The Chronic Pilgrim

                  PROLOGUE

      Friday, December 25, 2026 – 0200 h

      The grandfather clock in the entry hall ended its Westminster chime and struck the hour twice. Upstairs, a bedroom door opened slowly, and a pajama-clad boy eased into the dim hallway.
      Twelve-year-old Mark Diamond hesitated and stared at his parents’ closed bedroom door until their familiar rhythmic snores reached his ears. He tiptoed to the head of the stairs, paused opposite the guest bedroom of his Uncle Stamos and sniffed the air. When no trace of fresh cigarette smoke was detected, he descended lightly to the ground floor landing and flicked the wall switch inside the family room.
      Immediately, the seven-foot spruce Christmas tree in the far corner glowed brilliantly from its hundreds of colorful lights. Set around the hand carved Nativity manger that his father had brought from Greece were a host of gift-wrapped presents.
      He continued his way back into the kitchen and poured a large glassful of milk. As he drank, he saw someone through its foggy bottom at the kitchen window. When he lowered the glass, however, the image was his own reflection. He shrugged and yawned, shuffled up the back stairs into his bedroom and soon was fast asleep.

                  * * *
      The bedroom door to Mark’s room suddenly flung open and a cloud of dense smoke billowed in, followed by his uncle. “Markie!” he shouted, as dark shadows flickered on the hallway walls. “Markie! Wake up! Wake up!”
      Startled, Mark sat up quickly. Stamos Kyroukis was his mother’s brother, who never lost the Mediterranean island accent as his sister had. Mark liked the way it sounded, usually, but this time there was an urgency he had never heard before.
      “What’s happening? What’s the matter?”
      “The house, it is on fire! We must leave immediately! Take your blanket and follow me quickly.”
      They hurried to the staircase where flames encircled the landing below. Stamos wrapped the blanket around them, and they rushed arm-in-arm down the stairs to the Dutch style front door. Stamos groped at its locks and managed to unbolt its top half only. Mark swung it open, vaulted out and helped his uncle heave his bulky frame over to join him. They had run fifty feet on the flagstone path when Stamos lost his balance, and they fell as one into a pile of snow.
      Mark looked back and saw flames had enveloped the entire corner of the house, from his parents’ bedroom down to the family room below it. “Where’s Mom and Dad, Uncle Stamos? I don’t see them.”
      Stamos brushed the snow from the singed blanket and reassured him. “They’re safe. They must have gotten out the back door. They will join us soon.”
      The blaze appeared to hypnotize them for a few moments, until Mark exclaimed, “Oh, no, the tree lights!”
      “What are you talking about, Markie?”
      “I forgot to shut them off! Dad is always reminding me about the danger of leaving them on too long. Mom loves having so many lights, but he’s always warning her too, that the wiring might not hold up.”
      His uncle forced a laugh. “You should know by now why your father says that. It’s so he does not have to go all over town to find replacements. Stores are always out of them. Your mother understands it is but a lame excuse.”
      He tucked the blanket beneath the youngster’s bare feet, but Mark hardly noticed and looked on anxiously as the fire moved up the center hall stairway.
      Once more Mark begged, “Where are my parents? They should be here by now! Let’s go find them!”
      “It’s too dangerous. They are safe, I tell you. Listen! Help is coming.”
      The siren of an approaching fire engine pierced the night air, and flashes of alternating blue and white light raced across the siding of the house as a crew of volunteer firefighters arrived.
      “Uncle, I’m scared something awful’s happened to them.”

      :           * * *