LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

By Chopecdar

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim and Blair

Rating: PG

Summary: Blair finds that Jim isn't the only one who has repressed memories and Jim helps him deal with his discovery

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

By Dar Hutson Scally

(Chopecdar)

March 5, 2001

I walk in to find Blair curled up on the couch staring into space. He looks so devastated the first thing I think is something has happened to his mother. I hang up my jacket and throw my keys in the basket before I walk over and sit down on the coffee table to face him.

"Blair?"

He doesn't act like he even knows I'm there, just keeps staring off into space. I reach over and shake his shoulder gently and he stirs and looks at me.

"Jim. I didn't hear you come in." He says, a guilty look coming over his face. He jumps up off the couch and goes right to the VCR and pops out a tape. Then without another word, he takes off to his room and closes the door behind him.

I can take a hint. He wants to be alone. Whatever is bothering him is something he can't talk about right now. I know how that is so I leave him alone, at least for now. If he doesn't perk up I'm sure I'll find out why soon enough. The kid's a talker. He can't keep something that's upsetting him inside for too long. I see that he hasn't started anything for dinner even though I'm sure it's his turn, so I go into the kitchen to see what we have.

I decide on warming some leftover chicken noodle soup. He said the other day when he made it that it was the same recipe his mom used to cook whenever he didn't feel well. He seemed like he could use some comfort food tonight. I wish I had some nice home baked cookies or brownies ready for desert. Oh well, the soup will have to do. I just hope I can coax him out of his room to eat.

*

I can't believe I let Jim walk in and find me like that. I must have looked like some kind of depressed nutcase lying there on the couch staring off into space. I swear I didn't even hear him come in. I just shut off that damn tape and the TV and spaced out. I just can't deal with this, to suddenly find out that I'm not who I thought I was, that I've done something I never could have believed myself capable of. How am I ever going to live with this?

All this time I've been trying to help Jim deal with issues out of his childhood, things he didn't remember because he managed to forget them, never dreaming that I had ever repressed anything in my life. And now I find out that I managed to forget the most important thing I ever did. I just can't believe that I could even allow myself to put this out of my mind, to forget it. I have to be the most despicable person on this earth. Well, at least among the top hundred or so. I really think I hate myself now. I don't see how I can possibly keep going about my life like this. Damn, how am I ever going to live with this?

I must have been sitting here on the edge of my bed for a while cause the next thing I know Jim knocks on my door and calls me for dinner. The thought of eating makes my stomach churn, but I don't want to tell Jim about this so I'd better start acting normal.

"Be right there." I answer.

I walk out and go directly into the bathroom, wanting to take a look at myself in the mirror, make sure I look okay and not like somebody whose whole life has just shattered around him or her. The face in the mirror looks just like me on any other day. How can I possibly look the same? How can this devastation not show?

I wash my face and let my hair down. At least that will give me something to hide behind in case I need to. That's always been part of my reason for keeping my hair long. It gives me a way to hide my face a little so I'm not such an open book. I've always had trouble keeping my emotions off my face, but being able to hide behind my hair, even for just a half a minute or so, gives me time to school my expression, to freeze my face up so I don't give everything away. It's really come in handy playing poker anyway.

I open the door and walk out, hoping Jim isn't going to ask me any questions. I've already decided I'm going to just feign a headache. Maybe that will satisfy him as to why I was sprawled out like some weepy vegetable on the couch when he came in.

*

He walks out of the bathroom and goes right to the table, sitting down just as I'm serving his bowl of soup. I get my own bowl and sit down across from him. He stirs his soup around and takes a spoonful. I know he doesn't want me to notice but I can tell he's forcing it down.

I eat my soup and try not to watch him. It's very quiet and I realize again that he's the one who usually starts conversations. I'm not very good at it, have always been more of a listener than a talker, easier to hide yourself when you don't say much, not that I can hide anything from Sandburg anyway. He's burrowed so far into my life I think I'm completely an open book to him now. So why isn't he an open book to me? I mean, yeah I know him pretty well. I know what he likes and doesn't like. I know and respect his outlook on things and his moral values.

