Progression Series 20 Legacy (Final) Page 2

  Sandburg placed his hand across Jim's where it still rested on his knee. Curling his fingers into Jim's palm, he squeezed tightly. "Hey, man, you're giving me way too much credit here. Do you realize how much courage it took for you to trust me? To believe me?" Blair shook his head as he smiled fondly at his partner. "You had to take a leap of faith and against all odds--against everything you believed--you did."

  Jim stared up at his friend. "Sandburg," he argued, "it wasn't a leap of faith. You made it easy." Slipping his hand from beneath Blair's, he leaned casually against the old steamer trunk at his back. "There's something I've never told you," he said quietly. "That first day I met you--when you walked into that examination room at the hospital--I felt a degree of peace for the first time since my senses began acting up. I knew right away that you probably weren't who you were telling me you were, but still.... There was something about you that gave me peace."

  Blair's eyes widened in pleased surprise. "Really?"

  Jim chuckled. "Really."

  Blair's eyes narrowed and he studied his partner. "So why haven't you told me about this before?"

  Jim frowned, shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't know. I...I don't think I realized it for a long time," he answered. "At the time, I thought I was just feeling relief over actually having taken the step to have my senses checked out by a professional. I don't think I knew it was you giving me that feeling. But it was like my heart and mind were telling me, even at that very early stage in our relationship, that you were the answer, that you were the one who would be able to help me." He smiled--almost shyly--and gave Blair a sympathetic look. "Like I've told you before, Sandburg, looks like you're stuck with me."

  Blair stared at Jim for a long moment, sadness--and fear?--creeping in and clouding the expressive blue eyes. Sandburg's gaze shifted away, the pleased smile slipping from his face. "Yeah, well, aren't you lucky," he muttered softly. Without meeting Jim's gaze, he pushed up from the boxes, headed back to his side of the attic and began digging through boxes again.

  Jim's brow creased in concern as he watched his partner's now stilted movements. What had he said to cause Blair's sudden change in mood?

  But Jim knew the answer to his internal question--every time he brought up Blair's role in his life, the kid seemed to clam up. He's worried about me. Worried about what will happen to me if something should happen to him. Jim dropped his gaze as frustration wound through him. No matter how many times he told Blair he wasn't worried about their future together, that he trusted Blair, trusted he'd always be at his side, Sandburg was not satisfied. The kid won't find peace with this until he knows I'm protected. But whether Blair could accept it or not, Jim knew he was the only one who could guide him.

  "Hey, Jim, look at this."

  The sentinel looked up as his guide's voice drew his attention. Blair crossed to him, wiping off the cover of what appeared to be a small book. An exuberant excitement had returned to the deep blue eyes, all signs of the previous moment's sadness washed away in the light of the kid's newest discovery.

  Jim eyed the dusty volume with interest, frowned at it. "What is it?"

  "I think it's a journal. And from what I read on the inside cover, I think it's your grandfather's journal!"

  Jim cocked one eyebrow. "My grandfather?" He took the small book and flipped it open, staring at the flowing script: A Journal of Aaron William Ellison, was penned onto the first page. Below Aaron Ellison's name a year of birth had been added--1914.

  "Do you remember him?" Blair asked, looking over Jim's shoulder.

  "No. He died before I was born and my dad never really talked about him all that much."

  Blair slapped him on the back. "Cool! This is your chance to get to know him!"

  But Jim was unconvinced--and unimpressed. "Sandburg, from what little my dad did tell me, my grandfather wasn't around for his family. He just disappeared one day, leaving his wife alone with a young son. Why would I want to get to know someone like that?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Maybe"--he retrieved the book from Jim's hands and held it up--"this has something to say about why he took off."

  "No excuse would change what he did. I've always been able to tell that my dad harbors bitterness over his father leaving. You think that bitterness wasn't passed along to Stephen and me? I can tell you it was."

