Merry Christmas,
Rollie Tyler
by Cory

   "Hey, Dmitri!"
    Stuntman Dmitri Kosikova turned to see Rollie Tyler coming up behind him.  The tall, lanky Australian looked bigger than ever in the bulky snowsuit he was wearing for their Christmas shoot in Colorado.  "Eh, Rollie!" said Dmitri, motioning to the new model snowmobile in front of him, "it's all yours."
    "Great, thanks!" said Rollie, sitting on the side of the seat.  The machine's engine purred.  "So, how fast do you think I can get her to?" he said, grinning.
    Dmitri smiled.  "Rollie, I never can be sure when you're involved.  You are certain you want to do this?"
    Pulling a sleek black helmet onto his face, Rollie laughed.  "Why not?" he said.  "It's been a while since I've done a few of my own stunts.  I gotta get back into it."
    "Well, okay," said Dmitri.  "Good luck, man."
    "Tyler!"
    The director came running over, his boots crunching on the fresh snow.  "You almost ready?"
    "Yes, sir!" said Rollie.  He looked out over the windshield.  The stunt was pretty simple.  The freshly groomed trail stretched out before him.  Farther down, the camera crew was just finishing preparing to film his jump over a specially built ramp under the snow.  That was all.  He could do it in his sleep.
    Suddenly Angie's voice came over the radio.  "How's it going, Rollie?"
    "Great, Ange," said Rollie.  "What's up?"
    "We just got the weather forecast.  The winds are gonna pick up, raising the wind chill down to -15 degrees Farenheit in the next hour.  Button up -- we're only gonna get one shot at this before the producers shut us down for the night."
    "Great, thanks Angie," said Rollie.
    A moment later, the director's voice came over the link.  "Okay, Tyler, just drive the machine around for a minute, get a feel for her.  We're almost ready down here."
    "All right," said Rollie, revving the engine a few times.  Then, he slowly pressed the throttle.  The machine jumped forward.  "Whoa!" said Rollie, "this baby's got one helluvan engine."
    He heard Angie laugh.  "We thought you'd like it."
    "Okay, Tyler, we're all ready," said the director.  "Just back her up, and gun it."
    "All right," said Rollie.
    "Let's see some action here!" exclaimed Angie.
    "You bet," said Rollie.
    A blast of wind shattered the comlink for a moment, but Rollie managed to make out the director's call, "Action!"
    Gunning the engine, he sped up down the trail.  As he neared the ramp, he heard Angie's harried voice come over the radio.  "Rollie, what's happening?!"
    "What?!" said Rollie.
    "Stop, we're not ready yet!!" yelled Angie ...
    ... but it was too late.  Rollie hit the ramp at sixty miles an hour, taking off into the air.  The engine roared.  A few set workers scrambled through the snow to get out of the way.  Suddenly, Rollie saw what had been the delay.  A movie truck had gotten stuck in the snow, and couldn't get off of the trail.
    Rollie hit the ground in front of the truck.  Immediately he pulled hard on the handlebars of the snowmachine, jerking the skis to the right.  He skidded sideways, and he jammed on the brake lever.  But he was going too fast.  Knowing it was hopeless, he lept off of the machine, landing hard on the snow.  The snowmachine skidded, then sideswiped the truck.  It flipped twice, and burst into flames
    Angie viewed the whole scene in horror.  As emergency crews rushed to stop the fire on the snowmobile, she ran through the snow to Rollie's side.  "Rollie?" she said.
    "Excuse me, ma'am," said an ambulance worker, on the set in case of emergencies, "please stand back."
    "But Rollie ... "
    "He could be seriously injured, ma'am.  We have to get him to a hospital immediately."  He and another crewmember quickly pulled Rollie's helmet off, and lifted Rollie onto a stretcher.
    Dmitri came running up.  "Angie," he said, softly.  "What did he do?"
    "I -- I don't know," she said.  Tears welled up in her eyes.  "I can't believe this is happening," she whispered.