But it's times like this when I'm reminded how closed off he can be sometimes, how private and hidden he can keep himself. That's not how anyone who knows us sees us. They think I'm the one who hides myself and he's an open book. They just don't understand that he is in control of what they see and when he has something to hide he does an expert job of it. But it doesn't quite work on me anymore and I think he knows it. I might not know what his problem is yet, but I know that he has one and I know eventually it will come out. I can be patient.

"So, how was your day?" I ask innocently.

He bows his head down, hair falling across his face. I know this trick. It only takes a moment. Then he looks directly up at me and pushes his hair back and smiles.

It would seem like a completely carefree smile if I didn't know better.

"Pretty good, except for this headache I've been fighting all day." He says.

"Did you take something for it?" I ask, pretending I buy into his story.

"Well yeah, I even broke down and took some Advil a little while ago. I think it might be starting to kick in now."

He stirs his soup around a bit more, I guess figuring as long as he's moving it around with his spoon that I won't notice he's not actually eating it.

"So everything's okay? Not having any problems or anything?" I find the questions out of my mouth before I can stop them. I didn't mean to say anything yet. I wanted to wait it out and let him say something first, or at least catch him off guard later.

He looks away and the hair comes back down. This time it takes longer for him to push it back out of his face, but he still doesn't look at me.

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. You just looked like maybe something was bothering you when I came in."

"No, just the headache." He says.

I see a sudden resolve in his face and he attacks the soup as if he hasn't eaten in days, forcing it down spoonful after spoonful, until the bowl is empty. Then he abruptly stands up and takes his bowl to the sink.

"Sorry I forgot to cook anything. I know it was my turn." He says.

"It's okay. Don't worry about the dishes. I'll take care of them." I say.

"Thanks man. I think I'll go lie down awhile, see if I can get rid of this headache."

He takes off into his bedroom and the door closes. A few minutes later he goes into the bathroom and I hear the shower starting. I listen, hearing something not quite right underlying the running water. It takes me a minute to place the sound before I realize it's the sound of vomiting. He's throwing up his soup.

I go to the door and knock. "Chief, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just taking a shower." He says. I hear tears in his voice. It hurts deep in my stomach like I've just been punched. He's starting to scare me here. What would upset him to the point of throwing up and crying alone in the bathroom?

*

The vomiting doesn't surprise me. I mean I forced that soup down into a stomach that really didn't want food. It had to go somewhere. But the tears, that threw me. I thought I was in control. I actually thought I was too upset, too stunned to cry. I know crying isn't going to make me feel better, but here I am doing it anyway. I can't seem to stop. I strip and climb into the shower, knowing I can't clean the filth off my soul.

I know Jim heard me losing my dinner. He sounded worried. I just hope he'll leave me alone. I just want to be alone. Maybe I should just go away for awhile, give myself some time to think, some time to figure out how I'm going to be able to live with myself now that I remember what kind of person I truly am.

Jim's going to want to know why. Maybe I should just come out with it and tell him. I wonder what he'll think of me then. Will he see then that I'm a worthless selfish creep? Can I let this out and face the consequences? I don't want Jim to hate me. I don't want Jim to see that I could ever be like that, that I could be so self-serving as to deny my responsibility. How could I ever do that? But then, maybe the old saying is true. Maybe the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.

How could I ever forget something like this?

*

I force myself to sit in the living room and watch TV. I have the sound down low but that's not unusual. I keep it low a lot when Sandburg's studying or reading. I can hear it and it doesn't disturb him. He works hard. The last thing I want to do is distract him so he has to go somewhere else to study. I have recently admitted to myself that I can't relax in the evening until he's safely tucked away at home. As long as he's gone, it doesn't matter where; I always have this edgy feeling that something might go wrong. Maybe it's 'cause he just seems to have such a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it's just something to do with this Sentinel thing, some feeling of having to control my environment, and yes, Sandburg is part of my environment, the most important part.

Finally the bathroom door opens and I turn just in time to get a glimpse of a towel wrapped Blair scooting into his bedroom. The steamy soap smell wafts into the living room from the bathroom and my practical side briefly wonders if he left wet towels on the floor before my emotional side takes over and I remember my worries.

