Chapter 1

It had been seven years since Dr. Decker, her beloved PhD advisor, had been dismissed, and just before the university closed for Winter Break. That had ruined Christmas for Dr. Dorothy Ann Mauer, renowned astrophysicist and lowly Assistant Professor at Walker State University. He had been denied tenure and dismissed for the community college adjunct field - a fate worse than death. Dr. Decker had worked closely with Dorothy Ann on her dissertation, but academic politics had blocked him from her tenure committee. He had moved here from Brown, a step down as he got nearer retirement, but he hadn't anticipated that the step would fall out from under him as he hit rock bottom.

There was no use dwelling on it, Dorothy Ann figured. She had to make her own way as a young – though not as young as she used to be – physics professor. This was her sixth year teaching for her alma mater, and she knew she had to succeed where her mentor had failed. She needed to get tenure, and she'd be damned if she'd let something like a broken heater in the physics building get in the way of crunching her data. She was wearing layers of sweaters, two pairs of gloves, and a fluffy hat as she toiled away. The heater would be fixed over the break, but science waits for no one.

When she hired graduate assistants, she told them that her work schedule was rigorous. She worked hard to get to where she was, and over the years, she'd grown her reputation for her detailed reports of her experiments. She'd been published in all the big physics journals and was working on some book chapters. She'd presented at conferences, and developed her own lectures and tests. She took the requirements for tenure and doubled them. That was the standard she set for herself. If they denied her tenure, she'd take her stack of publications and go somewhere else. Somewhere whose prestige matched and enhanced her own.

"Dr. Mauer?" Her grad student, a young woman named Emily, asked. "Do – do I need to be here? It's freezing."

"This data won't analyze itself." Dorothy Ann scowled. "Do you want to come in tomorrow?"

"But tomorrow's Christmas!" Emily student exclaimed. "I already canceled my trip to North Dakota. Can't we take one day off?"

"Do you want co-authorship on this paper or not?" Dorothy Ann asked. She knew she had to hold these grad students to high standards; after all, that's how she was able to be so successful. That's why she always had far more applicants than she knew what to do with.

"Yes." Emily said, resigned. "What time tomorrow?"

Dorothy Ann walked to her small apartment near campus. There was no reason for her to live further in town: her life revolved around the university. Sure, she could have tried to live somewhere it was easier to have an actual life, perhaps. But actual lives as non-academics knew them didn't really appeal to her. She was too old for the bar and dating scene, not that she even understood the appeal. It might be nice to be married, she thought every now and then, but to whom? Who would understand the immense pressure she put on herself? And would it be better to marry someone who had higher expectations, or someone who gave her a break? There had to be an answer, but she didn't want to take time finding it. Solving her own personal problems seemed like such a small thing compared to solving the problems of the universe.

As she was heading home, she was interrupted by a group of undergraduates.

"Sorry to bother you, but we're selling candy canes for the music program." One spoke up. Dorothy Ann sighed. She hated when bell ringers were more than passively thanking people for their coins. "The state keeps cutting funding to the arts, and we're trying to raise funds to buy new instruments. We'll donate our old instruments to the elementary schools."

"Can't you get jobs?" Dorothy Ann asked. "Don't you know the meaning of hard work?" Before they could talk, she sighed. "Of course you don't. You're undergraduates. Undergraduates in music."

"Excuse me?" Another one asked. "We all have jobs. You don't understand -"

"You don't understand." Dorothy Ann said. "Music is wonderful, but majoring in it? Are you trying to doom yourself to lives of failure? Give yourself a purpose."

"We do have a purpose." Yet another undergraduate said. "Music is an important discipline. It -"

"I've heard enough. Good day." Dorothy Ann said and kept walking. When she got to her apartment, she could swear she saw movement behind the peephole, but dismissed it as merely shadow. She locked the door behind her and heated up some soup. She had developed a great fondness for soup during her studies – it was easy to cook in large batches and easy to reheat. This batch had an abundance of celery, because it was on sale. She hadn't stopped living frugally, though living alone, she had plenty of money left over after her expenses each month. What little she had left over after paying toward her student loans she saved for the eventual day when she'd move across the country to a large, prestigious university. Or maybe she'd buy a car. Something practical and fuel-efficient.

She put her soup down next to her laptop, sat in her desk chair, and leaned back and stretched before looking at her email. Sure, she could have checked her email on her smartphone, but there was something deliciously old fashioned about sitting at a computer and reading.

Dr. Decker had emailed her, as he had weekly. They kept an epistolary correspondence – asynchronous friendship was easier to maintain than things like phone calls and visits. He was still having difficulty. Being an adjunct was living hell, especially for a man of his brilliance. After a long paragraph of musings, he had an entire paragraph in bold.

Dorothy Ann, I've become convinced that my whole life has been a mistake. I have focused far too much on research at the expense of developing a support system. You're the only one who understands, and it's because you've dug yourself into the same hole. But it's not too late for you as it is me. Go out, enjoy life off the tenure track. You'll need to rely on it in the hard times. You aren't your research. If only I'd traveled beyond the conferences! I could have seen the world! I could have fallen in love! Please, Dorothy Ann, don't end up a desperate lonely adjunct like me!

That was never the plan. Dorothy Ann would never adjunct, not until she was semi-retired.

Dorothy Ann moved to the next email she had – an invitation from Carlos to his house for Christmas dinner. She rolled her eyes. Carlos never stopped inviting her to things, no matter how many times she said she was too busy. The rest of her friends had mostly married, which had left her alone as well. As she was reading it, her phone buzzed with a text.

Did you get my email? It was from Carlos, the only person who confirmed email receipts with text messages.

Of course I did.

Well? She could practically hear him. She had to think of an ironclad excuse. She had no car to go into town, but she was sure one of her friends would pick her up. She had to tell the truth.

I've got a long day in the lab tomorrow. I have to sleep well tonight.

Take a break, will ya? Carlos asked.

You know the answer to that. Dorothy Ann couldn't help but smile sadly. Her friends were too kind, too forbearing with her. Dr. Decker's warning loomed in her mind. If she kept pushing them away, would they be gone forever?

On the other hand: what if she was on the verge of a great discovery? What would Schrodinger do?

As she finished her soup, Dorothy Ann wrote Dr. Decker back. She decided to keep it mostly to the research, but just after she hit send, an email came back.

Enough about the research! Get out and live!

Dorothy Ann was confused; he never responded this quickly. Something strange was happening. She texted Carlos.

I don't know what you're doing, but you need to cut it out.

Carlos didn't reply, but another email from Dr. Decker came in.

I know I can't convince you to change your ways, but there are others who can. You'll be visited by three spirits tonight.

Dorothy Ann rolled her eyes and texted Carlos again. You need to stop it. This isn't funny. I hate Dickens, I hate Christmas, and I hate you.

What are you talking about? Are you high? Carlos replied.

If it wasn't Carlos, then who was it? Dorothy Ann threw out the rest of her soup, as it had clearly gone bad, and went to bed.

author's note: Obviously, I don't own MSB or A Christmas Carol.