    The little hospital was quiet.  There was minimal staff on duty, with Christmas only two days away.  Over the loudspeaker system Christmas carols played softly.
    Doctor Dale Peterson glanced out the window.  The sky was darkening as the sun set.  It had been snowing lightly, but now it had stopped.  The wind was picking up.  Off in the distance, he could see heavy storm clouds brewing on the horizon.
    He was about to get up and check on his long-term patients when suddenly the radio crackled to life.  "Dr. Peterson, this is ambulance driver Kael Greensburg," came a nervous male voice.  "I'm coming in -- there was an accident at the movie set."
    Peterson picked up the mike.  "What kind of an accident?"
    "Uh, well -- a big one.  The F/X guy -- Rollie Tyler -- he rolled a skidoo.  He's unconscious.  I haven't had a chance to check him out.  My partner, Shaun, is in the back right now."
    "Get here quickly," said Peterson.  "Out."  He set the mike down, then called down the hall for the nurse on duty.
    A minute later the ambulance arrived.  Peterson followed the ambulance drivers as the wheeled Rollie into the hospital's ER.  Looking nothing like the big ER wards on TV, the small room was all the little secluded hospital had ever needed.
    With just a quick glance, Peterson knew he had a problem.  The nurse, Jenny, began carefully unzipping the snowsuit.  As Shaun, the ambulance attendant, gave Peterson the rundown on what he had found, the doctor examined his patient.  The man was tall, in his thirties.  He looked a little stressed, and there were bags under his eyes.
    Peterson set to work.

    "Ange, you okay?"
    Angie looked up to see Dmitri in the doorway.  She nodded, and motioned for him to come into the F/X van.  He stepped in, shutting the door behind him.  She was working on the Ambler.  And she was crying.
    For a moment she said nothing.  Finally, she said softly, "Any news?"
    "Nothing yet," said Dmitri.
    "I ... I wish there was something I could do."
    Dmitri glanced out of the window.  "Well, uh, Ange, you can't stay here.  They're wrapping up shooting until tomorrow -- it's getting late."
    "Yeah, I know."
    "Come on," said Dmtri.  "I'll take you home."
    "No," said Angie, quickly, wiping her eyes.
    "What?"
    "I want to go to the hospital," she said, sniffing.
    "But Angie -- "
    "I want to be with him."
    Dmitri opened his mouth, but closed it again.  "All right," he said, finally.  "I'll drive you."

    The weather was getting worse.  The road to town was icy, and they skidded a couple of times.  Finally, they arrived in front of the little hospital.  It was decorated with Christmas lights, and a plastic glowing Santa and his reindeer sat on the lawn, greeting visitors.  They were greeted at the front desk by a secretary who motioned for them to wait in the waiting room.
    A few minutes later, Dr. Peterson arrived.  "Doctor!" exclaimed Angie, "how is he?"
    "You must be Angela Ramirez," said the doctor.  He looked at Dmitri.  "And you are?"
    "Dmitri Kosikova," said Dmitri, shaking hands.  "I'm a stuntman, and a friend of Rollie's."
    "Oh," said the doctor, smiling.
    "So, doc, how is he?" asked Angie again.
    "Well," said Peterson, starting off down the corrdidor, "he has a few minor injuries over his whole body.  The two worst appear to be a broken arm and a head injury."
    "Head injury?" said Dmitri, following him.  "But I thought he was wearing a helmet."
    ""He was," said Peterson.  "But he still suffered a head injury.  He must have hit a piece of ice when he rolled.  We hope he doesn't ... "
    They went around a corner.  Angie could see Rollie sitting up in a hospital bed.  His arm was in a cast.  "Rollie!" she exclaimed, running for him.
    The Australian turned at the sound of the voice.  Angie ran over to him.  "Rollie," she said, "are you okay?"
    Rollie stared blankly at her.  Sensing something was wrong, Angie stepped back.  "Rollie?"
    "Who -- are you?" asked the Australian.

    "... have any kind of amnesia," finished the doctor.
    Angie's jaw fell.  She began to cry.  "Rollie," she whispered. "It's me, Ange."
    "Ange who?"
    "Angela Ramirez.  I'm your -- your ... "  Assistant?  Companion?  Love interest?
    "What happened?" asked Rollie.  He leaned forward, and looked around.  "Why am I in a hospital?"
    Dmitri came forward.  "You had an accident up at the set, Rollie," he said.  "You had to bail from a snowmobile.  You almost got killed."
    "Snowmobile?  Set?  Who are you?"
    "Dmitri -- your friend.  You're a special effects expert, working here in Colorado for a movie.  I'm a stuntman.  You were attempting to jump a snowmobile."
    "I do stunts too?"
    "Well, you wanted to try.  You used to."
    Rollie shook his head.  "Oh my god," he said.  "What a life."
    Despite the situation, Angie laughed.  Wiping away a tear, she said, "Do you mean that in a good or a bad way?"
    Doctor Peterson appeared behind them.  "All right," he said.  "Let him rest.  You can come back tomorrow."