I tune my hearing in to his room and listen to his last few sniffles as he gets control of his tears. I decide he needs a warm cup of tea. He has me trained when it comes to tea. I never used to drink it before he moved into my life. Now I see it as a comfort device, something to soothe the rattled guide or the worried sentinel.

He has quite a collection of different teas. I don't know what they're all for but I know the chamomile is a good tension soother when you need to relax. That seems like the right choice for tonight.

As the water heats I try to think of anything in our lives that could be upsetting him. My first thought when I walked in was that someone had died or was sick, but I think he would have told me that. There would be no secret there, no reason not to just come out and tell me. So, whatever this is, it has to be something that he doesn't want to talk about for whatever reason.

I can't deal with this for long. I need to know. How can I help if I don't know what the problem is? And I know I can help. There isn't any problem that I would or could refuse to help him with. He may not realize it since, of course I've never told him, but he is as important to me as my own heart beating in my chest. Without either of them I would surely die. But I can't tell him that. I don't want to overwhelm him.

The kettle whistles and I pour the steaming water over the tea bags, appreciating the slightly sweet scent of the chamomile as it tickles my nose. I glance at his door, hoping that he'll make an appearance without me having to go to him.

*

He's making tea. I heard the kettle whistle and now I can smell it through the door. Hey, maybe I'm developing sentinel smell. I can tell it's chamomile, but that's not too difficult since that's the kind I always make when we need to relax or when one of us has had a hard day. I guess he has been paying attention.

I take a look in my mirror, flattening my hair down and wishing there was something I could do about the red puffy eyes. But what difference does it make? He knows I've been crying anyway. How could he miss it?

I slip a flannel shirt on over my t-shirt, wrap it around myself and pull my sweatpants up. Okay, I'm ready to face my over protective sentinel. As I walk out the door I wonder if I will spill it all or manage to keep it to myself. I know if I keep it all in, it will just keep eating away at me. But maybe that's what I deserve. Right now I feel like I wish someone would beat the crap out of me. It would certainly make me feel a whole lot better.

At least some physical pain would distract me from this mental pain I've been feeling since I opened that package this afternoon. I cringe when I think I may have never known about any of this if a fourteen-year old boy hadn't decided to go out joyriding on a cold winter night in Baltimore. What an absolute waste. What was I doing when I was fourteen? Studying maybe, obsessing over girls maybe, not speeding around in a stolen car with six other kids buzzed out of my brain with beer and who knows what drugs.

I suddenly realize I've been standing just outside my door in some kind of fog for who knows how long and Jim is looking at me kind of strangely. I know he's trying to give me some space and I appreciate it, but I don't know if a little space is enough right now. I'd like to hop on a plane for Baltimore right now and have conversation with a certain college professor, but I think that might result in physical violence.

"Tea, Chief?" Jim holds out a mug for me. I take it and sit down on the couch, taking a sip. I think my taste buds are on strike but the warm liquid feels good going down.

Jim sits at the other end of the couch, halfway turned toward me and drinks his own tea. He looks worried. I know he's trying to wait for me to talk, but it's a struggle for him. Maybe I should just let go and tell him. I don't know what kind of reaction I'm going to get, but he deserves to know.

I set my tea down on the coffee table and get up. He looks at me like I'm deserting him or something.

"Be right back." I say, heading off to my room to retrieve the box.

*

He comes back out of his room with a box the size of a big shoebox, the kind a pair of work boots might come in. He sets it down heavily on the couch between us, then sits down and retrieves his tea. He looks at me as he takes another sip of tea, then slowly with a shaky hand takes the lid off the box.

Inside I can see a collection of videotapes, about six of them, and a big envelope. He pulls out the envelope and sets his tea down. Then he looks at me, envelope clutched tightly in hand.

"This box came for me at the University today. It's from a professor I had the first year I was a student there. I was 16 and I think I saw her as my fairy godmother and a princess all rolled into one. I know I loved her and I was devastated when she told me she was moving away, that she got a better job offer at some school in Maryland. I wanted to go with her, to transfer, but then she told me that part of the reason she was leaving was because we were getting too close, that someone higher up had hinted that she was going to be brought up on charges of misconduct because of me. She could lose her job and be discredited so she wouldn't be able to get another one."

He looked down at the envelope then and started folding the flap back. Then he looked back at me and I could see the confusion in his eyes.

