Betaed by Xasphie, the title is a suggestion by JudyL
Warning: Permanent damage of a major character.
“Well, Sandburg, remember the failing grade you gave me for plagiarism? Huh?” A fist hit Blair in the ribs. “You destroyed my career and then it turns out you’re a fraud! Well, Sandman, you will pay for that!” An ugly grin appeared on the attacker’s face. “You destroyed my life and I’ll destroy yours. To think they want to make a cop out of you, out of a little Jewish fraud. Well, Sandbag, when I’m finished with you, nobody will want you!”
More blows hit the young man, who had been unconscious for quite some time. The attacker was too tired holding the frame up to beat his victim properly, and resolved the problem by switching to kicks. The stillness of his hated teacher’s body took a lot of the fun out of his task, so he finished sooner than he had planned.
The attacker knelt down beside his victim, a knife in his hand. “You won’t ever hold a gun in your hand, asshole.” With a quick swipe of the blade he made deep cuts into both of Blair’s palms, first the right and then the left hand. “You won’t run after a suspect.” With the next two cuts he severed both Achilles’ tendons. “You won’t ever be able to see any perps or records, and believe me, nobody will want to see you ever again.” The attacker lifted the knife high to plunge it down into Blair’s eyes. The blade flashed in the dim light of the room, and the closed eyes had no idea that their view of the attacker was to be their last vision of anything. The blood flowed freely from the preceding wounds, and the instigator delighted in the sight of the damage, as he wielded the knife higher, ready to take the final gleam out of the blue eyes of his nemesis.
The metal weapon quivered momentarily before commencing its downward thrust, the attacker reveling in the massacre. Angling the knife, he brought it down, but a shot hit him in the shoulder before he could finish the movement. Off course, the knife cut deep into his victim’s temple instead of his eye.
”Why did you do that, Reilly? You should have let him finish the little shit off!” The whining of the gunman’s accomplice broke the resulting silence.
”Are you insane? Crippling the fraud is one thing, but you are talking murder here! He’s useless to Ellison as he is and you’ll see, Ellison will send the guy packing faster than you would believe possible, if he isn’t of any use. No, it’s enough as it is.” Reilly, a uniformed policeman, turned to the attacker. “Think you can walk with this?” He gestured towards the fresh gunshot wound. The man nodded wordlessly. “Then leave. One word about any of this, and you will be dead, comprende?” Another wordless nod and the dark-haired attacker hurried out of the abandoned building, frantically clutching his bleeding shoulder.
The two policemen stood beside the unconscious, bleeding form on the ground. Reilly’s companion took a few fists full of dirt and sprinkled them over the open wounds.
”Won’t work. He’s bleeding too heavily; it will wash all the germs right out.”
”Well, it’s worth a try. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s still a nice touch, don’t you think?”
”Yeah,” Reilly grinned, and slowly returned to his patrol car to call an ambulance. Considering the amount of blood that had seeped into the dirt under Sandburg’s body, the ambulance would be too late anyway. The call done, he returned into the building with the first aid kit.
”Wrap some bandages around it, it will seal some of the dirt in and make sure he gets an infection.”
”Why me? You do it!”
”Hey, I made the call, you bandage the little shit. And you better make it fast; you know Ellison will be here shortly.”
”Nah, I don’t think so. Haven’t you noticed how Ellison’s being avoiding the little fag lately? There’s trouble in paradise!”
They both laughed and the patrolman wrapped the bandages around the hands and ankles. He wasn’t careful with the injured man, but the unconsciousness spared Blair further pain. When the policemen heard the ambulance approach, they put a blanket over the still body to create the illusion that they cared about the victim. Shortly before the ambulance stopped in front of the dilapidated house, Reilly bent down and whispered into Sandburg’s ear: “Why don’t you do us all a favor and die? It will spare you a lot of pain.” He didn’t expect a reaction and didn’t receive one.
The paramedics burst inside and increased Blair’s chances of survival dramatically. As Reilly’s companion had said, Ellison didn’t show up. A detective from Homicide appeared to observe forensics, but since he wasn’t aware of the identity of the victim, he didn’t think of calling Major Crimes. It was just another nameless victim of a senseless crime in Cascade. Not the first and surely not the last.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Even though Blair had spent a lot of time in Cascade General, thanks to his affiliation with Major Crimes and Jim Ellison specifically, nobody recognized him. Considering that his face had been all over the newspapers after his press conference, it was surprising that nobody identified the resident fraud. On the other hand, the face was covered in blood, and even after that had been washed up, bruised, swollen and discolored skin marred his appearance. Not even Naomi would have recognized her son.
