So I was working without a computer, and I knew if I published only the first part, I would never finish it. At least, I wouldn't finish it before Christmas. So I wrote it all together, and published it all at once.

An unknown man checked his watch. As he was fixing his sleeve, the train chugged into the station. He took a step towards the newly arrived train, taking off his hat. That was when Lydia, brown hair pinned back and fresh in a tweed coat, stepped from the train.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't be back home for the holidays," he said. His arms outstretched, the man made his way to her and kissed her. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Hal," Lydia replied. Jack narrowed his eyes; her expression was…funny. And she'd made a brief face when he'd kissed her; if Jack had blinked, he would have missed it.

"Merry Christmas, Dia," the man, Hal, told her. He kissed her again. "You ok?"

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Traveling just…takes it out of you." Lydia shook her head, and Jack noticed that her wide smile was fake.

"She loves traveling. She's lying." Jack looked expectantly at Simon, who remained stony-faced. He was hurt, yet excited at the same time. Louder, he repeated, "She's lying."

"Listen, Lydia, I've thought about this a really long time, and I couldn't stand you being away for so long. I love you," he fished in his pocket, pulling out a small black box. "Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in Lydia's eyes. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand. Nodding, she said, "Of course."

Hal grabbed Lydia's arm with one hand and her bag in the other, and they made their way out of the station.

Jack stood dumbfounded, speechless. "She doesn't love him. Lydia, my Lydia, is–is going to marry him!" He glowered. "She doesn't even love him!"

Jack was practically spitting. "How can she do this? If she doesn't love him, she'll never be happy! She'll just make herself miserable!"

"Maybe she thinks it's better than being alone," Simon suggested.

"She can't do that." Simon and Jack locked gazes, and it was Jack who turned away first.

0000

Mrs. Merridew rubbed her wrists and put down her knitting. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and it was the only sound, other than the occasional rustle of Mr. Merridew turning the page of his newspaper.

The middle-aged lady sighed and returned to her knitting. Mr. Merridew didn't say a word.

"It's so quiet." Jack pointed out.

"It's two days before Christmas too," Simon noted.

"But, that's when they have their party. Always has been."

"Want to see a reason why these things happened," Simon asked.

"No," Jack answered truthfully. Simon didn't listen.

0000

"This is my apartment."

From the outside, the building looked as it always did. On the inside, however, it was dark and dirty. Beer bottles galore, a few vodkas, and whiskey bottles all littered the floor. In fact, you could hardly see it.

"It smells." Jack scrunched up his nose, but his eyes widened when he looked at the bed.

An older version of himself was stretched out on it. In one hand, he held a half-full bottle of whiskey. He hadn't shaved in days, and when his eyes fluttered open, they were bloodshot beyond imagine.

"Is that…is that me?" He shouted. Simon only nodded.

"It can't be. It can't be! I'm Jack Merridew. I was head boy. I was leader of the choir. I had perfect grades, and a nice family, and the perfect girl. This can't be me." Jack sank down on his haunches, covering his face with his hands. As much as he hated to admit, the tears did start falling from his eyes. "It can't be me. My life isn't supposed to be like this!"

A hand was placed on his shoulder. "It doesn't have to be."

The hand stayed for a moment, but then it was lifted. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

"It can't be," he insisted. "Simon, get me—"

Jack threw his head up, but there was no one there. His apartment looked like it usually did. It was small and not furnished to his liking, but it was relatively clean. There was no sot on his bead either.

"—out of here," he finished. The clock on his bedside table read that it was just past two in the morning. Jack sat his alarm clock to go off in four hours, and then he went make a phone call.

"Hello," came Mrs. Merridew's sleepy voice over the receiver.

"Hi, Mum," he managed to get out.

"Jack!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, it's me. Listen, would it be ok if I came over tomorrow?"

"Of course, honey!"

"Thanks, Mum. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"I love you too, Jack." He could hear the tears in her voice.

0000

Jack left his parents' house after dinner. He'd told them that he'd probably be back in a few hours, and they'd been more than happy to have him stay over. He just had something else he needed to do.

The house was much scarier than he remembered, and for a moment he was tempted to turn back. But he took a deep breath, shoved his hands further into his pockets, went up the stairs, and knocked on the door.

It was a minute before there were footsteps on the other side. Then, laughing at someone inside, Lydia opened the door. When she faced Jack, her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped a little. They stood staring at each other, and Lydia breathed, "Jack."

"Hey, Lydie–a," he stuttered, not knowing if he had right to call her Lydie. He scraped the toe of his shoe across the stoop.

Lydia cast a glance over her shoulder before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind her. She rubbed her bare arms, and Jack noticed that she was shoeless. "So…why are you here?"

"I just…wanted to—you know," Jack suggested. Lydia gave him a sad smile, but she shook her head.

Jacked sighed. "Lydia, I—I messed up. We both know it. But I thought we were great together, and…I really loved you. I still do. At least, I'm almost certain I do." He rubbed the back of his neck. "So, can we, maybe, give it another go?" She raised her eyebrows, so Jack added, "Please?"

He and Lydia just held each other's gaze. Finally her shoulders stooped, and she shrugged. "Merry Christmas, Jack."

Jack started to grin, and when he did that, a huge smile—real—spread over her face. Lydia opened her arms, and Jack gathered her up. When they pulled away, she was crying, and Jack was glad that this time, even though he was still the cause of them, he could wipe away her tears.

"Merry Christmas," Jack laughed.

The end. I really love A Christmas Carol. And Jack. Merry Christmas, everyone!