Progression Series 20 Legacy (Final) Page 3

  "Watch me," Ellison bit out.

  "Watch you what? Go back to reacting to things the way you have all your life? Watch you fall back into the same fear-based response pattern your dad forced you into and just ignore what's happening?" His fingers thumped impatiently at the small book he had placed on the table. "This is your history, man. Your legacy. You can ignore and deny it or you can embrace and learn from it. But I'll tell you one thing, Jim--after all the progress you've made, I'll be very disappointed if you choose to shove this aside."

  "I'm not trying to shove it aside, Sandburg," Jim replied hotly, annoyance welling up within him. "I'll read the journal, try and learn from it. But I just don't see the point of discussing all of this with my father."

  "I do."

  Jim closed his eyes and pursed his lips. The kid can be so unbelievably stubborn!

  He knew his partner was watching him, waiting for his reaction. He breathed in a long sigh, exhaled it slowly. Okay, okay, he reasoned, it won't hurt to talk to my dad, I suppose. Besides, Sandburg will be like a dog with a bone until I do it. Opening his eyes, he turned and looked at his friend. "All right, Sandburg," he acquiesced, all of his previous annoyance gone, "I'll talk to my dad."

  Blair smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you, man. I knew you could do this!"

  "I'm only doing this," Jim continued dryly, "because I know you'll nag me to death until I do."

  Blair blinked and assumed a wounded expression. "I don't nag, Jim. I...." He gestured broadly as he searched for the right word. "I...suggest, I...lead...."

  "You nag," Jim reiterated, reaching over to whap Blair lightly alongside the head. Chuckling openly at his friend's perturbed expression, the detective stood and headed toward the kitchen and the steaming cup of coffee that waited for him there.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim steered his truck through the familiar streets of his childhood, heading toward his father's home. Blair had offered to accompany him on this trip but Jim had declined. He knew the kid had a ton of work to do at Rainier before the new semester started. But that wasn't the real reason he'd turned him down.... Deep inside, Jim knew that seeing his dad, discussing Aaron Ellison's sentinel abilities, was something he had to do alone.

  Pulling into the driveway of his father's house, he shut off the engine of his truck but didn't immediately get out of the vehicle. Instead his gaze shifted to the passenger seat, to the journal resting there. He reached over and touched lightly at the cover, running sensitive fingers across the worn material.

  After Sandburg left for school that morning, Jim had read a bit of the journal himself. Not much--what his grandfather had experienced was hard to take in large doses. Some of the passages had made his skin crawl, they were so much like his own experiences, his own fears. Memories of his awakening senses had rushed through him as he'd read through the early days of what his grandfather called his madness--the confusion, fear, panic. And the aching solitude of bearing it all alone.

  Aaron Ellison had been lost, alone, uncertain if he'd ever regain who he was, ever be able to function normally again.

  And so had Jim--until Sandburg arrived. Blair made it all okay. He made me okay. Jim stared down at the book that rested beneath his fingers, his jaw clenched tight. If not for Blair--

  "Jimmy?"

  Jim jerked toward the unexpected sound of the voice and found himself staring into his father's worried gaze. William stood outside the truck's driver-side door, staring in at him.

  "You okay, Son?" William asked, genuine concern underlying the words. "I've been waiting for you to come inside but you've just been sitting out here...."

  Jim shook his head, letting out a long breath. "Sorry, Dad." He pushed out his door, clutching the journal tightly in his hand. "I guess I just got lost in thought."

  William nodded briefly at the explanation. "Blair's not with you," he noted as they started toward the house.

  "I'm not here to go through the attic today, Dad." Jim stopped, waited until his father stopped as well and turned to face him. "I...I came to talk to you about something," he began hesitantly. "Something Sandburg and I found in the attic."

  "Something you found?" William's gaze shifted briefly to the book in Jim's hand. Instantly, his heart began beating harder, faster. "What is that? Is that what you want to talk about? That book?"