Luckily for Blair, his doctor believed in perfection, as hopeless as this case seemed to be, he still repaired the damaged muscles and reconnected the severed tendons. Maybe this man’s hopes of survival were slim, but he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life as a cripple, unable to care for himself. Dr. Schmid took a personal interest in his patients, and visited the young man daily during the many days the poor guy spent in the coma. Too sad that nobody missed the young man. There had been no wallet and no clue who he was. Even though there had been made photos of him after the worst of the swelling and discoloration had disappeared, nobody had recognized him.
The doctor told his family about the lonely young man, and soon members of the Schmid family appeared daily, talking to the unconscious young man and praying at his bedside. Especially the doctor’s grandmother, who developed a soft spot for the young man, and soon all members of her church prayed for him.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Joel hated the tense atmosphere in the bullpen. So Blair had taken off, so what? Was that a reason for Simon to yell at everyone, and for Ellison to hide behind the hard-ass attitude and stonewall every attempt to talk to him? He could understand that Blair had not been able to deal with all these changes. Sure, he too was a little angry that Blair had left without any word, but who would blame the kid? His whole life had been a shambles and a badge wasn’t able to heal everything, regardless of Ellison’s expectations to do so.
Even Brown and Rafe were disappointed about Blair’s sudden departure. And didn’t hide their feelings. Hell, even Connor was sprouting nonsense about how ungrateful the kid had been. Did none of them ever consider what Blair had lost? He had been a student, a teacher, and a damned good one as he had learned when he had visited the anthropologist on the campus once. The detectives had chosen this job, and now they couldn’t understand that Blair wasn’t happy to be forced to become a cop? What would they think if they were forced to become anthropologists?
He could understand Brown, Rafe, Connor and even Ellison. They were young and didn’t have enough experience of life to consider all sides of the problem, but Simon? The captain had been around the block a few times, why did he act so offended? As if Blair had insulted him personally.
Joel shook his head and returned to his work. He hoped Blair would come around and call them sometime soon, or send them an email. He was worried about the little guy.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Hattie Schmid smiled down into the big blue eyes. Sure, the doctors, even her grandson had told her that the patient wasn’t awake, that sometimes in a coma the eyes were simply open, but she just knew that he would wake up soon. Such a beautiful boy, despite the scar on his temple. That would fade, her grandson had promised her.
She had decided, if it became viable, to give the boy a home. Her family was large and there were many women, capable of taking care of the poor lad. She didn’t like the idea of storing him in some long-time care facility. No, she would take charge of Peter, as she had started to call him. She didn’t like this ‘John Doe’ nonsense and had named him after her son. Pete had only reached four years of age when pneumonia had taken him away from her, but now he had returned in the shape of this helpless stranger.
Sure, her grandson had told her that his chances of waking up diminished with every day he spent in the coma, but her faith was strong. God would take care of his child.
It had been more than two weeks already.
She smiled some more when she saw the eyes move sluggishly.
”Hey honey! Do you want to wake up today? You have such beautiful eyes; you should keep them open more often!”
She poured a little orange juice into a glass, dipped her finger in it and whetted the boy’s lips with the liquid. The mouth opened slightly, and she let some more drops fall in. Whatever the physicians told her, that had been a reaction. He would wake up, and soon.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
”Me cookie?”
”Sure, honey. You can have a cookie.” Hattie handed him the object of his desire and smiled at his eager face. Peter’s hands were still clumsy, and walking was a torture for the boy, but he was getting better. He was such a happy kid, despite of the pain in his hands and feet. And maybe it was not a disadvantage that he didn’t remember anything of his past. Nobody had bothered to ask after him. If he had a family out there somewhere, they obviously didn’t care for him.
”Thank, Hattie!” He beamed at her. Despite of all the people taking care of him, her two daughters, three sisters in law and four grandchildren, Hattie was still his favorite. She was happy about that. And that her grandson Jordan had started to spend time with Peter was even better. Jordan had been on a bad path, hanging around with the wrong crowd, but Peter’s presence in the house had changed that. Jordan had decided that he wanted to become a teacher for special people, such as Peter. Yes, God knew what he had been doing, sending this young man to her family.