"I didn't remember any of this." He said quietly. "I had a vague memory of Emily. I mean I remembered that she was my first love, but I really didn't even remember her moving away. I didn't remember how far our relationship had gone."

He turned away and flipped his hair back, then looked up at me, directly into my eyes so I could see the depth of feeling in his words.

"I got that box and I didn't open it until I got home. I saw who it was from and I think I knew deep inside that it was going to kill me, that whatever was in that box was going to rip me apart. So I waited until I was somewhere safe to open it. I guess there really wasn't anyplace safe to open a box like that."

*

I look back at the envelope in my hands and then at Jim. He's waiting patiently for me to finish my story, to tell him what's on those videotapes, what's in this envelope.

"See, I don't know how I could not remember something so important. I mean I thought you had repressed a lot. I just can't see how I could have repressed this. This was just too important. I had to have been the most self-centered person on the earth to be able to put this out of my mind."

Jim puts his hand over on my shoulder, trying to offer support and comfort, I guess. I feel like pulling away. I don't deserve comfort. But I don't want to hurt his feelings. He's only trying to be a good friend. I swallow the huge lump in my throat and look right at him. I have to see his expression when I tell him the rest of this. I have to know how he really feels.

"I opened this envelope and it all came back to me. I suddenly remembered it all, just like it had just happened. Every little detail, I remembered. I just wish I could have remembered sooner, in time to do anything about it. Jim, I didn't just have a crush on this teacher. Her name was Emily Griffin and she was my first faculty advisor. She let me help her with projects and stuff and one day she asked me to help her move some stuff at her house. I went home with her and we moved some bookshelves, then we had dinner, and then she took me to her bed."

Jim's face just did a little jump. I can see disapproval there for a split second before he recovers and tries to look neutral. I keep watching him.

"You were only sixteen, Blair." He reminds me.

"Hey, in some countries you're an adult at fourteen. But that doesn't matter. I was in love with her and I thought she was in love with me. It was beautiful. I felt like I had gotten the most wonderful introduction to sex that anyone could have. She was so patient with me, so gentle and caring. And it was the beginning of a five-month relationship. But I guess I wasn't paying attention. I mean we tried to be discreet. I knew she'd get in trouble if they found out. It didn't even matter how old I was. All that mattered was that I was a student and she was a teacher. That by itself could get her fired."

"But I swear I didn't remember anything else until I opened this envelope." I feel the tears escaping again so I just hand him the envelope and let him open it himself and as he looks at the letter and the pictures, I remember the past that I had forgotten fourteen years before.

*

Sixteen-year-old Blair Sandburg was an energy bolt barely harnessed by societal restraint. He bopped about the large Rainier University campus as if he had lived there all his life. Known to almost the entire faculty, he had also befriended at least half the student body. But lately he only had eyes for his secret love, Professor Emily Griffin. He spent almost all of his evenings and weekends with her and every other waking moment dreaming of their future life together. In a few years they could openly become a couple. They could get married and spend the rest of their lives together. The twelve-year difference in their ages wouldn't matter so much once he was eighteen or twenty. It only seemed like a lot now because he was only sixteen and no one took a sixteen year old seriously.

Emily Griffin looked up and forced a smile as Blair walked into her classroom. He was early for his English class and in the mood she was in it irritated her. She couldn't afford to be seen alone with him, especially now.

"Hey, teach." He said, smiling. "Having a good day?"

"Fine, Blair." She answered curtly, shuffling through some papers on her desk.

Blair's smile disappeared and a worried frown took its place. "What's wrong, Em?"

She looked at him, his frown making her want to cry. She knew the news she had for him was going to destroy him. She hated what she was about to do to him. She really did love him. She knew she was going to have a hard time living with herself after this experience.

"We'll talk later, okay?" She forced a smile for him. "Class is starting soon."

He managed to sit through the whole class but didn't hear anything that was said. That look on Emily's face had made him afraid. He knew bad news coming his way when he saw it. He watched as the rest of the class filed out, then stood up to walk up to her desk.

"Em?"

"We need to talk, Blair. Come over to my house. Make sure you park on the next street over, okay?"