  Jim frowned, concerned over his father's reaction. How much does he know? "Why don't we talk inside," he suggested softly, placing his hand on his father's back and guiding him toward the front door.

  Moments later the two men were seated across from each other at the kitchen table, the small book resting before them, Jim's hand still moving over the cover.

  "What do you want to know about that book?" William asked guardedly, clearly taking the defensive. Jim could hear the hesitation--and the fear--beneath the question.

  "Do you know what this is?" Jim asked softly.

  William hesitated for a long moment then lifted wary eyes to his son. "It's my father's journal," he stated flatly. "I found it after my mother died. I opened it once--just long enough to discover what it was. Then I closed it and put it away with the rest of my mother's belongings. To be quite honest, I'd forgotten all about it."

  "So you never read any of it," Jim prompted carefully.

  "I told you I opened it once, Jimmy. I had no interest in reading it."

  "Neither did I when Blair first showed it to me," Jim admitted. "But I think I was wrong to dismiss it so quickly." He leaned forward a bit, lowered his voice. "And I think you were wrong to dismiss it, too, Dad." He tapped lightly at the small volume that lay between them. "This journal explains a lot. A lot about me, a lot about who I am and where these senses came from. Your father--"

  "Jimmy," William cut in, his voice terse. "I didn't want to know what was in the journal back then and I don't want to know now."

  "Dad, did you hear what I just said? This book has insight into why I'm a sentinel."

  "I heard you," William ground out. Pushing up from his seat he paced to the counter, keeping his back to his son. "I'm just not interested in it."

  Jim stared at his father, taken aback by his reaction. He'd expected his dad to balk when Jim told him his father was a sentinel, but he'd certainly not been prepared for his father not even letting him explain what was in the book at all. He puzzled over his father's dismissing the journal so completely. "Dad...." he started, but his voice trailed off as he shifted his gaze to the small volume beneath his hand, because suddenly he realized.... "You knew," he said with quiet disbelief, his voice just above a whisper. "You knew your father was a sentinel, didn't you?"

  And as Jim watched, William dropped his chin to his chest, his shoulders slumping lower. He exhaled a long breath, keeping his back to his son. "I never had a name for it," he replied after a time, his voice sentinel-soft. "Not until you put a name to it after our camping trip. I...I just knew my father had...problems."

  "Why didn't you ever tell me? Why didn't you ever talk about it?"

  "I couldn't. I just couldn't!" Turning, William locked his gaze on Jim, his eyes flashing anger. "You know what I remember about my father? I remember hating him. I remember that he was a miserable human being who didn't want me in the same room with him. Everything I did seemed to set him off. He pushed me away, Jimmy. He acted like he couldn't stand the sound of my voice, couldn't stand to touch my mother or me.

  "Do you know what he did with his days?" William continued, his voice still raised in anger. "He spent all his time in his study, blinds pulled. My mother and I were forbidden to enter." He laughed humorlessly. "I could never understand why he couldn't tolerate being around us. I used to stand just outside his study door and peek in through the crack when he didn't get the door closed all the way." The older Ellison moved back to the table and dropped wearily down into the chair he had vacated only moments before. "He'd just be sitting in there," he continued, his previous anger having given way to a dee
p sadness, "staring into the darkness or writing in this book." He stared down at the journal, painful memories shadowing his eyes. "I never could understand how he could see to write in the dark...."

  "But now you do," Jim whispered.

  "Yes," William breathed. "Now I do."

  "Dad, if you'd read some of this journal you'd see that your father wasn't pushing you away because he wanted to. He couldn't help himself when his senses were out of control. But he truly cared about you and Grandma." Jim looked down at the journal. "It's all in here."

  "Too little too late," William responded sadly. "All I know is that when I needed my father he wasn't there." He looked across at his son, weariness and despondency etched in his features and evident in his eyes. "Sort of like you, huh, Jimmy? All those years when I wasn't there for you--it doesn't really matter why, does it? All you can feel is the hurt."