    The nurse was just coming in to pick up his breakfast tray when Angie walked into the room.  "Hi, Rollie," she said.
    "Hi," he said.  "Uh, sit down."
    "Thanks," she said, smiling.  "The doctor says that you can leave soon -- he thinks it would be best to bring you back to your normal life -- see if you remember anything."
    Rollie nodded.  He looked at Angie.  Yes -- there was a memory there.  He'd known her.
    "Great weather we're having, huh?" said Angie.  This man -- he was Rollie.  But she felt like she was trying to strike up a conversation with a total stranger.
    "Yeah," said Rollie.  "So ... uh ... could you ... tell me about -- me?"
    Angie opened her mouth, but no sound came out.  "Oh -- yeah, Rol.  Sure.  You're a special effects man -- you own your own movie F/X company, Tyler F/X, in New York.  You took it over from my dad, Manny Ramirez, when he died.  You used to be an assistant of his."
    "How did he die?" said Rollie, quietly.
    "There was an accident at a movie he was working on," said Angie, "about seven years ago.  One of his effects backfired.  He was killed by an explosion."
    "When did I start working with your dad?"
    "I -- I think it was something like twelve years.  You joined the company when I was really young."  She laughed.  "I had this little crush on you, ever since the first day my dad and I met you.  You were a stuntman back then.  Big and macho," she laughed, softly.  "Who knew how that the crush would come to life ... "  Her voice trailed off.
    "Angela?"
    Angie had a glassy look in her eyes.  She shook her head.  "Oh -- nothing."
    Rollie exhaled.  "Angela -- could you tell me about my childhood?" he said, quietly.
    "Your mom died when you were very young.  Your dad, Dingo Tyler, wasn't around very often.  You grew up with an aborigine -- Mangela.  He came by to visit a while ago.  He and your dad -- they couldn't've been more opposite.  I see a lot of both of them in you."
    "Is my father still alive?"
    "Oh, yeah.  He's ... he's probably running some stupid scheme in some corner of the world."
    "Scheme?"
    Angie smiled, sadly.  "Your dad's not the most honest person in the world, Rollie.  I mean, he's a good guy, but ... "
    Rollie nodded.  "I think I know what you mean."
    "So anyway, after my dad died, you took over the company.  I knew some stuff about effects from my dad, and you taught me the rest.  We've worked on a lot of movies.  And then you met Leo."
    "Leo?"
    "You used to have a friend -- Detective Leo McCarthy.  He met you when you were framed for a murder you never committed.  You went on the run, and he and I worked to prove your innocence.  It worked, too.  Then Leo and you became good friends.  You realized that you had talents that he could use.  You started helping Leo out a lot on cases."
    "Helped?"
    "Yeah.  You've said 'Oh ... all I do is supply him with equipment'.  But I don't think it's ever been that."  She stood up, and walked closer to him.  She sat down on the side of his bed, and stared into his eyes.  They were scared.  She felt so sorry for him.  All his life -- he remembered nothing of it.  She was his link.
    "I ... I remember one time -- you were going to help him.  I got upset -- I was worried that you might get hurt.  But ... but I could see the fire in your eyes.  The drive.  You wanted to.  You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't help."
    "I sound like a great guy."
    Angie suddenly realized she was crying.  "Yeah," she said.  "You were, I mean ... are."
    For a second, they sat in silence.  Finally, Rollie asked, "So, you said I used to help Leo -- what happened?"
    "You'd -- you were working with Leo on something.  You were infiltrating a weapons smuggling ring.  We were outside a warehouse.  Leo was inside.  Undercover.  But ... something went wrong.  The building exploded.  Leo ... Leo died."
    It struck a chord with Rollie.  He remembered that -- but the memory was blurry -- out of reach.  "So ... what happened?"
    "You met a new Detective.  Palmira Sanchez.  She filled the space in your life Leo always had.  That was about a year and a half ago.  She and you have gotten to be good friends."
    Suddenly the nurse came through the door.  "Mr. Tyler?  You can leave now."
    Rollie nodded, and thanked the nurse.  He turned to Angie.  "Well," he said, "shall we go?"
    "Oh -- uh, yeah Rol."
    Rollie stepped out of the bed.  He opened up the closet, and found his clothes hanging up.  He was about halfway through taking off his hospital pyjamas when he stopped.  Angie didn't look comfortable.
    "I'll, uh, wait for you, um, to change ... outside," said Angie, quietly.
    "Oh," said Rollie.  "I'm, uh, sorry."
    He watched her as he walked out.  He felt so confused.  And alone.

