Lou laughed at that.

Gabe didn’t blink, and stood looking at him as if disappointed.

Lou cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Lou. What are you doing here?” Gabe’s voice was gentle.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Lou held his hands up questioningly. “What does it look like? I’m working.”

“Except for security, and a few stragglers, you’re the only person left in the building. Haven’t you noticed? Everybody’s out there.” Gabe pointed out at the busy city.

“Yeah, well, everybody out there isn’t as busy as I am,” Lou said childishly. “Besides, you’re here, too, aren’t you?”

“I don’t count.”

“Well, that’s a great answer. I don’t count then, either.”

“You keep on going like this and you won’t,” Gabe said. “You know, one of the most successful businessmen of all time, a certain Walt Disney—I’m sure you’ve heard of him, he has a company or two here and there—said, ‘A man should never neglect his family for business.’”

There was a long, awkward silence during which Lou clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to decide whether to ask Gabe to leave or physically throw him out.

“But then”—Gabe laughed—“he also said, ‘It all started with a mouse.’”

“Okay, well, I’d better get to work now, Gabe. I hope you have a happy Christmas.” Lou tried to control his tone.

“Thank you, Lou. A very happy Christmas to you, too. And congratulations on your warm, enormous fucking office.”

Lou couldn’t help but laugh at that, and as Gabe closed the door behind him, Lou was alone for the first time in his space. He made his way to the desk, ran his finger along the walnut border to the pigskin surface. All that was on the desk was a large white computer, a keyboard, and a mouse.

He sat down on the leather chair and swung around to face the window, watching the city below him preparing for the celebrations. A part of him felt pulled outside, yet he felt trapped behind the window. In fact, he often felt as though he were trapped inside an oversized snow globe, responsibilities and failures sprinkling down around him. He sat in that chair, at that desk, for over an hour, just thinking. Thinking about Cliff; thinking about the events of the past few weeks and about the best day of all with his family, about the lessons he had learned. He thought about everything. When a mild panic began to grow inside him, he turned in his chair and faced the office. Faced up to it all.

He stared at the keyboard. Stared at it hard. Then he followed the thin white wire that was connected to the mouse. He thought about Cliff, about finding him underneath this very desk, clutching this very keyboard, swinging that very mouse at him with wide, haunted eyes.

To honor Cliff—something that Lou realized he hadn’t managed to do in the entire time that the man had been out of work—he kicked off his shoes, unhooked the keyboard from the computer monitor, and pushed back the leather chair. He got onto his hands and knees and crawled underneath the desk, clutching the keyboard close to him. From there he looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the city go racing by. He sat there for another hour, just pondering, watching people live while he was still and alone.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Gone was the usual hustle and bustle of the office floor. No phones ringing, no photocopiers going, no hum of the computers, no voices, no footsteps passing by. He’d never before heard the seconds on the clock, but now that he’d registered them, the ticking seemed to get louder and louder. Lou looked down at the keyboard in his hands, and then he looked at the mouse. What on Earth was he doing here, again, when everything he loved in the world was out there? It was then that he had a jolt, he felt it smack him in the head for the second time that year; for the first time, Cliff’s message finally reached him. Whatever Cliff had been so afraid was coming to get him, Lou sure as hell didn’t want it chasing him, either.

He clambered out from under the desk, shoved his feet into his polished black leather shoes, and walked out of the office to join the living.

Christmas Eve

GRAFTON STREET, THE BUSY PEDESTRIAN street in Dublin city, was awash with people doing their last-minute shopping. Hands were fighting to grab the last remaining items on shelves, budgets and all thought gone out the window as rash decisions were made according to availability and time, and not necessarily with the recipient in mind. Presents first; for whom, later.

For once not keeping up with the pace around him, Lou held Ruth’s hand and slowly wandered the streets of Dublin, allowing others to rush by them. Lou had all the time in the world. Ruth had been more than taken aback earlier when he’d arranged to meet up with them out in the city but, as usual, hadn’t asked any questions. She’d welcomed his new change with silent delight but with equal amounts of cynicism. Lou Suffern still had much to prove to her.

They walked down Henry Street, where hawkers cleared the last of their stock in their market stalls: toys and wrapping paper, tinsel and baubles, remote-control cars that ran up and down the street, everything on show for the last few hours of manic Christmas shopping. On the ever-changing Moore Street, displays included a lively ethnic mix of Asian and African stores. They attended early Christmas Eve mass and ate lunch together in the Westin Hotel in College Green, the historic nineteenth-century building, that had been transformed from a bank to a five-star hotel. They ate in the Banking Hall, where Bud spent the entire time with his head tilted to the ceiling, looking in awe at the intricately hand-carved ornate ceiling and the four chandeliers that glistened with eight thousand pieces of Egyptian crystal, and shouting over and over again just to hear the echo of his voice in the high ceiling.

Lou Suffern saw the world differently that day. Instead of viewing it from thirteen floors up, behind tinted reinforced glass in an oversized leather chair, he had chosen to join in. Gabe had been right about the mouse; he’d been right about Cliff teaching him something all along—in fact, it had started six months ago, as soon as the plastic mouse had hit him across the face, causing Lou’s fears and his conscience to slowly resurface after long being buried. In fact, when Lou thought about it, Gabe had been right about a lot of things. The voice that had been grating so much in his ear over the past week had actually been speaking the words he hadn’t wanted to hear. He owed Gabe a lot, he realized. As the evening was closing in, the children having to return home before Santa took to the skies, Lou kissed Ruth and the kids good-bye, saw them safely into the car, and then headed back to the office. He had one more thing to do.

Lou waited in the building lobby for the elevators, and when the doors opened, Lou about to step in, Mr. Patterson stepped out.

“Lou,” he said in surprise, “I can’t believe you’re working today. You really are a piece of work.” He eyed the box in Lou’s hand.

“Oh no, I’m not working. Not on a holiday,” Lou smiled, trying to make a point, subtly attempting to set the ground rules for his new position. “I just have to…” He didn’t want to get Gabe into trouble by revealing his whereabouts. “I just left something behind in the office.”

“Good, good. Well, Lou,” Mr. Patterson said tiredly. “I’m afraid I have to tell you something. I deliberated over whether to or not to, but I think it’s best that I do.” He paused. “I didn’t come in this evening to work, either,” he admitted. “Alfred called me in. Said it was urgent. After what happened to Cliff we’re all on tenterhooks, I’m afraid, and so I came in quickly.”