Santa Command—Control Room 8
December 24th
2352 hours
Phil watched with horror as Tracy plummeted to the concrete driveway. She landed with a crack, her arm twisted unnaturally beneath her. The wolves jumped off the roof, transforming back into Inklings in mid-air and sprouting wings in the process. They landed softly beside Tracy, each one of them looking to Sasha, who pulled a handful of dust from her pocket and stepped up to Tracy's body.
Tracy's still image filled the entire twenty foot screen. In addition to the broken arm, she had a line of blood running from her forehead, down her cheek, and into her hair.
Phil looked to his boss, who had turned away from the screen, occupying himself in some task that didn't really need to be done. He knew what Walt was thinking. This was Paige Murphy all over again.
Phil had been the one to see Paige's body go slack. Horrified at what he'd done, Phil had transported himself to her house and woken Paige's family in the middle of the night. He didn't tell them the truth though. He claimed to be driving home from a party when he saw her lying motionless on her driveway. Paige's bedroom window had been open, and her parents assumed she had fallen while trying to spot Santa. Paige, of course, wasn't talking, and it was likely she never would again.
The memory of Paige was enough to give Phil a lifetime of nightmares. No secret was worth adding another child to his list.
Sasha's fist hovered over Tracy's face, her fingers opening one by one. A speck of dust drifted onto the girl's eyes. And then another speck.
“Stop!” Phil ordered into the Inkling's ear bud, knowing full well the trouble he was about to dump on himself. “I rescind my order. Transport her back here.”