    Rollie walked out of his room and handed his pyjamas to the nurse.  He found Angie sitting in the waiting room.  She had her hands clasped on her lap.  As he got closer, he could see she was crying.
    "Angela?" he said, walking into the room.
    "Oh, Rollie," she said, stiffening.  She wiped her eyes, quickly.  "You're ready?"
    "Mm hmm," said Rollie.  "But are you?"
    "Oh," said Angie.  She laughed, nervously.  "Yeah."
    "Listen, Angela ... I'm sorry -- "
    " -- you didn't know, Rol.  It's all right."  She stood up, and put on her coat.  Rollie put his on as well, and grabbed the rest of his gear.  Stopping to thank the doctor, they left the hospital.
    Angie made her way across the parking lot to the red pickup.  She climbed into the driver's seat, and Rollie took the passenger's.  Again, there was the faint feeling of remembering.  But he couldn't reach it.
    They pulled out of the parking lot, and down a few streets to the chalets the movie company had rented.  They parked in front of number fifteen.
    "Is this our room?" asked Rollie, carefully.
    "It's mine," said Angie, tossing him another key from the dashboard.  "Yours is next door -- number sixteen."
    Rollie jumped out of the truck.  "Um ... thanks, Angela."
    "Rollie," she said.  "It's Angie.  You only call me Angela when you're pissed off."
    Rollie laughed.  "All right.  Angie it is."
    "I'll, uh, see you later, Rollie," said Angie, unlocking her door.  "If you want anything, just call."
    "Sure," said Rollie.  "Listen, Angie, it's getting close to lunch.  Do you want to go out somewhere?"
    "Alright," said Angie, smiling.  "Give me half an hour."

    Rollie found his room a little messy, but cozy.  For a few minutes he just walked around it, running his fingers along equipment, manuals, tools.  It seemed ... familiar.
    He laid down on the bed, and grabbed the TV remote.  He turned it on, and absentmindedly flipped through the channels.  Now he knew a little about himself -- but Angie.  She seemed so close to him.  At the hospital, he'd just assumed that the closeness had meant that they had had a thing going.  But her reaction when he began to change clothes in front of her had been quite different from what he'd expected.
    Before he knew it, it was half an hour later.  He knocked on Angie's door, and she called for him to come in.  He opened the door, and peered in.  "You ready?"
    "All set," said Angie.
    They made their way across the parking lot to the street.  As they walked a few blocks to the nearest restaurant, some people stepped out in front of him.  They cheered when they saw Rollie.  "Who are they?" Rollie asked.
    "The assistant director and our producer," said Angie, as they came closer.  "The producer's an asshole-- but he's our boss."
    "Hey, Rollo!" exclaimed one, the AD, slapping Rollie on the back.  "I see they let you out!"  But one of the others was not so pleased to see Rollie. "What the hell were you doing?  You could have gotten killed!"
    "Jerry, please," said Angie.  "This isn't the time."
    "Why not?  I'm paying money to finance this film!  It's almost Christmas, for cryin' out loud!  We can't handle any delays!"
    "Look," said Rollie, "I don't know what happened, but I apologize."
    "What the hell do you mean you don't know what happened?  You screwed up!"
    "He means," said Angie, "that he doesn't know what happened.  Rollie suffered a head injury.  He has temporary amnesia."
    "Well, dammit, he deserves it," said the producer, storming off.
    "What's with him?" said Rollie, quietly, as the man left.
    "That's typical of Jerry," said the AD.  "So, Rollie," he said, concerned.  "Amnesia?  Do you remember anything?"
    "Nothing," said Rollie.
    "Can you work?"
    "I don't know," said Rollie.
    "Well, I'm recommending we postpone shooting until after Christmas, anyway.  It'll give you time to recover.  Listen, any problems, just let me know."
    "Sure, thanks," said Rollie.  He shook hands with the AD, and then he and Angie continued on to the restaurant.
    "So, I like my job?"
    "Love it," said Angie.
    "Even with assholes like that Jerry guy?"
    "Even with assholes like that Jerry guy."
    "Oookay."

