Zzzzt. Zzzzzt. Mr. Ring didn't seem to like that idea.

"Just a suggestion," I said.

Morelli's hand was steady at my neck, and Ring took a couple deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" Grandma asked Ring. "You don't look too good."

"I'm... excited," he said. "M-m-meeting your family." Zzzt.

It looked to me like Ring was having a control problem. He was leaking electricity. And he seemed as uncomfortable with his position as I was.

"Well," he said, forcing a smile, "this is a typical fun family Christmas, isn't it?" Zzzzt. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Zzzt. Zzzt. "And this is your lovely Christmas tree."

"I paid fifteen bucks for it," my father said.

Zzzt.

The tree had about twelve needles left on it and was tinder dry. My father diligently watered it every day, but this tree died in July.

Ring reached out, tentatively touched the tree, and it burst into flames.

"Holy shit," Kloughn yelped. "Fire. Fire! Get the kids out of the house. Get the dog. Get the ham."

The fire spread to the cotton batting wrapped around the base of the tree and then to the presents. A streak of fire raced up a nearby curtain.

"Call 911," my mother said. "Call the fire company. Frank, get the fire extinguisher from the kitchen!"

My dad turned to the kitchen, but Morelli already had the extinguisher in hand. Moments later, we all stood dazed, mouths agape, staring at the mess. The tree was gone. The presents were gone. The curtain was in tatters.

John Ring was gone.

And Diesel hadn't returned.

There was a loud series of explosions outside and through the window we saw the sky light up, bright as day. And then all was dark and quiet.

"Cripes," my dad said.

Grandma looked around. "Where's John? Where's my studmuffin?"

"You mean Sparky," Kloughn said. "Get it? Sparky?"

"Looks like he left," I said.

"Hunh, just like a man," Grandma said. "Burn down your Christmas tree and then up and leave."

Morelli set the fire extinguisher aside and crooked his arm around my neck. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"I don't think so."

"I didn't see any of this," Morelli said. "I didn't see the sparks coming off his head. And I didn't see him set the tree on fire."

"Me either," I told him. "I didn't see any of that stuff, either."

We all stood there for some more long moments with nothing to say. There were no words. Just shock. And maybe some denial.

A small, sleepy voice broke the silence.

"What happened?" Mary Alice asked.

She was on the stairs in her jammies. Angie was behind her.

"We had a fire," my mom said.

Mary Alice and Angie approached the tree. Mary Alice studied the charred boxes. She looked up at my mom. "Were these presents from the family?"

"Yes."

Mary Alice was sober. Thinking. She looked at Angie. And she looked at Grandma.