I recognised the house.
It was the house of my childhood.
But there was something about it, something that did not seem quite… quite right.
Was it the lights? Multicoloured lights. I did not recall lights in the windows like this last time I was here. What was the message they were trying to tell me? This had to be some sort of secret code. Those colours had to mean something. Red and green and white, with the occasional blue and yellow one. The pattern had to mean something. Had to!
Would I have the time to interpret their meaning?
I looked about quickly.
The beady, black eyes had already fallen upon me. I cursed my complacence and threw myself backwards where I ducked down behind the hedge. I caught my breath and peered cautiously through a gap in the branches.
He was only armed with what looked like a broom, but I knew only too well how deceiving those new weapons can be. Strangely, his rotund frame looked very white. I could not see his legs in the snow. At least he was wearing a scarf, but also a top hat? A final glance told me that his nose appeared orange and that his arms were quite spindly.
I nodded to myself. I could take him.
I took out the revolver and quickly screwed in the silencer. Two shots was all it took to obliterate the head completely. There was a lot less blood than I would have expected, but now was not the time to ponder that.
I had to get inside and make sure everything was all right. This was clearly more involved than I had assumed.
I just hoped I was not too late.
I had to think. The front door would be watched; it always was. And the back door would not only be locked, but also guarded by one of the vicious dogs that I remembered from my younger years as a prisoner here. So that only left a window.
They were protected, like everything else in this place. I know they looked like icicles, but the sharp shards of glass were poised to drop with the slightest tremor. A deadly trap, I had no doubt. I had to eliminate them first.
Percussion grenade. Small one. Enough to dislodge the protective spears. Things shook a little, but no real noise as those spears struck the snow below.
I heard footfalls.
The door opened. “Chase! Are you out there?”
My sister! And she knew I was here! Was she working with them now? I could not allow myself to be caught or seen so I shrank back into the vegetation and waited. She finally re-entered the house, but I knew she would be back.
I covered my hand and tapped the glass in the corner of the window. It had already been damaged by the grenade and so my entrance was simplified. A slight tinkle and the hole was large enough for me to carefully fit my hand in and unlatch the sash. I lifted it slowly and, with a final glance at my surrounds, darted inside, rolling across the floor and finishing on my feet, gun poised, ready for anything.
I sniffed. Burning! I hoped I was not too late.
I darted through the door and rammed myself hard against the opposite wall. A short corridor, but I was still alone, thanks to doors at either end. I could hear noises from behind the closer of the doors. It sounded like a struggle. Groaning and grunting, and then a drawn out sound, almost like a deep trumpet. An alarm? I could not let myself panic and I edged along the wall towards the other door at the far end.
With my foot I nudged it open a fraction, gun held at the ready in both hands.
Some one had planted a tree in the middle of the house? Like the front windows, it was covered in lights. Damn! I cursed myself. I wished I had spent more time trying to decipher the code. Oh well, no time for that now. For I could see that around the base of the tree were boxes.
So many boxes.
Parcel bombs! Why else would there be so many of them? They were planning wholesale death and destruction, maybe across the entire city! There was only one thing to do.
I lobbed the grenade and ducked. The explosion sent shrapnel in all directions and sent the door flying over my head and down the corridor. I was on my feet immediately and burst through, emptying two clips from my gun into everything that was still standing.
Smoke was still rising, And I could see that it was coming from an object disguised as a cooked bird set in the middle of a large table-like device. I grasped it and hurled it through the window, sending glass everywhere and then ducked down. No explosion; good, the snow must have negated any of the blast effects.
And I stood and surveyed the scene before me. Blackened faces stared back at me through the cloudy, smouldering haze.
One of them stepped forward. She placed her hand on the muzzle of my run and pushed it down so it was no longer pointing at her face.
“Merry Christmas, Chase.”
“Thanks, mum,” I replied.