  "All the more reason for you to come to some sort of understanding if you can. Come on, Jim, this is a great find! I think you owe it to yourself to at least read it, to get to know what kind of man he really was!"

  "Sandburg, the man abandoned his family. Period. That's all I need to know."

  "Fine," Blair said, relenting for the moment but his tone clearly informing Jim that the subject was far from being closed. "Would you mind if I read the journal, then? Like I said, this is the kind of thing that could give me a better understanding of your family dynamics. I think it could really help."

  Jim waved his hand at the little volume. "You want to read it, Chief, be my guest. Knock yourself out."

  /

  /

  /

  November 2, 1944

  It's dark and dismal today. Nothing new for this area of the country. But I'm pleased that it's as dreary as it is--the weather serves as perfect counterpoint to the melancholy feeling I've carried with me all day.

  The dampness and my grievous feelings of sadness have driven me to my study in search of warmth and solitude. And so I sit here, a book of blank pages before me. I've decided to keep a journal, to try and trace the times when my "problems" occur. I'm hoping I can begin to detect a pattern. At this point it is the only hope I have left to me, the only way I know to try and make sense of these unexplainable happenings.

  Each day, I find myself slipping farther away...away from my family, away from my life. I sometimes sit for hours, recalling the lonely days and nights I spent working on the road crew in the Cascades. Those solitary days were devastating, working hour after hour separated from my fellow laborers by the denseness of the virgin forest. Yet, how thankful I was for the hard work that building the road entailed, for only physical labor was able to detract me from missing my home and my family.

  How I had looked forward to the day I could return home from my job, bonus in hand and months ahead of me that could be spent with my wife and baby boy. But the isolation that plagued me in the mountains has followed me to Cascade--encroaching upon my life in a way that is much more devastating than it ever was during those lonely months in the mountains.

  I blame myself most days--wondering if there is something within me that causes these strange things to happen. Is there is something inside me that is unconsciously spawning these episodes, something that pushes me to suffer these things in order to alienate those who love me most? But I cannot fathom that being the case. Maureen--my sweet, beautiful Maureen--is the love of my life. Why would I push her away? And William? Has there ever been a more precious boy?

  Yet, the problems continue, the sporadic physical manifestations becoming more confining, my mental and emotional state becoming more confused and fragile with each passing day. I truly believe I can hear the sound of my wife's heart beating in her chest, the aroma of the oriental herbs growing in Mrs. Ling's garden half a mile away. But who can I tell this to? Who would believe me?

  It's madness and the madness deepens with each passing day.

  Blair looked up from the book and blinked his eyes. His heart was pounding hard in his chest--he could feel each pulse. Could it be? Aaron Ellison's isolation, the hint of out-of-control senses, the extreme feelings of loss of control and self-blame... The fear of impending insanity...

  He turned his attention back to the book, his eyes devouring page after page.

  November 17, 1944

  Today I felt my heart break into a thousand pieces. William has been sick for two days, restless and cranky. What began this morning as constant fussing soon progressed into cries that could not be silenced, no matter what Maureen or I did to coddle or help the
poor child. My dear wife, exhausted from caring for the boy all night, handed the child to me, hoping I would perhaps be able to get him to stop crying.

  But instead of being able to help I was soon consumed by the sound of William's wails. Each cry of my precious son sent a stab of pain through my head that threatened to bring me to my knees in agony. I tried to push the pain away, to give my attention to my poor boy, but each cry seemed to be louder than the one before, each wail slicing through my mind like a hot knife. Finally, unable to take the din any longer, I pushed my darling boy into my wife's arms and slipped away.

  I don't know what pained me more--my inability to be in the same room with my crying child...or the look of hurt and confusion that passed across my beloved Maureen's face before I turned and fled from the room.

  This cannot go on. It cannot. Oh, please, please. It cannot...

