"I told you Julian was playing dead and mind games with me!" Dad crowed happily.

Mom looked up, a glimmer of hope suddenly igniting in her previously despairing eyes.

"He moved? He really moved?" She crawled over on her hands and knees, desperate to see the screen.

This time, Dad didn't push her away, but smugly let her look.

"Take a good look! He's still moving! And very fast, at that," he said, pointing at the red dot slowly crawling across the screen. "This brat must've realized I wasn't messing around and got scared I'd actually cut his allowance.

"So, he finally straightened up. Spineless little thing. Needs a fire lit under him or he won't move."

Mom stared at the red dot, tears streaming down her face again. But this time they were tears of joy.

"I'm just glad he's moving." She slumped to the floor, pressing her palms together. "Heaven be praised, heaven be praised!"

Dad's relatives also breathed sighs of relief all around.

Trying to smooth things over, Aunt Geraldine smiled and said, "What did I tell you? Julian might be a bit frail, but he's still a good kid. Sharon, you simply worry too much. Trevor's his father, after all. It's not like he'd actually hurt him."

Uncle Arnold raised his glass as well. "She's right. It's all a false alarm. Come on, everyone. Drink up!"

The tension in the room dissolved instantly, as if the explosive confrontation moments ago had been nothing more than a brief interruption.

Only I, floating in mid-air, felt a bone-chilling cold as I watched the moving red dot.

That wasn't me climbing, but rather a wolf.

Before I lost consciousness, I heard the howl of a wolf. The sound was very close, just behind the rocks.

The hungry wolf must've been dragging my corpse across the snow, leaving a long trail of blood. It had clamped its jaws around my leg, pulling me back to its den as its Christmas feast.

Every flicker of that red dot was another jolt to my broken body.

Dad looked down at Mom condescendingly.

"See that? You almost ruined everything! If you'd actually called the police just now, and they went up the mountain only to see him climbing away energetically, I'd never live it down.

"I'd probably be charged with filing a false report to boot!" He crouched down, jabbing his finger against Mom's forehead again and again. "You jinx! You nearly destroyed the most important transformation of his life.

"You would've made him hate you forever."

Instead of arguing, Mom just stared blankly at the phone. "As long as he's alive, even if he hates me, that's fine."

Dad stood up and brushed off his pants. "Alright, stop with the melodrama. Since you're already here, why don't you join us for dinner and watch Julian conquer that snowy mountain?

"See for yourself how brilliant he can be once he's out of that coddling environment of yours."

He forcibly pulled Mom up and pushed her into an empty chair.

Trembling and huddling in the corner, Mom didn't dare to look away from the phone screen for a single second.

The red dot moved again, then once more fell still. The wolf must've been tired and stopped to eat.

Dad, however, couldn't care less. He sent another voice message, "Now that you're moving, keep climbing! Stop dawdling like a sissy. Your speed just now was decent, so maintain it. Reach the summit by midnight, and I'll give you a thousand dollars."

That thousand dollars was a reward to him, but to me, it was blood money.

Too bad I'd never be able to collect it.

I stared at Dad's alcohol-flushed face and the way his mouth moved, each opening releasing a blast of foul, boozy breath.

"Everyone, raise your glasses! Let's drink to Julian's successful training! And to our family having a real man! Cheers!"

The clinking of glasses was crisp and pleasant to the ear.

I watched Mom curled up in the oversized chair.

The dishes and utensils before her were completely untouched. Only her swollen, bloodshot eyes were fixed on the red dot that represented my life.

She was praying for it to move again.

I was praying that the wolf would eat faster.

At least then my so-called father wouldn't have the chance to give his sickening little lecture over my dead body.

Time ticked by, minute after minute. The clock on the wall pointed to 11:50 pm.

The atmosphere in the private room had grown somewhat strange.

Aside from that one momentary shift, the red dot never moved again. It just stayed there, 440 yards from Camp One.

Dad was feeling the effects of the alcohol now. He glanced at the time and slapped the phone down on the table.

"Ten more minutes." He looked around at everyone, his gaze hazy yet fervent. "I bet this brat walks through that door right at midnight. He's definitely been there all along, just hiding outside waiting to surprise me.

"This brat's been this way his whole life. He wants to curry favor with me, but doesn't have the guts to just come out and say it. I'll wager a bottle of vintage wine that the moment he steps through the door, he'll get on his knees.

"Then, he'll say, 'Dad, I was wrong. I didn't know any better back then."

Dad burst into loud laughter, the sound jarringly harsh in the quiet private room.

No one responded.

Uncle Arnold looked down, smoking his cigarette. Uncle Dennis pretended to fiddle with his phone. Aunt Ethel rubbed her hands together nervously.

Everyone could sense something was wrong.

Only Mom kept staring at that red dot, her lips already bitten bloody.

The distant sound of Christmas bells rang out with a bong.

Immediately after, fireworks exploded across the sky outside the window, illuminating the pitch-black night with red, green, and gold colors.

Faint cheers could be heard in the distance.

Midnight came, and the door to the private room remained tightly shut.

Nobody pushed the door open and came in, nor did anyone get down on their knees.

The smile froze on Dad's face. He stared at the door as if trying to bore a hole through it with his gaze.

One minute passed. Two minutes. Five minutes.

Yet, the door still didn't budge.

Dad's pride was wounded. The bold claims he made and the bet he set up in front of all his relatives had all turned into a joke.

"Damn it," he cursed, grabbing his phone. "How dare that little brat stand me up? He thinks he can screw with me?"

He dialed my number, only to be met with a long, endless ringtone. Each ring was like a slash across Dad's already frayed nerves.

Just as he was about to hang up and redial, the call connected. It wasn't unanswered, nor was it switched off.

It was answered.

"Hello?" Dad's voice was tight with barely controlled fury as he put the call on speaker. "Say something! Cat got your tongue? How dare you not come back on time? Are you asking for a beating?"

Everyone fell silent, so much so that one could even hear a pin drop.

But instead of hearing my voice, there was only the sound of the wind howling.

Then, amidst that terrifying wind came a stranger's voice. It was heavy, rough, and punctuated by violent gasps for air.

"Is this Trevor Bowen?"

Dad froze for a moment, then exploded with rage.

"Who are you? Where's Julian? Did that little bastard give you his phone? Or did he pay you to put on some act?"

Dad roared into the phone, "Oh, so now he needs some other man to speak for him? Tell him to stop pretending, and have him talk to me himself! Is he trying to scare me? What, you think I was born yesterday?"

A few seconds of silence passed on the other end before the man finally replied. But this time, he wasn't probing. Instead, his voice trembled with uncontrollable fury and terror.

"This is Dwayne Holloway, captain of the mountain rescue team."

Rescue team?

Dad let out a scornful laugh and said mockingly, "You're still putting on an act?"

The voice on the other end of the line rose, cutting through the speaker so sharply it seemed to rattle the dishes on the table.

"I found Julian 440 yards above Camp One, at the bottom of a cliff. His whole body is frozen solid. And he was still clutching a torn piece of note in his hand."