Twenty-minutes after they recovered the little girl, Constance watched on in a shocked stupor from the doorway as the sheriff laid her on the bed next to the catatonic adult Merrie Frances Callahan at the Holly Oak Assisted Living facility. He stood next to them for a moment, then kissed his fingertips and gently touched them to the little girl's forehead, then to Merrie's cheek.
When he walked out, he ushered Constance ahead then pulled the door shut behind him.
With a sigh he said, “All right, Special Agent Mandalay. Much as it pains me, I believe we still have a crime scene to process.”
“What...” she started, stammered, then started again. “What just happened here, Sheriff Carmichael?”
He shook his head. “I don't honestly know,” he said. “And that's the truth. All I can tell you is as of tonight it's been happening for eight years now. In about two hours Merrie will wake up just like usual and for her, it'll be Christmas Day nineteen seventy-four all over again.”
“Which one of them, Sheriff?” she asked.
“There's only one Merrie, Constance.”
“But you just...”
“Trust me, Special Agent Mandalay. There's only one Merrie Frances Callahan.”