  November 22, 1944

  William is feeling much better, thankfully. I only wish the joy this father's heart feels in his steady improvement could be transmitted to the child. But it cannot, for the same feeling of agony that I experienced at his wailing cries is still with me. Only now it is simply the sound of his laughter, even the sound of his precious voice calling out to me that sends me to my study, the pain in my head pounding so tortuously that it is all I can do not to cry out.

  But the physical agony is only a part of it. A small part, really. For my heart and my mind chastise me daily--What kind of father am I? What kind of father suffers agony at the sound of his darling child's voice? What kind of father nearly loathes the sound of his boy calling, "Daddy," knowing that the sound will be akin to white hot coals burning through his skull? I am sickened by my inability to be near my child. My only hope is that in a day or two my hearing will return to something near normal. For how I long to respond to William's pleas to, "Hold me, Daddy... Play with me, Daddy."

  But for now this small, dim study is my only place of solace. Yet, as beloved as this warm little room once was to me, I find it increasingly becoming a prison of sorts. A makeshift hiding place that shields me from...dare I say it? That shields me from those I hold most dear.

  I am a wretched man. Wretched. And I find these days that even the thought of death has begun to take on an enticing aspect. For could death be any more tortuous than this living anguish I endure from day to day?

  Blair closed the book and leaned his head against the back of the couch, his heart empathizing with Aaron Ellison's pain but his mind recognizing the hallmark of what the man was experiencing. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his face, his thoughts racing.

  When he'd first begun the journal he'd thought he was just imagining things--hoping too hard that what he was reading meant what it appeared to mean. But as he'd read further and further it had become more and more apparent that he was reading Jim's grandfather's memoirs correctly, that he was making the right assumptions.

  Pulling his glasses from his face, he glanced up at the floorboards of Jim's loft bedroom. Jim had gone to bed hours earlier and Blair hadn't heard a sound since then. He's asleep. He wanted to go upstairs and wake him, read him some of the passages from the journal, tell him what he'd found out.

  Jim, your grandfather was a sentinel.

  The discovery was enormous but not totally unexpected. Blair had often wondered if Jim's heightened senses had been inherited. But for some unknown reason he'd assumed that the abilities, if passed down at all, had been a legacy from Jim's mother, that perhaps an inability to deal with heightened sensory input had been part of what made Grace Ellison leave her family so many years ago.

  But now he knew the truth.... Jim's sentinel abilities came from William's side of the family.

  Part Three

  Jim slowly descended the stairs, tying his robe closed as he moved. His partner stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, glasses on, reading the journal he'd found in his father's attic the day before. Behind him, a mug of coffee sat forgotten on the countertop. Even from the stairs Jim could see that the coffee was cool--no steam rose from the mug at all. He shook his head and gazed at his partner in fond exasperation. Sandburg had a one-track mind when it came to researching his favorite subject.

  "Good morning, Chief," he greeted, moving around his guide to the coffeepot, where he poured himself a cup. He glanced casually at the small volume in Blair's hands. "Find anything interesting in that thing?"

  Blair looked up, his eyes wide behind the wire-rims. "As a matter of fact, I have."

  "Yeah?" Jim took a sip of the aromatic morning brew. "Like what?"

  "Like your grandfather was a sentinel."

  Jim blinked several times. "What?"

  "He was a sentinel, Jim." Sandburg held up the open journal. "It's all in here. Listen to this...."

  December 11, 1944

  Today I saw the face of a man standing a full quarter mile from my home. I know this is not possible yet I know what I saw. While I watched, the man turned to speak a greeting to a passerby. And I heard every word!

  How can this be? Again, I ask myself the same questions I have asked a thousand times over the past weeks--What is happening to me? How can I see so far away, hear things that I should not?

  Blair closed the book and looked up at Jim. "Aaron Ellison was a sentinel, man."

  Jim frowned. "You don't know that, Chief." He reached around his partner and retrieved Sandburg's forgotten cup of coffee. "Remember what you told me when we first met--how you had hundreds of documented cases of people with one or two heightened senses? Maybe my grandfather was like that." He dumped the contents of Blair's mug into the kitchen sink, refilled it with fresh, hot coffee and handed it to his friend. "That's hot," he instructed absently. "Watch yourself."

