket and fished me out a candy cane.

The herd of musicians dwindled down into nothing and, after a few minutes, the TV crew began pulling up the cables and wires that had been carefully taped to the floor. I ventured up the stairs. Rebekah wasn't there. Standing on the stage, I gazed out at the nearly empty building. A few people were gathered by the doors, and a few janitors had already begun walking up and down the aisles, picking up discarded programs and tissue.

It could be, I supposed, that she thought we were meeting at the car. It wasn't very likely, but it was a possibility. I walked down from the front of the stage and hurried to the door. I asked an usher if she'd seen the performance.

"Incredible, wasn't it?" she answered. "Didn't you feel the Spirit?" The usher was also a missionary.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Did you see the girl who was playing the violin?"

"You know," the missionary answered, "this time of year a lot of us are too focused on the commercial side of Christmas."

"Right," I answered. "The girl playing the violin - did you see where she went?"

"The question is," she responded, "Where did we come from? and Where are we going after this life?"

"She went that way," the missionary's companion said, rolling her eyes and pointing at the large gate on the south side of Temple Square.

I stepped out into the cold night air again. Steam was rising from the fountain surrounding the Seagull Monument, and dozens of concert-goers milled around in the lightly falling snow. I was somewhat grateful that my toes were numb, or else they would have probably been very painful.

Running as quickly as my conscience, and the slick layer of new snow, would allow, I hurried through the crowd and pushed out the gate and into the street. The road was packed with cars, as it was less than a week to Christmas and the shopping frenzy was heating up. Four large horse drawn carriages were waiting at the curb, hoping that the Christmas Spirit would encourage couples to take a long slow ride in below-zero temperatures. On the far side of the street, heading west, I saw Rebekah.

I could tell it was her, despite the distance, because I recognized the dress. I could tell that something was wrong, however, because she was wearing the dress without a coat, and it was certainly wasn't a winter outfit.

Next to her, also unmistakable, was an abnormally tall man in a heavy wool coat.

I ran. I didn't know what to expect, but I could only guess that the tall man wasn't taking her to a basketball tournament. Without thinking, I jumped into the street, and a Ford slammed on its brakes and skidded a little in the slush. I ignored it and splashed across the wet cement until I reached the curb. Horns were honking behind me as I saw Rebekah and Wool Coat disappear around the corner.

A slipped a little as I was turning, and had to grab hold of a light post to keep myself from falling completely. I dropped to one knee, suddenly feeling both pain and icy wetness down my leg. Wool Coat, who wasn't looking back, pushed Rebekah into a parking garage.

I stumbled back to my feet and pursued. A woman who I nearly bowled over yelled at me to watch where I was going. I kept running, thinking to myself that I was watching where I was going and, if I hadn’t been, then I actually would have hit her, rather than narrowly missed. I entered the garage.

It was suddenly quiet. Somewhere I could hear the sound of tires, as shoppers impatiently drove back and forth in search of a parking place. There were no voices, and I couldn't see anyone.

I looked at the ground, but many people had used that entrance, and there were dozens of wet footprints tracing in all directions. I ran forward a few steps.

"Rebekah?" My voice echo into the lifeless concrete garage.

I took a few steps more, desperately searching.

"Rebekah!"

This time in response to my shout I heard the tiniest response. It wasn’t a “Hey, over here.” For that matter, it wasn’t even a muffled scream. It was, instead, an almost imperceptible scratch - the sound of a shoe catching on an unseen imperfection of the cement. And it was behind me.

Wool Coat was there, emerging from a stairwell and trying to quietly push Rebekah back out into the snowy night.

She looked absolutely terrified. And cold, as I mentioned before. Her dress, while modest, showed far too much skin and was far too thin to be worn alone in sub-freezing temperatures. She was breathing rapidly, and puffs of vapor surrounded her as she fought to catch her breath.

Wool Coat had her by the arm, but she was being quiet. I could only imagine that her silence had been one of his requirements before they began this leisurely evening stroll.

“What’s going on?” It was the obvious question to ask. I could have probably thought of something better, but this query seemed to be screaming for an answer.

“Eric,” she breathed. Wool Coat shot her a look that indicated his displeasure at her uninvited vocalization.

I stepped forward, which Wool Coat seemed to take as a very severe insult, because he proceeded to throw a punch. It was the type of punch that I would have expected had I made a comment about his dubious parentage, although I remembered offering no such remark.

I wouldn’t have thought him close enough to hit me, and I certainly wasn’t close enough to hit him, but he was very tall. The punch connected.

I had, up to that point in my life, never been on the receiving end of a really accurate, full-force, I’d-break-your-neck-if-I-had-the-time-but-all-I-can-spare-is-this punch. To say that I saw stars would sound cliché, but I momentarily thought that I was back in the warm glow of Temple Square’s two and a half million Christmas lights. The only difference was that, in this version of the holiday display, a wool-coated Wiseman was running away, dragging a freezing Mary with him.

I followed. One of my teeth felt loose, my lip (or my nose or my eye) was bleeding, and I couldn’t run quite straight, but I followed nonetheless.

They were far ahead of me, but Rebekah’s effort to slow the escape of her kidnapper, and my determination to run despite blurring vision, were enough to keep him in my view. They crossed First South, passed a few shops and a bar, and turned east, heading into the alleyways behind several businesses. I hobbled a little faster to make sure I didn’t lose their trail. Fortunately, it appeared as though they were the first to head that direction since the snow began, and I followed their tracks easily.

They cut through a grassy area next to an electrical substation, and then down a narrow walkway between an office building and a restaurant. By strange coincidence, it was one of the few restaurants in Salt Lake that she and I had been to together. It was probably asking a little too much to hope that she was thinking fondly of that evening while Wool Coat dragged her past.

We were back at the street, and I could finally see them again. They were across Second South, and heading further south between two large red brick office buildings. I stopped at the curb, wiping blood from my face and trying to see if I would get hit by a car if I ran.

“Are you okay?” a man asked, emerging from a theater behind me.

“Call the police,” I answered shakily, nodding to him that I was alright.

“What do I tell them?” he stammered.

I didn’t answer, as I was halfway across the street before he finished he sentence.

It was quiet again between the buildings, and I didn’t like it. This alleyway led to several parking areas, and was much better traveled than the previous route. There were, therefore, no traceable tracks.

I walked as fast as I could, while still trying to remain cautious, worried that Wool Coat and his fist would be waiting around each corner and behind every obstacle.

I wasn’t quite cautious enough.

Another punch. I fell very non-heroically in the slush.

“Now,” he grunted, in the same out-of-breath low tone he’d used in the backroom of Assembly Hall, “stay there.”

It amazed me, as I stared back at him, that he’d somehow managed to keep a tight hand on Rebekah’s upper arm while mercilessly hammering me to the pavement.

Rebekah struggled. From my blurry and awkward angle, it looked like she kicked him. It should have hurt, I thought, but he ignored it. He pointed at me once more, indicating that it would be better for all involved if I burrowed down into the heavy wet snow, and hibernated there for the rest of the winter.

I didn’t, though.

Instead, as soon as he and his very imposing back turned, I leapt to my feet and chased him. I jumped, sending the full weight of my body, focused through my shoulder, into the small of his back. My freshman football coach would have been so proud.

Somehow, however, I didn’t knock him to the ground, free my semi-girlfriend, escape, and score the winning touchdown. Instead, he caught me mid-leap, redirected my flight, and shuttled me past him, over a railing.

It was a long way down.





All material on this site is copyrighted by Robison E. Wells, 2004-2005.