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Detective Jim Ellison ran to the end of the alleyway and clawed his way up the chain link fence.
‘Just like going over the assault course in basic training' his mind idly thought as he clambered over the top, down and jumped to the ground. He ran on, breathing hard, chasing the suspect across the open ground.
“Police! Give it up.” he shouted knowing nothing would come of it but hoping that just for once it might work. God, Blair must really be getting to him…
The far side of the fence had a hole peeled back in it and the suspect ducked through darting to the right and out of Jim's line of sight. He reached the road and couldn't see the man or the partner's car. He listened and heard harsh breathing coming from an alleyway. He edged round the corner with his gun ready. “Police, come on out, give yourself up your partner's left you high and dry.”
He scanned the area; traffic rumbled past him, no panicked driver that he could tell. Deflected for a moment- it was only at the last second that he heard the whistle of wood through the air. It was meant to hit the gun, but it missed and hit Jim in the shoulder instead. Arm numb, he dropped the gun. He kicked out at the robber, who stumbled and fell to the ground. Jim was on him before he had a chance to find the wood again. They rolled around both trying to get the upper hand. Jim was being overpowered by the smell of rotten food and trash from the trash bags that split open.
Suddenly a car turned into the alley from the other end, aiming straight for them, his buddy had turned up after all. Jim, however, could hear sirens heading his way at last. He pulled the guy off the ground to avoid being squashed. He only managed to get one hand cuff on the guy before the car reached them. His suspect managed to head butt Jim and made off after the car, finally nose-diving into the open window in the back.
‘Unbelievable,' thought Jim as he pressed the back of his hand to his nose, as he looked for his gun on the ground before turning going to see what was going to happen next. The car turned out of the alley into the main road, only to find that it was blocked off by police cars. Jim came out of the alley and jogged up the road to apprehend the suspects.
“Come out of the car with your hands up,” he ordered.
Nothing happened. Unusually the perps didn't seem to have any guns, made a nice change.
The car suddenly reversed towards Jim- he held his gun up.
“Stop or I'll shoot, stop and get out of the car!” It kept coming. He shot at the car.
The car, which had been leaking brake fluid and oil after its rough trip down the alley, broke hard and lost control, fishtailing wildly and clipping Jim as it spun.
With a surprised “oof,” Jim went down. The car caught him on his left side tossing him several feet and causing him to impact further with a lamppost on the sidewalk. His face scraping the oily tarmac, he struggled to aim his gun at the car, but it slewed into a parked car and the uniforms immediately ran towards it.
He could hear the traffic ‘copter overhead, the wail of sirens, the radios squawking. He could smell blood, brake oil, and the tarmac ; all of it combining to make him feel sick. The pain in his head expanded, then there was no sound, he tried to sit up when all the lights went out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Simon Banks wondered how Ellison managed to get himself into this one. He had the afternoon off for Pete's sake. Now here he was hurrying to Cascade Hospital after word went round that an officer was down. Blair was on his way, too.
“Captain Banks,” he said flashing his badge at the lady behind trauma reception. “One of my men was brought in about 30 minutes ago- Detective Ellison?”
“Yes sir, he's in cubicle 4.”
Sweeping back the curtain, Simon was met with the sight of Jim still out cold on the gurney covered by a sheet; his tattered and bloody clothes had been cut off and lay on the floor. Nurses were checking IV fluids and the monitors. The doctor looking at films on the light box spun round at the intrusion.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, and you are?”
“His boss, Captain Banks. How's he doing?”
“Not bad considering. He's suffered a hard blow to the head, which we are keeping an eye on, severe bruising and some contusions to his left hip leg and knee. Apparently he was hit a glancing blow by a car. He's very lucky he hasn't fractured his pelvis or worse. He does have some bruising to his back as well-we'll monitor his kidney functions. Generally, he's okay but the bruising will be painful.”
As if on cue, Jim suddenly murmured behind them, the monitors picking up his increasing heart rate.
“Sir, can you tell us your name?” asked the doctor.
“Sgonna go.” Jim said, eyes still closed.
“What's going to go?” asked Simon confused.
“Get away!” said Jim, glazed eyes open now; he struggled to get up ignoring the pain down most of his left side.
“Calm down, detective. Do you know where you are?” soothed the doctor as he tried to get him still enough to look in his eyes with the penlight.