Sometimes she wondered if he had been that way his whole life, but her grandson, Dominic, the doctor, had told her that the blood-loss and the head injury could have caused a regression to this young personality. It didn’t matter anyway. Peter was happy, everyone loved him and he was as good for the family, as the family was for him. She hoped that his family would never turn up to claim him.
”Fam-ly tale?” Big, blue, pleading eyes gazed intently at her. She chuckled silently. Like a puppy dog.
”You want to hear a fairy tale? Hm, what do you want to hear? A story about a princess, or a prince, or a wizard?”
”Whits-art!”
”Merlin?”
”Yeah, Merlin! He cool!”
”Yeah, way cool!” She looked around, but none of her grandchildren were in hearing range, to tease her about the remark. She settled down on the couch and Peter plopped down in front of her, his elbows on the cushion and his chin in his palms. He wouldn’t be able to hold this position very long with his still healing hands, but for the moment he looked very comfortable.
”Okay, there was this very cool wizard and some day he decided to take an apprentice, someone he would teach all his tricks and knowledge…”
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Life went on in Cascade, and when the two cops who had known the identity of the abused young man, and who had taken care to make it seem as if the fraud had left for good, were killed in the line of duty, they were buried with a grand ceremony. The whole of Cascade PD participated in the event and it was considered a very moving event. The names of the two dead heroes were added to the board of honor in the entrance hall of the PD Headquarters.
- End –
(And this is where Xasphie shouted at me. And since I listen to my beta-reader, here’s the sequel.)
Megan was ready to punch someone, preferably the scumbag she was facing actually. Why couldn’t Brown have played the ‘good cop’? Playing nice with this piece of dirt was so not what she had asked Santa for. She returned to her ‘nice chat’.
”I can understand you, Mr. Shrub. You did this to help the woman you love; I’m sure the judge will see it that way too.” She managed to smile at the creep, even though she would rather have punched him out. Brown was still sitting at the table, looking menacing. When would he start to act his part? She did a better ‘bad cop’ with a head cold and both hands tied behind her back.
”I always try to help. Margie needed me and I couldn’t let her down.”
Yeah right. It was such a tragedy that his girlfriend didn’t win this Model contract that he needed to throw acid into the winner’s face, blinding the poor girl in the process. Oh yeah, he was such a good guy!
He continued to whine. “You should be thankful; I did all of you a favour when I killed Sandburg.”
Connor swallowed her surprised and enraged shout. Sandy? Killed? God, no! She looked at her partner. Brown had an expression as if someone had just clubbed him over the head. Could this be true? But Sandy had taken off, hadn’t he?
She managed to keep her voice even as she sank slowly into one of the chairs. “I want to know all about it.”
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Jim watched the fleeing inspector. Connor looked as if she wanted to puke her guts out.
”What’s wrong with her?” He addressed Brown, who had followed her out of the interrogation room at a slower pace. He headed to Captain Banks’ office while Megan had made a mad dash to the restrooms.
”Jim! You better come with me.” Brown looked as if someone had shot his grandmother, and he sounded that way, too. Ellison followed the distressed detective. Brown knocked on the captain’s door curtly, then stepped inside without bothering to wait for an answer.
Banks looked up irritated, but one look into his subordinate’s ashen face and he pointed wordlessly at the chairs. Jim sat down, but Brown remained standing, too deeply affected to calm down.
”Connor and I interrogated Donald Shrub about the assault on Theresa Lombardi, and during the interrogation he confessed to the murder of Blair Sandburg.”
”What?” Two voices shouted in unison.
”Two policemen witnessed the murder.” Brown swallowed. “I brought the tape. I’ll go down to Homicide to see if they have the murder in their files.” The voice of the normally so exuberant man broke. “I can’t listen to it again.” He left the tape recorder on the captain’s desk, turned and escaped from the room, leaving two stunned men behind.
Jim’s mind was reeling. Blair dead? Impossible! Sandburg had left after the dissertation fiasco, had found a better job than the one the PD had offered him, had found a better friend, one that wouldn’t leave him hanging where simply stating the truth would have freed Blair, and had found happiness. Ellison needed to believe that, needed to know that Blair was safe and sound, that his own actions, his denial of the truth, hadn’t destroyed his friend.
