A
series of Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons vignettes for Christmas 2003
by Tiger Jackson
Back to:
The Holly and the Ivy
The Christmas tree’s fairy lights still
twinkled but the Officers’ Lounge was deserted. It usually was this late at
night. And if it hadn’t been, the fumes of modelling glue and paint would have
driven everyone out. Which suited Captain Ochre just fine.
He’d been working on this model for
weeks. Just a few more touches and it would be finished. He eyed his work
critically, looking for any flaws or imperfections. It hadn’t been an easy
task, adapting various model kits for this project; he didn’t often design and
build original model aircraft. But with patience and skill, he’d selected,
trimmed, fitted, and painted the assorted pieces and finally create a scaled
down Angel Interceptor. All that remained was to paint the pilot’s name beneath
the canopy. None of the real Interceptors were personalized, Ochre knew, but
since this was a special gift, he didn’t think it would matter.
It would have been nice if he could have
made a model of the pilot, too, but he just wasn’t very good with human
figures. He knew someone who was, though. Or had known him once. As hard as he
tried to forget, every year, as Christmas Eve approached, he remembered his
first mentor. And Josh.
Chad Glenn had been an outstanding World
Police officer and also an enthusiastic aeroplane modeller. He’d struck up a
personal as well as professional friendship with his teenaged protégé, Richard
Fraser, and the two men had spent a lot of time together. And Chad’s son,
nine-year-old Josh, had often joined them, to watch and listen as the men
meticulously worked on their miniature aircraft. Josh was an only child, and
looked up to his father’s friend, whom he called “Uncle Rick.”
Because of his high rank and heavy
responsibilities, Chad wasn’t required or expected to answer emergency calls
that were routinely handled by uniformed local police. But out of habit, or
maybe just to keep himself reminded of his own humble start as a city patrol
officer, Chad kept a police-band radio tuned in at all times when he was at
home.
It had been Christmas Eve. Officer
Fraser was enjoying dinner with the Glenn family when a shop burglary was
reported over the radio. There had recently been a prison break and the police
dispatcher warned that the dangerous escapees might be the burglars. The shop’s
address wasn’t far from the Glenns’ house.
“C’mon Rick,” Chad said.
“But Dad,” Josh protested. “We’re still
eating. And it’s Christmas Eve! I wanted to watch ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed
Reindeer’ on TV with you.”
Chad ruffled his son’s hair. “Can’t let
someone else’s Christmas be spoiled, can I?” He smiled at his wife and his son.
“I’ll be back before Santa comes. I promise.”
That promise had gone unkept. Chad
hadn’t made it home that night or ever again. For one little boy, Christmas
would never come again. It had been murdered, along with his father. Ochre shut
his mind against the details of the ambush he and Chad had walked into.
Rick had tried to fill some of the
emptiness in Josh’s life. He’d spent hours with him, working with him on
models, hoping he would talk to him. The boy was adept at modelling. He also
showed a remarkable talent for crafting, especially for sculpting original
designs. He wasn’t even a teenager when he first attempted to mold a bust of
his late father from play clay.
But Josh could not stop being angry at
Richard Fraser for surviving when his father had died, for not somehow saving
his father from death instead of the other way around. It made no difference
that “Uncle Rick” had worked tirelessly with the detectives who had
successfully pursued and captured Chad Glenn’s killers. Josh pushed his
father’s friend away, and finally broke off all contact when, aged 16, he went
to formally study art at the prestigious Ecoles des Beaux-Arts in France.
But Josh had never forgotten Richard
Fraser. And, eventually, he had forgiven him.
When Richard Fraser, supreme
commander-elect of the World Police, had died in the line of duty, Josh had
attended the funeral and left a token. Captain Ochre of Spectrum had arranged,
as his own heir, to receive that token.
It was a perfect scale model of himself,
thirteen–inches tall and dressed in a World Police uniform. On a card, Josh had
written, “I’m sorry, Uncle Rick. I know Dad’s death wasn’t your fault. I miss
you. Goodbye.”
Captain Ochre regretted that he could
not ask Josh to sculpt a pilot for the Interceptor. He could tell no one he’d
left behind that he was still alive.
With a sigh, he dismissed the heavy
memories, took up his finest one-haired brush, and began to paint the Angel’s
name onto her fighter jet.
Story
Note:
This
story is based on fact but the names and some other details are fiction.
Back to: The Holly and the Ivy
OTHER
STORIES BY TIGER JACKSON
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