“NO! The others!” cried Jim as he swatted away the doctor fussing around him-even Simon could tell he wasn't really with it.
‘Come on, Blair,' thought Simon silently, ‘You can help Jim out with this better than I can.'
“What others, Jim?”' asked Simon hoping to sort things out he moved closer.
Jim turned to Simon, eyes huge and uneven, grabbing the front of Simon's shirt in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him towards him. “Krasky died first you know. No chance.” he said collapsing back into the pillow with a moan before passing out again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blair made his way to the admissions desk, skidding to a halt and adjusting his rucksack. “I'm looking for a Detective James Ellison, brought in the last hour?”
“Blair!”
“Simon! Where is he, how's he doing? What have they given him? Is he talking?”
“Hold on, Sandburg. He's had x-rays; they've also done a CT scan. It looks like he has a bad concussion at the least. The car clipped him on his left side, so they're checking his hip and leg. They need to keep on eye on his kidney function too. We're just waiting till they move him into a room then we can go in for a few minutes.”
“Oh god.”
“He came round soon after I got here, but he said some odd stuff before he passed out again. He's pretty banged up.”
“Well, I need to be with him when he wakes up properly, you know that, Simon. All the noise, smell, and stuff.”
“I'm sure that they'll clean him up when they've finished their tests and move him to a room."
“Clean him up- how bad is it?”
“He looked pretty bad when I saw him-covered in blood and dirt and oil on his face and down the left side where the car hit him.”
Simon and Blair sat down to wait. Simon filled him in on what had happened to Jim.
“Just one of those freaky things was it then?” asked Blair.
“I suppose. I've heard some pretty bizarre tales in my time.” replied Simon with a small smile.
“Did you get who whoever it was he was chasing?”
“Yes, minor league jewellery thieves.”
“Score one for the good guys doing their jobs then.”
“Stupid really, Jim wasn't supposed to be on duty this afternoon-he asked for a few hours off. I guess he just can't help himself if he hears something over the radio.”
“He wasn't? I didn't know. He never said anything to me. ” mused Blair.
“Said he had something he had to do. I didn't ask. He didn't tell.”
“Oh” said Blair wondering what was going on with his friend.
A nurse came over “Gentlemen? For Mr. Ellison?”
“Detective. Yes.”
“He's settled now; you can go to room 304. Ten minutes then you're out. He's on hourly observation for the concussion.”
Simon knew Blair had to see and start assessing Jim's condition himself, so he let Blair go first. He'd done plenty of bedside duty over the years. It was still relatively new to Blair.
“Ah, Jim. What a mess!” Blair said as he looked at his friend lying on the bed attached to monitors and tubing. He sat by the bed and waited, quietly talking to Jim, “Come on big guy. Wake up then we can all get out of here, ok? Just wake up now, it'll be alright.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jim had been stable for two days, and now Blair was taking him home before he either escaped under his own creaky steam or the doctors threw him out. He knew Jim hated hospitals – there were too many noises, smells; and nurses were always doing something to you every other hour, so you never slept properly. Blair had experienced that himself, so he could sympathize, but it had to be too much for a Sentinel even dialed down.
Jim was to return in a few days to get the stitches checked and another CT scan and x- rays. They were told to return immediately if there were any problems. So far, it looked like Jim had been incredibly lucky, but would have spectacular bruising to show for most of it. His kidneys had also passed the BUN and cretanine tests- so no kidney failure had resulted from the impact, but they were still told to be vigilant.
For once the lift at the apartment was working, and Blair was able to wheel Jim in and home relatively smoothly. He just kept up his usual running commentary on things; Jim was in too much discomfort from sitting in the car and then dozing for the ride home to comment on Blair mother henning him like this. By the time he opened the door to the loft, it was lunchtime.
“Blair, is that you?” called Simon from the kitchen.
“Yes, look what I brought home.”
“Dammit, Blair, let me outta this thing,” said Jim slightly embarrassed that his captain was here.
Simon came over to help as Jim struggled to lever himself out of the wheel chair. “Couch?”
“No way is he going upstairs, Simon!”
Together, Blair and Simon steered Jim to the couch and got him settled; lying with pillows and blankets. They placed the walking cane the hospital had given them nearby.
“Thanks, Simon, for getting the food I appreciate it.”