Simon took a deep breath and started the tape recorder. With an increasingly queasy feeling in his stomach the sentinel listened to the sicko bragging about how he had hurt, tortured, and killed Sandburg. And how two uniformed policemen had stood aside and done nothing. The nasty bastard even knew their names, but, since both of them were dead, they couldn’t disprove the man’s claims.
The tape of the interrogation ran out and Simon stopped the recorder.
”What do you think, Jim? Could he be telling the truth?” The captain’s eyes pleaded with him to say no.
”God, I hope not.” Jim buried his face in his hands. He didn’t know what to say or do; his mind was totally blank. This had to be a lie; it simply had to be.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
The atmosphere in the bullpen was depressed. Within minutes, the news about the death of the former police observer had made the rounds. Most of the faces were miserable, a few ashamed. Many of them had believed that Sandburg had abandoned Ellison and felt bad about the unfriendly thoughts they had harbored.
Connor had recovered from her nausea sufficiently, and was busy investigating the story the sleazebag had told her. The tall Australian was like a woman possessed, and thus a nice change to the rest of the personnel, who had given in to the feeling of sorrow.
It was not even particularly hard to follow the trail of papers. Thanks to bureaucracy, it didn’t take her longer than an hour to find all information available on the case of John Doe. The man had been found in the indicated place at the date Shrub had claimed, but had not been killed like the slimeball had claimed. It was a very slim case folder. After the description of the state the man had been found in, the forensic report and the mentioning of very few trails that lead nowhere, the detailed description stopped, and the only thing added later was the sentence: ‘The victim’s condition prevented any questioning.’ What the hell did that mean? Unconsciousness, Amnesia, death? No, if he was dead, it would have been mentioned. Why were there no updates on the case? Unfortunately, the detective who had investigated the case, was unavailable. He was on vacation and it was impossible to reach him, wherever he was.
But at least she had the name of the hospital. Connor glanced up quickly to the captain’s office. Banks and Ellison had holed up in there one hour before, and the posture of the two men clearly showed their misery. No, before approaching them with her news, she would make sure that Sandy was indeed alive, whatever this mysterious ‘condition’ was.
She called the hospital and talked to a nice Dr. Reed, who, to her surprise, knew at once who she was talking about. And not only did she know Blair, she was also still in contact with the victim of the vicious attack.
But there the good news ended. Megan’s breath caught in her throat when the doctor explained Blair’s mental state to her. This brilliant mind, the quirky humor, the wise soul – everything gone? Gone without a chance of recovering? She managed to keep her voice steady while she asked the last of her questions, and only started to sob after having replaced the receiver. With all of his memory and his personality gone, Blair was indeed dead.
Should she even tell Banks and Ellison about Peter Schmid? A childlike soul was not able to deal with these two hard-heads. The guys were used to the stubborn, willful Blair Sandburg, would they be able to adjust to the child inhabiting Sandburg’s body?
She buried her head in her hands and stopped thinking and allowed herself to only feel, to experience all of her emotions to the fullest. She needed this time for herself, in order to be able to face her colleagues later. The story she had to tell was not the easiest to reveal.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Simon was used to trouble and recognized it written in big letters in the face of the Australian exchange officer. It was a strange expression, and he was unable to tell what the look in Connor’s face meant.
”Connor?” Banks addressed her quietly, in a gentle voice. “What’s wrong?”
”I checked Shrub’s story.” Her expression was still unreadable.
”And?” The captain was nearly shouting in frustration. He looked over to the sentinel. Jim was so very rigid, if he tensed any more, he would shatter.
She sighed deeply. “He survived, but there was brain damage. He has the mind of a young child, with a very limited ability to learn. And from what the doctor told me, there is no memory of his life before the attack.”
”No.” Jim’s whisper was heartbreaking. Simon was ready to strangle the woman for the abrupt manner in which she had delivered the news. He went over, around his desk, and rubbed Jim’s shoulder soothingly, staring reprovingly over his detective’s head at Connor. She didn’t react to the captain’s attitude, at least not visibly.
”Doctor Reed said he was happy. The family of another doctor took him in, and he’s been living there for the last eight months, ever since he was released from the hospital. His physical condition is good, from what she told me.” Her voice was much softer now, and Simon was able to hear how close she was to tears.
