Firefly
Lore-ian
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How the Years Pass
Or Detective Diane and the Christmas Boy
Intervention and fate,
Entwined into one
In the darkness of the holy night.
Detective Diane Hubert paced around the waiting room, glaring at the double doors that led to a corridor of emergency rooms. Her friend Jane lay in one of them. Giving birth on Christmas Day—a blessing and a curse.
The doors flew open. Diane rushed towards the nurse, meeting a flustered gaze with her own anxious one.
“How is she?”
The nurse forced a smile. “Miss Anton is fine. No need to worry.”
“And the baby?”
The woman’s face fell. “Well, his birth was successful, but…” She took a deep breath. “As we feared from the blood tests, his brain and heart are extremely underdeveloped. To come out of the womb in such a state…”
Diane’s eyes narrowed. “Will he live?”
The nurse stared at her hands. “I don’t know. Even if he does, I… doubt it would be for very long. When—”
Grabbing her by the lapels, Diane slammed the nurse against the wall. “Save him,” she hissed. “If not for me, then for Jane.” Her eyes blurred for a moment, as if her thoughts swerved in another direction. “Don’t let an infant die on Christmas Day.”
The nurse stumbled through the doors as Diane released her. “Y-yes. We’ll do our best.”
Bars and chains,
Ought and must
Arrive in the third month.
Diane rang the doorbell of Jane’s house, flanked by three policemen. “Come in!” called the voice of her friend.
Turning the handle, Diane opened the door. She marched down the hallway and found Jane in the living room. She sat on the couch, holding her three-month-old baby.
Diane stood in front of her and squared her shoulders. “The evidence is against you, Jane. I’m afraid you are convicted.”
The blond woman looked up, rocking her baby in her arms. “I’m not making excuses. I killed the father of my child.”
Staring at Jane’s serene face, Diane felt her resolve shatter. She collapsed to her knees before her friend, ignoring the gasps from the policemen.
“Why, Jane, why? Why did you do it?”
Jane’s eyes kindled with a scorching flame. “Shame. Shame, and revenge.”
Trial to change a newborn’s life.
The circle of power spins
Five months after his mother’s disgrace.
Diane flopped onto her couch. The moment she sat down, the phone rang. Cursing, the detective stumbled across the room and snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Diane, it’s me, Miranda.”
The tone bothered the detective. “Hi, Miranda. How did it go?” Silence. “I really wouldn’t have forced you to appear for me, but I had a case today and—”
“Oh, Diane, don’t you worry about that! It’s just…” A sharp inhale of breath. “The court ruled it would be… unhealthy for a child to be raised by the woman who prosecuted his mother.”
“I see.” Diane carried the phone to the couch and plopped down on a cushion. She fought to keep her voice monotonous.
“They’re sending him to a foster home, to a pair of strangers who don’t plan on telling him his true origin. What’s more, they’ve given the ‘parents’ permission to give him a new name.” The words tumbled out in a rush, as if she feared Diane would drop the phone in horror before she could finish.
“Thanks for telling me, Miranda. I…”
“It’s really unfair,” the other woman grumbled. “Honestly, you’re the best candidate for taking care of Dave. I mean, who was the one that stood in the hospital the day of his birth, pleading for his survival on Christmas night?”
“We have to respect the court’s decision.” Diane dug her nails into her palm and blinked away the tears.
“But, but, you won’t even be able to visit him! You won’t even recognize him if you ever meet him again!”
Diane hacked out a sardonic laugh. “I’m a detective, aren’t I? I’ll find him someday.”
A full circle of movement,
Spiralling to a bittersweet conclusion,
The dawn of a new decade.
Children dotted the playground: sitting on swings, whirling down slides, climbing across monkey bars. Diane stepped across the grass outside the kids’ paradise and joined an elderly couple on a nearby bench. She swept her thinning hair from her eyes and rubbed the creases on her temple.
“Tired?”
Diane met the gaze of the old woman. “A little. It was a hard day at work.”
“What do you do?” It was the man this time. “Apologies if I’m prying. I noticed that you moved into the neighbourhood a week ago, so I thought we’d better get acquainted.”
Diane smiled. “That’s fine. I’m a detective.”
Their eyes shone with wonder.
“Our boy Noah dreams of becoming a detective.” The woman chuckled, pointing at a child of around ten who was scrambling across the monkey bars.
“Once he hears about you, he’ll think one of his fictional heroes has come to life,” the man remarked.
Diane laughed. “Real life is not quite as glorious. It can be gruesome work at times. Though—” she eyed the determination in the boy’s gaze, the youthful enthusiasm in his climb— “I think your child has the strength for it.”
“He’s a strong kid,” the man agreed. “People wouldn’t believe it when I told them he was born underdeveloped. The doctors thought he couldn’t pull through, and look at him now! The healthiest kid on the block!”
“I’m actually not surprised he managed to pull through,” the woman commented.
Diane raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“He was born on Christmas Day.”
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