“That's ok; I wanted to see how Jim was. You just call if you need anything; if you have to get back to Rainer…”
“Hey, I'm over here, and I don't need baby sitting alright,” said Jim tiredly from the couch.
“Jim, you're hurt and you're going to need a little help getting up and moving around for the next day or so. So shut up and tell me what you'd like for lunch. Simon went shopping.” explained Blair firmly.
‘How does he get away with that?' wondered Simon, as no explosion came from his detective.
“Not hungry, I'd like a beer though.”
“Jim, you've got to eat, and you can't have a beer with the antibiotics. How about Chung's chicken noodle soup and some water?”
“Alright.”
But by the time Simon and Blair had finished putting away food and nuking the soup, Jim was asleep.
“It's really knocked him for six, hasn't t?” commented Simon.
“Yes. Didn't sleep a lot in the hospital, you know they couldn't give him any pain meds until they were sure about his head.” said Blair going back to the table so they could have their soup. “I know he's been shot at, blown up and all sorts, but this could have been much worse- dead or paralysed, lots of broken bones, kidney failure. It's a good thing he isn't too vain, because his face is really colourful, never mind the rest of him. Mind you, the ladies go for the wounded hero look…”
“I think they're safe for today at least,” smiled Simon. “I'll pass on the latest news to the rest of the guys. You let us know when we can have a poker or movie night to keep him entertained and give you a bit of a rest and we'll be here.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blair was distracted from marking the last of his papers around 0030 by Jim mumbling and tossing and turning. Before he knew it, he was by the couch- Jim was sweating; suddenly he rolled over and flung his arm out- knocking the glass of water that was on the table- all over his face and chest. Blair expected him to wake up, but if anything it made things worse.
Jim was scrubbing at his face and hyperventilating.
“It won't come off- Oh God,” he repeated it over and over.
“Come on, Jim, wake up. What won't come off?” Blair asked as he grabbed the hands, trying to wake him up.
“There's blood everywhere,”
“What blood?”
“Everywhere,”
“It's okay. Jim, wake up- they cleaned you up at the hospital there's no blood here,” Blair spoke firmly hoping it would get through.
Jim's eyes suddenly snapped open, looking straight into Blair's.
“Blood and oil, couldn't get it out,” he said again .
“Jim! It's me Blair. There's no blood or oil.”
Awareness crept into Jims face and eyes, “What?” he started to say.
“Jim, are you with me now? Come on, big guy. You're home now.”
Jim's desperate breaths calmed down; suddenly he screwed his eyes in pain, “Hurts,” he hissed
“I'm not surprised, that's serious bruises you got there. Just try and dial it down man.”
His partner nodded and closed his eyes again as he tried to relax after his sudden movements.
Blair came back with a towel to wipe his face and some tea. “Here try this,” he said.
“What's in it?” asked Jim as he sniffed it carefully .
“Nothing that'll harm you -just helps you sleep.”
“I was sleeping fine till you woke me up.”
“Excuse me! You were the one shouting . ”
“Did not.”
“Did too- creepy stuff about blood everywhere. What was that all about anyway?” asked Blair, watching Jim apprehensively .
“Don't know, don't remember," said Jim.
“Right. I'll leave it for now. But we are going to talk about this later, man.”
“Yeah,” said Jim tiredly as he shifted awkwardly on the couch. He knew he was better off down here for the moment. Having been sideswiped and all, he'd never get up and down the stairs even with the cane. He always felt worse a day or so after this sort of thing. Exhausted, he fell asleep. Blair barely managed to rescue the cup as it fell from his limp fingers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blair spent the next day keeping an eye on Jim while he slept on and off and trying to get him to eat and take his medication. He oversaw Jim's slow progress to and from the bathroom and a tour round the apartment. Jim insisted he needed to move around a bit before he seized up totally. Blair tried hard not to fuss, but he guessed that Jim was in more discomfort than he was willing to admit as he snapped and grumbled.
That night, Blair decided he'd stay in the lounge again to see if Jim would have any more nightmares. But apart from some unintelligible mumbling, all was well. He woke up once and automatically told Blair to go to bed.
The day after that, Jim more or less ordered Blair out of the apartment, saying it wouldn't do for him to get cabin fever, plus he knew Blair had classes to give. So Blair went off to the university, but he phoned Simon. He knew Simon or the guys would find an excuse to go over and visit Jim.