”Sit down, Connor.” The captain pointed at the other chair. “Tell us everything.”
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Jim remained sitting in the driver’s seat. He was nervous. He hadn’t been that nervous before his first date. Was this the right thing to do? Could he deal with this new version of his friend? Maybe it was better to accept the truth and remember Blair as he had last met him, safe and sound.
These people really seemed to care for Blair. For Peter. Peter Schmid. PS. Almost the same initials as before. The sentinel had spent a lot of time on the telephone during the last few days, talking to various members of the Schmid family. He had asked about Peter’s favorite color, animal, food and drink, everything that could give him an indication that Blair was still in there, buried behind this new person. But so far, nothing had matched.
Damn! Nothing had matched!
How possible was that, no match under all those questions he had asked? Even if you asked two different people those questions, it was very probable that there would be a match somewhere. Blair would never have named a bunny his favorite animal, or pink as the color he liked most. But Peter obviously liked them. Did he really want to meet this invader of Blair’s body?
He was reluctant to admit to himself why he was really there. If he would confess to himself that he hoped Blair would return if he only met his sentinel, or that he hoped to experience another miracle under Incacha’s lead, would that jinx it? Would it destroy his hopes to get his guide back?
Would he even be there otherwise? The Schmids obviously loved their new family member. So, would he turn up on their doorstep without the irrational hope of getting his guide back? Without the guilt over the pain Blair had had to endure under the approval of two of his ‘brother’s in blue’? If he thought it would bring something, he would dig up those two sorry excuses for human beings out with his bare hands, to reverse the honorable burial those two criminals had had.
So. Would he be there without hope or guilt?
Hell, yes! Sure he would. Blair was still the best friend he had ever had and even if he was not himself anymore, this new version of his friend would surely be worth getting to know.
And besides, he needed to see this family, add faces to the voices. All those voices had been full of love when they spoke about their new family member. Just the fact that he had spoken with eight Schmids so far and none of them had been unwilling or impatient while answering all of his questions was truly amazing. But he needed to be sure.
The sentinel took a deep breath and opened the truck door. He glanced down and saw a bonbon wrapper under the passenger seat. His new partner was such a slob! Blair had been an epitome of tidiness compared to the messy detective. Now he knew why Robbery had given the man such a glowing recommendation. They wanted to get rid of Bailey before he had turned their department into a dump. Taggart had had so much more luck with his new partner! When Rafe had transferred to Vice, Markham had gone the different direction from Vice to Major Crimes. She was such a nice person, would have been exactly the right match for Sandburg. Smart, short and talkative. Too bad the two hadn’t met before.
Jim realized that he was stalling, grabbed the wrapper, stuffed it into his jacket pocked and exited the car. He took three steps towards his goal, then stopped again. Maybe he should look for a trash can first. Yeah, who knew what kind of germs Bailey had left on that innocent looking piece of glossy paper. He couldn’t expose the poor kid to the slug’s nasty bacilli.
He looked around and spied two trashcans. One was close, but it looked dirty. Not safe, germ-wise. No, the other one was better. He needed to cross two streets to reach it, but Blair’s well-being was more important.
Mission completed, he returned to his truck. A little voice in the back of his mind asked, quite sarcastically, what other reason he would find to stall his mission. He refused to answer himself. If he was a voice-hearing lunatic, he would at least not be one who talked back.
’Don’t ponder your sanity, go see your guide!’ That annoying voice again, in a maddening sing-song tone. His mind obviously wouldn’t let him get any rest, so he might as well get it over with.
Jim took a deep breath and finally approached the house. It took all of his courage to press the button of the doorbell. He didn’t have to wait long - and he was thankful for that - before a friendly-looking, white-haired, little woman opened. She looked like everybody’s dream grandmother.
”Detective Ellison, I assume?” She had a nice, warm voice. He recognized it from the telephone. She was Hattie Schmid, the woman who had decided to include Blair in her family. He didn’t know whether he should be grateful or angry about that. Maybe, without her interference, they would have looked harder for any relatives and he would have found his guide sooner. Or Blair would have slipped through the net and ended up on the streets, lonely and unable to fend for himself… Shit, these thoughts brought him nowhere.
