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Excerpt from
Begin at the End
The Second in the Owen Story Trilogy


Chapter 1

It was a beautiful New York City day for the Eighty-First Annual Macy’s Day Thanksgiving Parade, an event that had become a tradition for people around the world. The temperature was a balmy thirty-five degrees, the sky a clear winter wash blue with a touch of sun. All along the route from Seventy-Seventh Street to Seventh Avenue people dressed in their winter warms laughed and shouted as they enjoyed the sheer camaraderie of watching a parade.
The crowd hadn’t really come to see the B list celebrity entertainers, the spunky dance numbers, the high school marching bands or even the spectacular floats that sailed overhead, they’d come as strangers to stand together in the cold early morning light to catch a glimpse of the true star of the show; the man who’s recognized as the ultimate ubiquitous symbol of commercial getting and giving, the one and only Santa Claus who’s arrival would not only signify the end of this year’s parade but the official beginning of the race to the finish line of the holiday shopping season.
Thousands watched the show on the street while millions watched it from their homes in front of their television sets or on their computer screens while they listened to the mildly interesting commentary tossed off by the NBC hosts Meredith Viera and Matt Lauer who, in their warm enclosed booth at Herald Square were trying valiantly to ratchet up the excitement for the arrival of the main attraction.
“We’ve been so lucky the promised rain has held off,” said Ms. Vieira who smiled with perfect teeth at the viewers. “An icy cold shower would’ve just ruined the parade.”
“Yes, we’ve been lucky so far and luckier still because this is the largest crowd since ninety-seventy-five so there’s hundreds of officers out there to keep everyone safe; a phenomenal effort,” said Mr. Lauer who flashed his own set of capped pearly whites to the world. “But I predict no matter what happens no one would miss the arrival of the man himself.”
“Folks, here he comes approaching Herald Square. Oh, my goodness doesn’t he look wonderful,” Ms. Vieira bounced in her seat. “He looks exactly like the jolly happy Santa I remember from my childhood.”
“He’s just stopped in front of the decorated windows of Macy’s department store officially ending the parade folks,” added Mr. Lauer. “The red nose, the red plush coat fronted by white fur—”
“I hope that’s not real fur?” Ms. Vieira cut in her smile losing a couple of wattages as her eyes narrowed on Father Christmas.
“If it is, he’s not going to be sliding down any PETA chimneys this year,” answered her co-host with a plastic chuckle.
Television screens all over the world were presented with the real time image of a huge red Christmas sleigh filled with wrapped presents and seated among the bounty children of all ages waving at the crowd. High above them on a throne sat Santa Claus, with one hand he held on to white reigns attached to imaginary flying reindeer while he waved with the other. The crowd shouted and waved back as if he were the Second Coming.
He was dressed in the traditional Santa suit complete with jaunty red hat, wide black belt with large gold buckle and black knee-high boots but what hit home to all the viewers in television land as well as those gazing at him from the streets was that he did look like everyone’s ideal fairy-tale image of Father Christmas, a white man with a long white beard, rosy cheeks, a round fleshiness to his stout body and wearing a smile of what looked like innocent joy.
He stood atop the magnificent sleigh handing down packages to eager hands. As he picked up a gold wrapped present and straightened, his grin suddenly broke and disappeared. The package dropped from his fingers as the fur lining the front of his coat went from cloud white to crimson red to match the rest of his suit. He fell back onto the throne, shocked surprise on his face as the huge shouting laughing crowd around him went silent.
“What was that?” Mr. Lauer’s alarmed voice came over as the image of the slumped Santa was frozen to screens. “What happened? Anyone see what happened?”
“You see that?” Ms. Vieira’s voice was heard loud and afraid.
Before the stunned world-wide audience Santa lay slumped until the top of the throne and his head disintegrated in blood and wood that sent him over the side of the sleigh.
“Gun,” someone yelled.
Pandemonium in the streets.