Blair nodded and walked out. She had called him Blair, just Blair, no Blair baby, like she'd been calling him for the past four months whenever they were alone together. Whatever that meant, it couldn't be good. He knew it couldn't be good.

*

When Emily opened her door to Blair, she stepped away, not allowing their usual hug and kiss.

"What is it, Emily?" He asked.

"Come into the den." She said, walking down the hall.

He followed her into the den and stood waiting.

She looked at him and then turned to stare out the window.

"Just say it, Em."

"I'm moving away." She blurted out. There really was no easy way to tell him. "I've been offered a better job and I'm taking it while I can. The dean knows about us and threatened to have me fired if I don't stop it."

She turned to look at him. He had fallen back into the chair, looking like he'd just been punched.

"Okay, so you're going away. We can still see each other on breaks and stuff. Where are you going?"

"No, we're not going to see each other. It's wrong, Blair. I never should have let this go so far. I could go to jail for this, do you realize that?"

"They'd have to prove anything happened first. I'd never say anything."

"I know you wouldn't and I'm counting on that. I'm counting on you to do what's right, to respect my wishes in this."

"What do you mean, Em?"

"I mean, in a couple of months you wouldn't have to say anything. There's going to be evidence enough." Emily said, watching his face to see if he understood her.

He glanced at her belly before looking to her face again.

"You're pregnant?" He stood up and went to her, but she pulled away.

"Yes, I'm going to have a baby." She said. "I thought about getting rid of it. I mean it's dangerous. But I can't do that. But the only way I can keep this baby is if I go away and get a fresh start."

"But I'm going to be a father." He said, almost liking the idea.

"Blair, I need you to understand this. I really need you to understand this." She grabbed him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes.

"You aren't going to be a father, not really. I'm going to move away and start a new life. I'm going to have a baby but he's not going to have a father. Nobody is ever going to know who his father was. I'll say I was raped or something."

"No!" Blair protested angrily. "I'm his father and I want to be his father. I can deal with keeping it quiet for a couple of years until I'm eighteen. After that they can't do anything to you. Then I can be a good father. I can't abandon my own child."

"Blair, you're not getting what I'm saying here. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But, either I go away and start over and have a baby without a father or I have an abortion and I still go away but I don't have a baby. You have to promise to stay out of it. As long as there's a chance that you'll be found out as the father of this baby, I can't take the chance of allowing it to be born."

Blair looked at her, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't believe this woman he'd thought he loved could be this heartless.

"You'd kill our baby?"

"If you make me." She said. "It's up to you. I want to have this baby but if you refuse to cooperate, I won't be able to. I'm not taking any chances of losing my job or worse, going to jail over this. I'm not letting a bit of indiscretion ruin my life. It's up to you Blair. What are you going to do?"

Blair couldn't stop the tears and he didn't want to be here anymore, didn't want to be anywhere near this woman, this woman that he thought he loved. He couldn't let her kill their baby. Even if he couldn't be anywhere near the baby anytime soon, maybe there would be a chance later. Maybe he could track them down when the child was older and at least make sure his son or daughter was taken care of and had a happy childhood. Emily would mellow out in a few years and let him come back into her life at least to be a good father. But none of that could happen if she aborted the baby before the unborn child even had a chance at life.

"Okay, okay Emily, I'll do whatever you say." Blair said finally.

Moments later he was running out of the house, away from the house where he had found and then lost his first love, where hopes and dreams had just been irrevocably shattered.

*

The envelope has a letter and some pictures in it. The pictures are all of a boy at various ages, from a baby up to a young teenager. He has big blue eyes, a full mouth, and curly brown hair. It only takes one look to tell me that this kid is either Blair as a child or Blair's own child. That thought throws me: that my little buddy Blair, who sometimes seems like a kid to me, could be a father to a teenager. He would have had to be..oh God, he would have had to be a kid himself.

I suddenly want to beat the crap out of some woman, some Professor, who was supposed to be teaching English to her students, not having sex with little boys.

I look over at Blair. He's sitting there staring off into space, tears streaming steadily down his face.

The letter is in a shaky handwriting in purple ink. The paper has spots on it in places. I can tell from the smell that this is where tears have fallen on the paper, not fresh tears, not tears from today, but tears from at least a few days ago, tears from the writer of the letter, not the reader.