He smiled at the friendly old woman. “That’s right, Mrs. Schmid. How are you?”
”I’m fine.” She stepped aside and waved him inside. “Come on in.”
”Thank you.” The house was bigger than his father’s, but all the noise in there showed clearly that a lot more people were living in it than in his dad’s domicile.
”I guess you want to see Peter now,” she asked with a teasing smile and he just nodded, his throat suddenly too tight to talk. She chuckled quietly and led him deeper inside the house. He followed her like a lost puppy.
The first look at his friend was a shock. He recognized Blair at once, but the position the young man was in made him speechless from anger.
Blair. Kneeling in a puddle of milk, a dirty rag in his hands. Trying to clean the mess on the ground, with tears in his eyes.
”What the hell?” His shout seemed to frighten Blair. The kid tried to scramble away and slipped, falling in the white liquid. Jim wanted to get closer, wanted to reassure his friend, but a young man turned up out of nowhere and blocked his way. Hattie was allowed to pass, and she crouched down beside the pathetic figure on the ground. She reached her hand out and helped him up when he took it. Without a word, the two left the room, leaving a steaming sentinel, still blocked by the young punk, behind.
No way would he leave his friend in these conditions. No wonder these people were so happy to have him here, obviously all they had wanted was a cheap servant. Luckily, he still held power of attorney for the younger man, and that would make it much easier for him to find a better place for Blair to stay.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
”Peter, honey, what’s wrong?” Hattie placed her young charge on his bed, uncaring about the condition the sheets would be in after the contact with the child’s wet clothes. She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers.
Peter only shook his head, still sobbing. She drew him closer and embraced him gently, stroking his curls soothingly.
”Whatever it is baby, it’s okay.” She pulled back a little, still stroking his head. “Hmm, will you tell me?”
He sniffed, then nodded. “Made a mess.”
”So?” She smiled gently. “We all make a mess sometimes, that’s no reason to cry. Are you hurt, baby?”
As an answer, he held his left index finger in front of her face. She saw nothing, but Peter never complained without a reason. She looked closer and saw a splinter.
”Oh, I’m sure this hurts. I’ll go get a pair of tweezers, okay?”
He shook his head vigorously. “Hurts more.”
”That’s right, Petey, but only for a moment and then it wont hurt anymore. Is that okay, baby?”
Peter scrunched up his face in thought. Hattie kept the smile from her face. She knew that he would agree sooner rather than later, but this face always cracked her up. It was just too serious.
”Okay.” There was barely a beat before his quiet voice asked. “Why did he shout?” Hattie smiled. His mind was on another topic again. The doctors called it short attention span, she called it an agile mind.
”He was just surprised. So, what about getting this pole out of your hand?”
”First soak.”
”That’s right. You go bathe your hand in the sink and I’ll be back in a minute with the surgical instruments.” That drew the wanted laughter out of him. “You know what, the best thing would be if you just hop into the tub.”
”To get my finger wet?”
She laughed. “No, baby. To get the milk off you.”
An earnest shake of the curly head. “First clean.”
”The milk?”
He nodded.
”Don’t worry, Petey, Rachel was just mopping the kitchen anyway, I’m sure she already cleaned it.”
Peter looked doubtful for a moment, then smiled relieved. “Okay. Can I have bubbles?”
”Sure, sweetie.”
She helped him into the bath and reminded him to keep his finger under water. He nodded and splashed happily in the water, while she went back to the irate detective.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Jim was getting angrier with each passing moment. How dare they keep him from his guide? But he would return with backup, if necessary. No way he would let them get away with hurting and taking advantage of Sandburg. He glared at the punk that obstructed his way. He wanted to see Blair, and fast! He was obsessed with his rage that it never occurred to him to extend his hearing and listen in on the conversation Hattie was no doubt having with his guide.
The old woman returned finally.
”Where is he,” Jim all but spat at her. “I’ll take him with me, and I’ll do it now!”
”He is taking a bath.” She didn’t even acknowledge his hostile tone. “Why do you want to take him out of his familiar surroundings?” There was still nothing but honest interest in her voice, and maybe a hint of fear.
It didn’t relax him one bit. “What do you mean, why? After the condition I just found him in, you dare to ask why I would take him away from here?”
”Condition?” She was genuinely puzzled. “Because he spilled some milk? That happens to children all over the country, every day.”