He was back by mid afternoon, anxious as to how Jim was, and what he'd been up to all day.
“Jim?” he called as he put his keys in the basket. “Where are you? Don't tell me you've wandered off somewhere…”
“Chief – hold your horses. I'm in the bathroom.”
“Oh. Are you ok?” he asked hovering outside the door.
“Just checking the dressing on my hip and leg, having a wash,” answered Jim, which was true, but he had also taken some more Tylenol for his recurring headache. He still felt like crap, and he had nobody to blame but himself. He splashed more cold water on his forehead and neck and patted it almost dry.
Blair put the kettle on-he wanted some tea after his busy morning.
Jim came out and walked stiffly to the living area and sat at the table. He hated to admit it but he was grateful for the cane after all.
“Everything ok? You want some tea?” asked Blair as he put mugs on the table and stood looking at Jim.
“Yes, bruising's coming out nicely, seen worse,” Blair was surprised to see an odd expression come over Jim's face as he said that.
“Want to tell me?”
“Kettle's about to boil there, chief.” countered Jim neatly avoiding the issue. He was always tired now and everything hurt. Even though he turned the dials down, everything was out of whack. He wanted to deal with it on his own. Surely he didn't need Blair for every little thing, he thought angrily.
“Earth to Jim? There's a game on TV tonight – you want to watch?”
“Yes, sure whatever.”
They watched the game with varied enthusiasm; for once Jim didn't eat all the popcorn, which made Blair wonder how much his friend was eating, as he'd only picked at dinner as well. But then again, his whole system had had a shock. After the late game, Jim said he was going to his own bed upstairs not the couch, thank you very much, and Blair couldn't persuade him otherwise.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At some unmentionable time in the small hours, Blair registered the sound of a police chopper or something in the bay, making a very loud close sweep coming right over the apartments. Whap, whap, whap. A short while later he heard a loud thump from upstairs followed by silence. Jim! He rushed out of his room and up the steps to Jim's room. No sign of him. But the bedclothes were all pulled off on the far side. Carefully, he edged round the bed and knelt down. Jim lay on the floor. Damn, had he knocked himself out?
“Jim? You awake? Are you ok?” he asked frantically as he noted his head stitches bleeding again.
Jim's hand grabbed Blair's arm, scaring him half to death. “Soldier- we gotta go.”
“You're not going anywhere.” began Blair.
“Now, soldier! Somewhere safe. Away from the Huey.”
“Jim, come on back. You're in Cascade not…wherever. Peru ? Jim?”
Jim turned over and began to crawl across the floor. “Help me find the other tags, where's my tags?” he said.
“Jim , I've got the tags, it's alright.”
Jim patted his own chest frantically , “I'm not dead yet! Where are my tags? Give me my tags, soldier!” Blair quickly pulled off the amulet on a chain from his neck and pushed it into Jim's hands. It worked.
“All safe?”
“Yes, Jim . ”
Jim retreated to the corner all huddled up, which had to be hurting him, clutching Blair's chain. He leant his head back and closed his eyes, slowly calming down at last. Minutes ticked by.
A dog barked in the back alley, followed by a crash of bins and the screech of a cat. Jim opened his eyes. “Sandburg? What are you doing up here?”
“I think a better question would be, why are you sitting over there instead of resting in bed?”
“What?”
“Jim. I think you need some help. Let me check your head , it's bleeding.”
“Oh,” he said bringing a hand up to check.
Blair helped Jim up and got him back to bed. He went down stairs for his medications and first aid kit.
“It's just as well you're due back at the hospital tomorrow ,” Blair chastised as he tended his friend
“Great, more tests!”
“Look, it's just a check up alright, not the end of the world.”
“Been poked and prodded too much lately. Always asking me damn questions I can't answer!”
“Who has?”
“Everybody…people… on and on.”
“Jim, did you talk to doctors when you got back from Peru ?”
“Who didn't I talk to?” said Jim tiredly, already realising what Blair was trying to ask him. Despairing gloom wrapped around him in a cold embrace. He waited for the question.
“Did they talk to you about PTSD or flashbacks because I think you need some help.”
“Dammit, Blair what are you suggesting- that I've gone nuts?”
“No! Far from it, but something's gotten knocked loose, and it isn't pretty. Not for you or me.”