  But Blair wasn't concerned with the coffee. The young man was shaking his head adamantly in reaction to Jim's suggestion that Aaron Ellison had only one or two heightened senses. "There's more," he insisted as he set the mug aside and turned to the next page he'd marked. He took a moment and stared up at Jim. "I mean, even if your grandfather did have only a couple heightened senses, that'd be enough to establish the sentinel heritage. But fortunately for us he was a meticulous man. He wrote everything down. And what he's written confirms it--he had five heightened senses." He looked down at the open book. "Listen to this," he told Jim, then began to read:

  January 6, 1945

  Touch is now the worst. My clothes, my wedding band, anything that touches my skin, hurts. My wife kissed me this morning and her lips were like rough grains of sand against my mouth. I am afraid to touch anyone anymore. Maureen has struggled to understand, but this morning she asked me if I love her anymore. And little William--how can he understand that holding my precious son on my knee brings about an agony that is beyond description? The poor boy acts now as though he is frightened of me, afraid to approach me for fear I'll send him away. And who could blame the child?

  I fear for myself but I fear for my family more. What they must think of me. And during those moments when I'm most tempted to tell my beloved wife what is going on, I end up saying nothing at all. For what could she think but that her husband is a madman? I can see miles farther than other men, can taste the most minute trace of spices in my food, can hear what the neighbors are whispering in the house half a mile down the lane....

  Yes, my darling Maureen would surely think I am mad. And perhaps...perhaps she would be right.

  "The journal is filled with occurrences just like these!" Blair said as he removed his glasses from his face and turned to gaze up at his partner. He held up the small volume. "There can be no other explanation, Jim."

  Jim nodded slowly. Placing his mug of coffee on the counter, he moved over to the table and sat down stiffly. "This certainly sheds a new light on some things, doesn't it?"

  "I'll say." Blair moved quickly to the table. Taking a seat beside his friend, he reached over and placed his hand on Ellison's wrist. "Jim," he began, "this shouldn't be all that much of a surprise. I mean, think about it. You
had to get these abilities from somewhere. I know we haven't discussed it much, but it was never likely that they just came from out of the blue."

  "No, I know that," Jim responded softly, his mind racing to wrap itself around the fact that his grandfather had had the same problems he had experienced himself. The short description Blair had read had brought back memories of his own first days of struggling with his out-of-control senses--the isolated feeling of knowing no one would understand, the overwhelming need to deny what was happening, the constant, nagging fear that he was slowly going insane....

  The touch of Blair's hand tightening around his wrist brought him out of his reverie and he realized that his guide had been speaking to him. "I'm sorry, Chief." He shook his head slightly to banish the last of the memories. "What did you say?"

  "I asked if you think your dad knew his father had the same abilities that you started showing as a child."

  Jim thought on that for a long moment. "I doubt it." He looked over at Blair. "If he did, he would have probably admitted it to me when I told him about my abilities."

  Blair released Jim's wrist and cocked his head to one side, shrugging lightly. "You don't know that, Jim. Your dad was pretty closed off."

  "Still.... I think he would have told me, especially now that he knows what I am." Jim frowned at his partner, uncertainty raging within him. "Don't you?"

  "I don't know. But I know how you can find out...."

  Jim stared at Blair, incredulous. "You want me to ask him," he stated flatly, easily reading the determined look on his guide's face.

  "Yes, Jim, I think you have to. For your own sake as well as his."

  Jim shook his head. "Chief, the last thing my dad is going to want to talk about is his father. And when I add the fact that he was a sentinel to the mix?" He barked out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, yeah, can't wait to see the reaction to that news flash."

  Undeterred, Blair leaned closer, into Jim's personal space, and stared at his friend. "You can't ignore this, Jim."