    The restaurant was small, but cozy.  They talked all through it -- about Rollie's past.  About Angie's past.  About her family, and his.  Afterward, they paid the bill, and walked back to the cabins.
    It was on the way back from the restaurant that Rollie asked the question he'd wanted to ask Angie for a while.  "Um, Angie?"
    "Yeah, Rol?"
    "Can I ask you something?"
    "Sure."
    "Back at the hospital, you started talking about ... about me and you.  You mentioned your crush on me, when you were little.  And, then you started to say how it came to life, but you stopped."
    There was silence for a moment.  "Oh ... yeah.  It's a long story."
    "Will you tell me?"
    They'd reached Angie's cabin.  She pulled her key out of her pocket.  "Okay," she said, unlocking the door.  "Come on in."
    "Thanks," said Rollie.  He took his boots off and put his coat on one of the hooks.  He sat in one of the chairs.  Angie sat in the other.  Looking over at him, she saw that he still looked small.  Unsure.  Scared.
    "Well," she said, unsure of where to begin.  "A long time ago, you met a person named Victor Loubar ... you and he have been big enemies ever since you first got in his way.  He is a killer.  You've always been in danger from him.  You ran into him a couple of times before ... "
    "Before what?"
    Angie felt the tears starting to well up again.  "He'd come to New York to kill a Chinese ambassador.  We'd just finished work on a movie called Red Storm.  He set you up -- he tried to kill the ambassador, and he had a plan to frame you."
    "How?" asked Rollie.
    "How did he try to frame you?  Well -- you've always specialized in makeup and masks.  And, I guess, ironically, so has he.  So he kidnapped you ... and took your place."
    Rollie looked at Angie.  Suddenly she looked very vulnerable.  He was sure she was about to cry.  "Are you okay?" he asked, grasping her hand.
    "Yeah -- yeah, I'm fine," she said, fighting the tears.
    "You can tell me later -- "
    "No," she said, a little forcefully.  Her voice softened, "I ... I want to tell you.  He just ... took your place.  He made a mask -- and became you.  He changed his voice and everything.  It was -- perfect.  As you, he set the whole plan up.  I couldn't tell you -- weren't you, at all.  He set you up to look like a killer.  He killed -- he killed some of your friends, just so the police would ... would think of you as bad ... "
    "But -- "
    Suddenly Angie couldn't hold it in any longer.  She started to cry.  Rollie stood up, and went over to her chair.  He knelt down beside her.  "Shh," he whispered.  "It's okay."
    She hugged him fiercely.  After a while, her sobs died down.  "Are you alright?" he asked.
    "Yeah," she said, wiping her wet cheeks.  "I'm okay."
    "Do you want to keep going?"
    "Yeah -- yeah, I do."  Rollie sat back down, as Angie continued.  "He let you go before the assasination -- let you go back to your own life.  To see what ... to see what horrible things he'd done as you.  It was, I guess, his sick version of funny."
    "So, what happened?"
    "Well, before Loubar had left -- he ... he raped me."
    "What?!"
    "No -- well, not really, I guess.  I mean -- he was you. He had the Rollie mask on."
    "How could you think I could do such a thing?"
    Angie smiled, sadly.  "You said that exact same thing when you came back.  But -- it wasn't rape.  He came on to me -- and ... and I responded."
    "Oh my god," said Rollie, quietly.
    "It -- it took you a while to figure it out.  I didn't want to tell you.  I told Mira not to tell you.  But you figured it out.  I guess -- I guess it brought us closer."
    "So ... so did we ... ?"
    "We never fell in love after that," said Angie.  "I guess that night with Loubar ... we'd just been at a party.  I wasn't thinking straight."
    They sat in silence for a long moment.  Finally Rollie got up.  "No!" exclaimed Angie.  "Please, stay."
    Rollie sat on the bed, and Angie came over, and sat beside him.  "I want company."  Wrapping her arms around him, she held him.
    They lost track of time, in each others' arms.  It seemed like forever passed.  Suddenly Rollie spoke.  "Angie ... I remember."
    She looked up, into his eyes.  She knew.  Rollie was back.  "We should let Peterson know -- "
    "No, not yet," said Rollie, running his hand through her hair.  Suddenly, they felt lost in each others' eys.  She leaned forward, and their lips brushed.  But he turned away.  " Wait, Ange ... "
    "I'm sorry," she said, moving away from him on the bed.
    "No -- it's okay," he said.  "I just -- don't think it's time ... "
    "You're right," she said.  She put her head on her shoulder, staring off into space.  "Do you -- do you want to stay for a little while?  As friends?"
    "Sure.  After all, it is almost Christmas.  And whose company could I enjoy more?"
    She smiled, and put her arm around his waist.  And they sat even longer, in silence.
    "You know what, Rol?" she said, after a while.
    "What, Ange?"
    "You're gonna promise me never to do stunts again."
    Rollie laughed.  "Well, Ange, it was an accident ... "
    "You could've been hurt even worse," she said.  "Promise me."
    He was about to open his mouth to object, but she put her hand over it.  "Promise me," she laughed.
    "All right, all right!" he mumbled through her fingers.  "I promise!"
    "Good!"  She put her head on his shoulder again.  "It's good you're back.  I wasn't sure if I could survive a Christmas without you."
    "Well, I wouldn't miss Christmas for the world."
    Silence.  "Merry Christmas, Rol."
    "Merry Christmas, Ange."