“Sandburg, I really don't feel so good- can we not do this now.”
‘Great' thought Blair ‘classic Ellison avoidance tactic #34' “How bad?”
“Everything hurts; maybe the headache will go in a year or two. And yes, I've dialled things down a bit. I just want to sleep,” explained Jim. ‘Obfuscation? Who me?' thought Jim to himself.
Blair left it like that, wanting to help but knowing he couldn't push it. Jim always buried everything deep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Although he felt like he should sleep like the proverbial dead, Jim slept fitfully until the watery sunshine shone on his face. Things still ached; he felt out of sorts, angry and fed up.
He made it through washing and breakfasting-well he tried to eat something. He was glad his roommate hadn't tried to engage in meaningful conversation about last night; he just didn't think he could take it this morning- not without killing Blair and then hiding the body where no one would ever find it. Unhappy with his dark thoughts, he stood up abruptly.
“We ready to go?” he asked.
“I thought you didn't want to go?” said Blair surprised, still eating cereal.
“Well, now I do, I just want to get it over, ok? I can get checked out and go back to work- everything's normal,” Jim snapped .
“Alright, alright let's go, but remember you can't drive.”
Jim declined to answer that one, but limped over to the door, opened it and went out.
Blair worried about Jim as he grabbed his keys and followed his errant friend. He'd been hurt before and all that went with that- this was different. The flashbacks seemed to be from Peru , but why now? He'd never heard Jim say or do stuff like this before. At least it didn't seem to be affecting his senses too much…
Jim's feeling of impending doom was proved correct as they passed a bad traffic accident on the way to the hospital. As they were stuck in a slight jam, Blair could see Jim staring at the crash scene- it wasn't pretty. The rescue services were in attendance, tending to the victims and directing traffic around the site.
“There's nothing you can do, Jim,” said Blair as one of the firemen covered the driver side of one of the cars with a blanket away from prying eyes.
Jim didn't tell Blair that he had heard and felt some of the distress at the traffic accident, and he was reminded of other lives slowly ebbing away as he watched…
“What a waste,” he said .
Blair couldn't think of anything to say to that as they cleared the scene and made their way to the hospital.
Once at the hospital, Blair reported that they'd have to wait to go for the scans and x rays. Jim desperately tried to will the pounding headache and nausea away. Ah, the sweet smell and routine of the hospital. Closing his eyes and breathing slowly gradually helped. Blair seemed to realise and kept quiet.
He went for the scans and x-rays, patiently enduring the hum and whir of the machinery and the smell of the x-ray film he clutched in his hand, ready to pass on to his doctor. They waited some more outside his office.
Suddenly, his doctor was ushering him into his room, asking him questions, how's this and that, go here, take that off, put this on… he complied.
“Oh, these stitches are doing nicely, although it looks like you've had a slight knock here? Hmm. It's a bit tender.”
“Yeah. Bet your stitches are neater than mine, goes all uneven when you have to stitch yourself up with no anaesthetic,” replied Jim not really with it.
“Ah, have you done that?”
“Sure, and made do on my buddies for all the good it did,” the light was blinding, his heart beginning to pound.
“Detective! Tell me what's wrong, what's going on?”
“Uhh,” he swallowed frantically. The doctor recognising the signs gave him a basin just as the detective was violently ill. He called for a nurse and attached Jim to monitors that immediately picked up his racing heart rate and pressure. Jim lay back down on the bed, eyes closed again.
The doctor quickly opened the door and, spotting Blair, asked him to come in, as the nurse cleaned Jim up a bit.
“Can you calm him down for me? He might respond to you better,” he took Jim's charts and films and looked at them intently.
“They knew we were coming!” Jim sat up on the bed.
“What?” said the doctor and Blair.
“I've got to guard the pass, finish the mission, fin...” said Jim frantically trying to peel off the monitor pads.
“Jim, don't!” Blair rushed over to the bed and grabbed Jim face with his hands. “Look at me! You finished the mission. It's over. You can stand down now. *Listen* to me.”
Jim suddenly heard the comforting heartbeat of his Guide, smelled his shampoo, the dampness of his wool coat. He wasn't in a hot dark jungle any more; he wasn't being treated by the Army doctors. He felt exhausted. He blinked and nodded his head. It had happened *again*.