*

*

"Blair." I give his shoulder a gentle shake.

He looks at me, then takes a folded up scrap of newspaper from his shirt pocket and hands it to me. I look at the picture of the totaled mini-van. My first thought is who joyrides in a mini-van?

But the article calls them the Seven Hills Seven and tells the tragic story of the seven young teens, all fourteen and fifteen years old, stealing the mini-van off the Security Square Mall parking lot, using it to party in and driving it out onto country roads, finally meeting their terrible fate on a stretch of road commonly known as Seven Hills, a spot in the road where seven successive hills dip up and down like a roller coaster and kids test themselves by seeing how fast they can take the hills without losing control. The article says that police estimated their speed to be no less than ninety miles an hour on icy road conditions. The speed limit on that stretch of road was twenty-five.

I can only think how lucky three of those kids were to have been able to walk away from that. Why Blair's son couldn't have been one of those lucky ones I don't know, but to have been driving the carmaybe he was lucky not to have survived that and have to live with that guilt and face the parents and families of those kids who had died.

But the only thing that matters to me at the moment is Blair. He has to be made to understand that none of this was his fault, that he was too young to have been responsible for what happened fourteen years ago.

"Chief, you okay?"

He looks at me and tries a smile.

"I guess it's true what they say, you know: Like father, like son." He says.

"What?" I'm really not following him here.

"I mean my father, whoever he was, was never a part of my life, maybe forgot or never even knew that I existed. And I, I must be just like him. I forgot I had even helped start a life. How could I forget that? I know I didn't mean to let this happen. I know, now that I remember, that I wanted to track them down and find my child as soon as I was old enough that it wouldn't get her in trouble. What I don't understand is how I could forget. I didn't even remember having sex with her. I just thought she was a professor that I had a pretty major crush on and then she moved away."

His memory lapse makes me wonder. It's obvious to me that his failure to remember is what's bothering him most here. He feels like he abandoned his baby by purposely forgetting that he existed. There has to be some other answer here. I know Blair enough to know that he wouldn't do that. He's such a responsible person and I know that even when he was only sixteen he wouldn't have run from that.

"Blair, maybe there's an explanation for that. Maybe something made you forget." I suggest.

He looks at me, his face suddenly overcome with anger. He stands up suddenly and starts pacing.

"Man, oh man, I know what she did. I know now what she did. I can't believe she did that to me. Damn!" He's getting so agitated I start worrying that he's going to have a stroke or something.

"Chief, calm down and tell me what you're talking about."

He stops short and looks at me, an expression of absolute shock all over his face.

"She hypnotized me! Damn it, she hypnotized me!" He starts pacing again.

"How?" I ask, a perfectly reasonable question.

"She was an advanced hypnotist. I remember that now. She minored in psychology and she trained to use hypnosis in therapy. She probably slipped me something to make me accept her suggestions a little more readily and then she used her talents on me and made me forget. Damn her. I thought she loved me, but she used me and then she abused me and I am so happy she's not anywhere near here cause I don't know if I could control myself. I think I hate her. I think I hate her soooooo bad."

He looks like he's angry enough to hurt somebody. But that seems better to me than how he was earlier, taking all of the blame on himself. I think he's beginning to see that he was more of a victim in all of this than anything. As sad as it seems, he was a victim.

"I feel almost like I was raped. She took away my memories. She used up what she wanted of me and then threw the rest away. And I never got to meet my own son."

I stand up and go to him. I don't care at the moment about any of that macho posturing bullshit. I just know my guide needs a hug and I'm not going to leave him standing there looking lost when I can provide some comfort, however little.

I step over to him and wrap him up in my arms. At first he stiffens, but then I feel him let it all go and he wilts like a limp noodle in my arms. I steer him into his room.

"You've had enough for one day, Chief. Let it all go for now and get some sleep."

He nods and lets me guide him down onto his bed. He curls over on his side and I cover him up.

"Try to get some sleep, Chief."

I start toward the door.

"Jim, thanks."

"Goodnight, Chief."

