“I need you to think about someone”, the man said as he watched the youth struggling to concentrate on his words.  

Who? Joe wondered and the man answered, “Whoever you want.”  

Frank? Joe asked, and the man gave a little chuckle as he had already known who it would be, “Frank would be good.”  

Okay, the boy thought and then gave a little cough, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt like someone had wrapped a belt around his chest and he was having trouble breathing past it.  

The man watched, intense concern marring his tranquil face – it frustrated him that with all he could do, there was nothing he could about this. He could not heal physical hurts… although sometimes he could stay them for a little while…  

“Joe?”  

The boy didn’t answer as he took a couple of deep gasping breaths.  

“Joe?”  

Hmmm, the boy thought and the man hated himself for asking, but they did not have time to wait for Joe to feel better – he wasn’t going to, “Joe I need you to think about Frank.”  

Okay, Joe thought, Frank… and the man could sense the child struggling with thoughts of his brother.  

“Find one thought and hold onto it”, the man instructed, “you need to see every detail of that one image so clearly that you can see the intricate threadwork on his sweater.”  

Joe wasn’t too surprised that the man knew which image he was thinking of.  It was of his brother when Joe had left the house just after supper.  Frank was standing in the doorway, telling him to drive carefully.  

The younger boy fought to focus in on every detail.  

He could see the concern in the warm, chocolate eyes as they bid him to be careful… he could see the dark brown hair that looked so soft to touch… the final chiseled jaw line… the lean, muscular body… his brother’s 6’1 frame… he could smell his brother’s aftershave…  

“The sweater, Joe, can you see his sweater?” the man pressed needing the child to focus.  

Joe thought about the sweater. It was a cream colored woolen one… one that their Aunt Gertrude had given Frank as an early Christmas present this morning before she had flown home. She couldn’t spend the holidays with her brother’s family this year.  

She had given Joe one like it, only navy blue - confiding in him that she thought he looked particularly handsome in that shade of blue; making the boy blush, although inwardly he was very pleased at the comment.  

“Frank’s sweater”, the man reminded him, seeing Joe wonder off track… and with great effort the boy refocused back on his brother.  

When the man could finally see each little woolen fiber so carefully knit over one other, did he know it was time.  

And then it was gone.  

“Joe!” he shouted as the teen’s head lulled forward again, “Oh no kid! Don’t go giving up now… not when we’re so close!”  Quickly but gently, he titled the boy’s head back and placed a warm hand on the cold cheek, forcing some strength into the failing body.  

But it was no use.  

The man sighed. He was not ready to give up so easily.  It would be harder, but he’d have to do this himself.  

He only hoped that he could convince Frank in time.  

If not, then in the wee hours of Christmas morning, a local farmer and his stout son would see the tail end of the van sticking up from the frozen pond – and they would have been too late.  

But the man was not ready to give up so soon.  He could not always prevent it, but that didn’t stop him from trying – children should not die on Christmas Eve… but then amended. No one should.

* * *

Frank’s nose wrinkled up as he smelled something sweet.  Like cinnamon.  

Hmmm, opening his eyes, he sat up and blinked – was something cooking?  

No – he was the only one home.  

And then he yawned and listened – did Joe come home yet?  

“Joe? You home?” he called out as he stood up and stretched. But his call went unanswered.  And he frowned as he glanced down at the time. He had hoped his brother would have been home by now.  

Sniffing again, Frank scratched his chest as he headed towards the kitchen, pushed open the door, and then froze, his face crinkled up in disbelief.  

“Excuse me?” he said as he looked at the man sitting down at the kitchen table. The man had a glass of milk and was dipping a gingerbread man into it. He smiled when he saw the confused looking teen, “Want a cookie?”  

Shaking his head, the teen just turned around, closed the door and went back to lie down on the couch.  

“Definitely not awake yet”, he muttered burrowing down under the quilt, “and definitely don’t want anything to do with that.”  Closing his eyes, Frank tried to go back to sleep.

* * *

The man sighed.  

They really didn’t have time for this.  

He needed Frank to believe…. preferably before Joe ran out of time.

* * *

“Frank”  

“Go away.”  

“Frank”  

“Go away.”  

“Frank!”  

An exasperated face appeared from underneath the quilt and glared at him, “I told you already – go away. I don’t believe in Santa Claus… and I certainly don’t want him hanging out in my living room!  So let me get back to sleep… so I can wake up and you can be gone!”  

“Frank”  

“WHAT!” this time Frank sat up and shoved the quilt off him. He hated these kinds of dreams; the ones where you know you’re dreaming but you still can’t wake up.  

The man started to say something but all of sudden a strange look filtered across his face… and he was gone.  

“About time” the irritated boy said as he flopped back down on the couch and covered up again. God he was cold.

* * *

A strong wave of nausea threw Joe back to consciousness in time to scream out as he retched and his body cried out in pain.  

Instantly he felt someone’s hand on his back helping him as a wretched sob was torn from his lips.  

When it was finally over, Joe closed his eyes again.  

I’m so tired, he thought and he felt the man’s hand stroke his cold cheek, “I know… just hold on a little bit longer…”  

For what, Joe needed to know, I’m dying… I can feel it. I can feel myself slipping away…  

Hot tears warmed his face and he heard the man sigh, “I know. But just a little longer okay kid?  I just need to get through to Frank-“  

Joe’s thoughts cut him off with a snort, good luck… people think I’m stubborn. They have no idea about - and then he was lost to the darkness again.  

The man let out a heavy sigh as he stayed with the child for a few more moments. He hated to leave him but he needed to – he needed to talk to Frank.

* * *

The ice beneath the van settled with a small crack.

* * *

“Frank”  

“Go away”  

But this time the boy bolted up off the couch as a frozen snowball hit him squarely in the chest.  

“What the-“he was cut off by a very amused looking man, “So that’s what it takes to get your attention.”  

Frank sputtered but the man ignored him, “Now are you ready to listen.”  

“Look!”  Frank finally said as he brushed the snow off his sweater, “I don’t believe in you… in fact I have never believed in you. So why don’t you go off and bother some other person – preferably someone who does believe!!”  

The man pursed his lips and frowned, “You never believed in me?”  

“Never”, Frank said adamantly and then he glanced down at his watch – Joe should have been home by now.  He needed to call the Mortons and tell his little brother to get his butt back home.  

“Then what is this?” the man asked.  

“What is what?” Frank countered, needing to wake up so he could use the phone.  

Without saying a word, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope.  He looked at it for a few moments and then, still without saying anything, he passed it to the teen.  

At first Frank wasn’t going to take it but then with a resounding snort, he took the letter and looked at it.  He saw the address, written in a child’s scrawl:  

Santa Claus

North Pole

HOH OHO  

And then he saw the name of the sender and his face paled as he looked up at the man with Christmas in his eyes:  

Francis (Frankie) Fenton Hardy  

“You used to believe Frank”, the man said quietly, “you used to believe very much.”