The doctor went over and examined Jim carefully peering in his eyes, and asking him to touch his nose among other perception tests. He asked him how he'd been eating and sleeping. When he was satisfied that Jim was alright, he took the monitor pads off and asked him to join them when he'd dressed. Jim sat next to Blair in front of the doctor's desk.
“In spite of what happened just now, your scans and films confirm that you have sustained no further brain injury. I think we can rule out the chance of a blood clot.” He paused for a moment.
“However, it is apparent that you have other issues here. Detective you were in the Army, is that right?”
“Yes. A few years ago now”
“You witnessed traumatic events, were you injured at all?”
“Yes to both.”
“How and when did you hurt your head again? It was tender.“
“Last night.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“No, I don't think so, well not exactly…”
“Explain.”
“I fell out of bed,” he mumbled.
The doctor looked hard at him, and glanced across at Blair.
“Detective Ellison, although you're physically healing very satisfactorily, according to your base line records here, you have lost significant weight. You appeared confused when you came in. And you experienced a flashback.”
“Well, *nobody* likes the hospital food or being poked and prodded.”
“I am well aware of that, but you look worn out, detective. Are you having trouble sleeping? Some of this is perfectly understandable given the trauma you've sustained. It isn't weakness to ask for help,” chided the doctor.
“I've tried to tell him that,” said Blair.
“Look, I just haven't felt hungry, it'll come back. The pills make me sleep when I least expect it, and then I'm awake when I don't want to be,” Jim tried to explain.
“I think your latest ‘episode' was due to the stress of coming back for the tests, especially after last night. That coupled with the medications and no food obviously triggered something.”
“He's very sensitive to some medications,” said Blair.
“I can see that from his records in front of me.”
The doctor turned back to his patient before suggesting
“I could recommend a counsellor at the hospital here. Or perhaps you'd prefer to use the Police department's affiliated unit?”
“Thanks, doc, I'll think about it.”
“Take my advice and do it sooner, rather than later. Finish the course of antibiotics, and try and get that weight back on. Come back and see me again next week, and I'll okay you for light duty, if you've made an appointment to talk to someone.”
And with that he dismissed them. Blair drove them back to the apartment, wisely not chattering too much. Jim was quiet. Once in the apartment, Jim phoned Simon to update him on his duty status.
“I can put you in touch with the department's counsellor. It's standard practice after an accident. But other than that you're alright, Jim?” asked Simon.
“Yes, everything's fine, just need a couple of more days,” replied Jim before ending the call.
“You can't just fob him off with that! He's going to find out Jim,” said Blair angrily, stomping about in the kitchen.
“Stay out of it, Sandburg.” warned Jim.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blair woke up needing go the bathroom. On auto pilot and not quite awake, he steered himself to the bathroom -on his return noticed a shape at the window. Startled he said, “That you, Jim?”
“Yes . ”
“Time is it?”
“0350, Sandburg.”
“Um , what are you doing up?”
“Thinking.”
“Oh...should I be worried?”
“Maybe.”
‘Ah.'
“Chief do you think I've lost it?”
“No. Come on; let's sit down for a bit. I'll go get a sweater.” Jim sat on the couch.
“Jim, you need to remember what's been going on.”
“Why? I can't change anything.”
“No, but its affecting you now for some reason. You've been hurt before, right?”
“Yes.”
“Look, there has to be some other factors involved here. You keep mentioning blood and oil.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. Simon told me what you said in the hospital the first time.”
“I don't remember.”
“Jim.”
“It's the truth.”
“I'm trying to help you here.”
“I know... it's just hard you know.”
“These flashbacks- have you had them before?“
“Not for a long time. When I was with Caroline…a few things happened.”
“Is it about what happened to you in Peru ?”
“Sometimes.” He put his head in his hands.
“Jim, are you ok?”
He laughed hollowly.
Silence
“What's the date today, chief?”
“Ah, the 19 th march. What has that to do with anything?”
“The day I got hit by the car was the 14 th .”
More silence.
“Jim, I don't know what you're trying to tell me here. Talk to me.”
“It was the anniversary of the Huey going down in Peru .”
“Oh. I should have known that.”
“Why, Sandburg?”
“Because it's important to you.”
“Hmm.”
“I remember now! Simon said you asked for some time off. He was surprised you answered the APB on the scanner that day.”
“I was in the area; I needed to do something, to get *something* right.”