”He was crying for Christ’s sake!”
”He has a splinter in his finger.” She led Jim gently over to the couch, and he reluctantly allowed her.
Jim shook his head. “Blair would never cry about a splinter in his finger.”
”Detective,” she admonished gently, “Peter is not Blair. In his mind, he is a small child, and small children cry about splinters.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I know that you are worried about your friend, but you have to realize that Peter is very different form Blair.”
No! That was not what he wanted to hear. Blair would be okay, if not now, then later. Jim would not accept that there was nothing he was able to do. Incacha had helped him once, he could do it again.
”I want to see him.” Jim didn’t care that he sounded cold or demanding. He was within his right here.
”Of course. I’ll help him out of the bath and bring him here.” She stood up and smiled at the detective. “We won’t take long.”
”I can help him.”
”I don’t know if he would be comfortable with a stranger in his room. He is very peculiar about who he lets in there.”
”Okay.” Jim wasn’t happy about it, but he accepted it for now.
Until she came back, Jim studied the pictures that where scattered around the room. They were pictures of the family, and quite a few of them showed Blair, always happy and smiling, surrounded by various members of the big family.
Hattie returned only a few minutes later, a shy smiling Blair trailing behind her. The young man always kept the woman between Jim and himself. But his heartbeat wasn’t elevated by much, and he showed no signs of real distress. Just a little nervousness.
Jim leaned forward and smiled reassuringly and the curly head, peaking around Hattie’s shoulder.
”Hi there!”
”Hi.” A little more of the head was visible now that Blair relaxed a little. “I’m Peter. Who are you?”
”I’m Jim. Nice to meet you, Peter.”
The boy – and he clearly was a boy – giggled delightedly. “Nice to meet you, Jim.” He turned to the old woman. “See, Hattie, I’m acting all grown up!”
”You sure do. Now let’s take care of that splinter.”
”I can do that.” Jim really wanted to be a part of Blair’s – of Peter’s life. “I’m good with small things.”
Hattie shrugged. “Sure, why not? You’re game, Peter?”
Peter nodded earnestly. “I like games.” His grin showed that he knew exactly what the turn of speech meant. Jim was so proud of him. He had talked to his doctors, and they had told him that Blair – Peter had a very limited ability to learn new things. But this child was obviously very smart – and very happy.
Hattie handed Jim a pair of tweezers, and Peter, rather reluctantly, extended his finger. The sentinel dialed his sense of touch up and had the little splinter out in no time. Peter didn’t see the whole procedure, since his eyes were closed so tightly.
”All done,” Jim pronounced proudly.
Peter’s deep blue eyes shot open. ”All done? Didn’t hurt.”
”Fantastic, Jim!” Hattie took Jim’s arm and held it high in the air. “The new splinter-removing king!”
Peter clapped his hands, then studied his injured finger closely after having finished, to see if there was blood or another reason to cry. There wasn’t. He smiled brightly at the detective and grabbed Jim’s hand, dragging him out of the room.
”Come! You need to see my room!”
Jim laughed, delighted at the kid’s exuberance. Hattie followed, grinning happily about how well the two got along. She kept some distance; just making sure that there were no problems.
The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully, in new exploration, and was peasant for all of them.
°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°
Jim and Hattie returned into the living room, when Peter was in his room, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted and happy.
A young woman came into the room, carrying a tray with two cups and a pot of coffee, as well as a plate of cookies. Home-made, delicious smelling cookies.
”Thank you, Marie.” The red-haired girl smiled and left the room. “That was my granddaughter. I guess you’ll get to know all of us pretty well, that is, if you let Blair stay here, detective.”
”Jim. I can see that Peter is happy here. Sorry for my earlier explosion. I had this weird vision of Cinderella in my mind, and thought I needed to rescue him.” He shrugged and grinned at her. “I’ll guess you’ll see many new faces in the next few weeks, Mrs. Schmid. Blair had a lot of friends.”
”It’s Hattie. And it won’t be a problem, we’re a big family and at least one of the children always brings a guest along.”
”I can imagine that, Hattie. So, tell me about Peter.”
”Only if you tell me about Blair.”
”It’s a deal.” They shared a smile. Jim could already see all the time he would be spending in this nice house. And while Peter was not Blair, he was still worth getting to know.
- The End - (For real.)