*

I listen as Jim closes my door and walks back into the living room. I dumped a lot on him tonight and all he gave me was understanding. I couldn't believe he got up and hugged me and then brought me in here and tucked me into bed. How did I ever end up finding someone to care so much about me? I was feeling absolutely destroyed just a few hours ago. Now I feel very sad that I had a son that lived and died without meeting his own father. Yes, that makes me sad and angry, not angry at him but at his mother and at circumstances that allowed that to happen.

But I also feel so very lucky, lucky to be loved and cared for. Yes, I know Jim loves me. He's like the brother I would have picked for myself given the chance. And I feel lucky to have been able to follow my dreams in life and find my sentinel, even if I can't tell the whole world about it.

*

I wake up to a banging on the door and I spring out of bed, hoping to get there before it wakes Blair up. It's been pretty quiet down there all night so I'm hoping he's gotten a good nights sleep, but I want him to get as much sleep as he can. I know he's still going to be riding an emotional roller coaster for a while yet. This kind of upheaval takes a long time to get over.

I don't make it downstairs fast enough. By the time I get to the bottom of the steps, robe hastily thrown on over my skivvies, Blair is turning away from the closed door, paper in hand.

He looks up at me as he walks over toward me.

"It's a telegram." He says, looking at the paper like it's going to bite him.

"It's a telegram for me." He says.

I know right away he's thinking only bad news comes in telegrams. He's afraid to open it, afraid to find out that something else has happened to devastate his world.

"Jim, man, I can only take so much." He holds the paper out to me. "Read it. If I can handle it, you tell me what it says. If I can't, you wait until I can. I can't take much more on top of yesterday."

I take the telegram from him and motion for him to sit down. He takes the end of the couch and I open the telegram as I walk over to the other end and sit down facing him. The box is still sitting there in the middle of the couch between us. I glance down at it before I read.

This is a new one on me. It's a suicide note. I've never heard of a suicide telegram. It almost strikes me as funny. I almost want to throw it away and forget it ever arrived. But I know I can't do that.

"Chief, do you know where Emily lives?" I ask.

"There was a return address on the box wrapping. It's in my room. Why?"

I hand him the telegram. It's basically an, 'I'm sorry. I'm terrible. I don't deserve to live' kind of letter, says she's going to join Jason wherever he is.

He gets the wrapping with the return address label on it and through that I get a phone number from our dispatch office for the local police in Baltimore County, Maryland, which is where they say Dogwood Road is. I get on the phone with a Corporal at their local precinct and he promises to have someone go right over and check it out. He'll call me back as soon as he knows anything.

Blair has started the coffee while I've busy on the phone and now, as I hang up, he brings me a cup and sits back down with his own.

"Thanks, Chief." I sip the warm coffee. It feels good going down. I hate having to wake up abruptly without coffee.

"I don't even know what I want to happen here, Jim." He admits. "I'm so torn between wanting revenge on her for taking away my chance to be a father to my son, and feeling sorry for her for the mistakes she made and for how it all turned out. I mean I think she loved me. I know now that it was wrong. I was a kid. She should have known better. But I loved her and I didn't think it was wrong at the time. I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me. She was my first real love and no matter what she did later, I'll still remember her for that."

*

We drink our coffee in relative silence after that, just waiting for the phone to ring. I decide I really don't want her to have succeeded in killing herself. As much as I might have wanted to punish her for what she did, I find that I can forgive her. I know her son wouldn't want her to die this way, to take her own life. I know he would want her to forgive him and go on. I'll never really get over what she did but I can forgive her and I hope she will be able to forgive herself.

It's about a half hour later that they call back. Jim answers and I try not to listen, not wanting to hear just half of the conversation.

He gets off the phone and looks at me.

"They found her. She had a handful of pills, tranquilizers the doctor gave her, but she was holding off on taking them."

I nod, suddenly realizing what she was doing. She wanted to see if I would bother to try to stop her. That's why she sent me the telegram. It was her way of testing me. I guess she needed to know that I could forgive her before she could know that she'd be able to forgive herself. I think if I hadn't done something she would have gone through with it.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim reaches over and rubs my shoulder.

"Yeah, feeling better all the time." I smile. "Hey, Jim, you want to watch some home movies with me?"

"Sure Chief, whenever you're ready."

"Maybe not today, okay? But soon, very soon."

The End