“What do you mean? Where were you before Jim? What did you do?”
“Caroline never understood- she thought I was morbid…”
“Jim,” said Blair frustrated.
“Simon doesn't know where I went, I never told anyone. Caroline followed me one year. We had a huge row over it.”
“About what, Jim? You're not making sense.”
“I had to go somewhere, but it's always been a substitute.”
“Where, for Christ's sake. Jim. Just tell me. Say it.”
“The cemetery. The police memorial site.”
“At the … cemetery?” Jim couldn't speak only nod.
“Jim, have you done this every year?” He nodded again.
“Why don't you go Arlington or wherever?”
“Because the guys aren't there, they're at Fort Benning , Georgia , at the Ranger memorial.”
“I don't understand-you haven't been there? I know it's a long way from here, but, Jim, it's been a few years.”
“No, I haven't been. I needed distance when I got out of the army, and the families hadn't got the stones done yet. So I waited. Then I was here and busy, and I couldn't bear to go back. But I needed to do something, so one year I found myself at the cemetery here, and it seemed to work. So I've done it ever since,” He trailed off.
Blair tried to digest this huge thing Jim had told him. He really appreciated that Jim had finally told him. And, yes, it was a bit weird.
He thought about what to say next because it was very important that it come out right.
“Jim, I think you've coped amazingly well with all that life has thrown at you. But it hasn't done you any favors either. All your life you seemed to be pretending to be ‘normal' or being spooky army guy. You must have seen and done lots of things I don't want you to ever tell me about. But Peru , you told me about that, you thought you were betrayed, your men died. But you never crawled around the floor looking for your dog tags before. That scared me, Jim. And it ought to scare you. There's stuff you've buried so deep. You never dealt with it. You shoved it in a box and nailed on the lid. Well, guess what? The lids' popped off! And it's messing you up big time.”
Blair ground to a halt. Jim looked at him and then got up and went back to the windows and stared out.
“I think it's smell I'm remembering. Blood and oil. It was the first thing I remember… “ said Jim wearily.
“Well, from what Simon says, that fits with your accident too, and what you said here. You didn't like the sound of a chopper going over head one night either.”
“I guess so. Sometimes I remember bits and pieces. It was chaotic, my men were badly hurt. I tried so hard and I was hurt too, but nothing I did worked! I was the medic! I lost them! And then I just carried on with the mission cause that's what we do!” said Jim almost shouting now.
“I'm sure you did all you could, given the circumstances. You never give anything but your best; your men knew that too, I'm sure. And you carried on like they'd have wanted. But they are gone; you don't want to be lost too. I'm not saying you should forget, but you need to remember in a healthy way.”
“You want me to go and talk to a shrink, is that it? I can't talk to the police department one, and I'm not going back to the army. They put me through the wringer the first time.”
“Well, would you talk to me?”
“I don't think I have any other options, do I?”
“I know it's a cliché, but I really think that you need to go to Fort Benning and see the stones, memorial-whatever they've done-do things properly. You need closure, or this might happen again. You were obviously thinking about what happened all day long before the car hit you. The concussion stirred things up a bit. Your accident was a stupid thing, you had no control and you're angry. You had a wake up call, that's all.”
Silence again. Jim rested his forehead against the cool glass. Blair waited, and just as he thought that was it and he'd go back to bed – Jim spoke.
“Would you…” he cleared his throat and spoke up . “Blair- would you go with me to Georgia ?” he asked.
Blair got up from the chair and went over to the window; Jim still had his eyes closed. He put his hand on Jim's shoulder, the tense muscles jerked and then relaxed. Jim opened his eyes at the soothing touch of his Guide, and the familiar heartbeat. It was still real, he hadn't imagined the conversation. Blair hadn't answered his question though.
“I mean if I can get some time off. Maybe you'll be busy at the university…” he started to back pedal.
“Jim. Slow down. Hey, the army! Another closed society to examine!”
“Chief!”
“I'd be honoured to go with you, Jim. I'm sure we can fix it to go. You *have* to go. This isn't over, it's a start.”
“Oh. Then that's settled then. I'm going to bed now.”
“Night, Jim, ” replied Blair as Jim headed up the stairs.
“Thanks, Sandburg…for listening.”
“Anytime, and… sweet dreams, Jim.”
~~~~~~The end~~~~~~~~~~~~~