  Jim opened his mouth to respond, but William silenced him with an upheld hand. "And I understand, Jim. More than you think I do."

  Jim lowered his gaze to his hands where they rested atop the worn journal. He took several deep breaths then looked up at his father. "This is about so much more than what you felt about your father or what I've felt about you in the past, Dad. It's bigger than that. Granddad was a sentinel! And when I talked to you about who I was, what I was...you had to have connected it to your father. You had to have known we were the same."

  William was silent for a long moment. "Yes," he finally admitted, his voice so soft that Jim could barely hear it. "I knew."

  "But you didn't say a word to me about it."

  William shifted his gaze away from Jim, staring at a point behind him. "I couldn't, Jimmy."

  "You couldn't!?" Jim repeated, anger roiling up within him for the first time since he and his father had started their conversation. He pushed to his feet and paced to the kitchen sink, back to the table. "You had to have known all this when I was a kid, too. Is that why you insisted I ignore the senses? Shut them down?" When William remained silent, Jim placed the palms of his hands on the tabletop and leaned down close to his father. "How could you not tell me? I deserved to know. I deserved--"

  "I didn't want you to end up like him!" William blurted out suddenly, his voice booming through the kitchen and causing Jim to straighten and step back. Standing, William positioned himself in front of his son, reached out and placed his hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard. "Jimmy, the worst day of my life was the day I realized that the same things that had happened to my father were happening to you, too!" He squeezed more tightly at Jim's shoulders. "I knew when you started hearing things that it was because my father's 'condition' had been passed down to you. I remembered how he was and I feared that you'd end up the same way. And I hated myself for passing this curse on to you."

  "Curse? Dad, I don't see my abilities as a curse. They're a gift."

  "Maybe you see them as a gift, but I can't. They can only lead to pain...."

  "How can you say that?"

  "Because there's more, Jimmy." William dropped his hands from Jim's shoulders and gazed down at the tiled floor. "There's something you don't know. Something I've never told you...something I hoped I'd never have to tell you...." He glanced over at the book. "How much of the journal have you read?"

  Jim frowned in confusion. "Not much. Just enough to know that Granddad had sentinel abilities."

  William sighed. "Well, I suppose it's all in there, if you read far enough." He lifted his gaze to his son. "But it's probably better if you hear the truth from me first...before you have to read about it in that book."

  "Truth?" Jim questioned, becoming more and more confused by the second. "What truth?"

  William drew in a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, his eyes never leaving Jim's face. "Your grandfather didn't just 'disappear' one day, Son," he said after several long seconds. "We knew where he was."

  "What?!" he choked out. "You always said he went away, that he abandoned you and Grandma."

  "It's true that he went away," William said quietly, "but...he didn't abandon us. Not in the way you're thinking. Not in the way I led you to believe."

  "Then what?" Jim narrowed his eyes as he studied his father. "What happened to my grandfather?"

  William stared into his eyes, searching for understanding. "He...he admitted himself to an institution, Jimmy. A mental institution. He left a note for my mother telling her where he was going and what he was doing. The note asked her not to visit--not to bring me to see him. He told my mother that the constant barrage of different sensations was killing him--driving him to insanity. And he didn't want us to see what he'd become."

  William shook his head, swallowing hard. "I never saw him again and I was forbidden to talk about what really happened." He looked at Jim, his eyes pleading. "It was a different day and age then, Jimmy. The stigma...." His voice trailed off.

  "What happened to him?" Jim pressed.

  Again, William took a deep breath. "I found out years later that he died in that institution. He died alone, Son. Insane."

  Jim stepped back and leaned against the kitchen counter. He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand across his face as his mind reeled with what his father had told him.

  He opened his eyes to find that his father had moved up to him. "When you started manifesting the same problems that my father had, all I could think was that you'd end up the same way," his father explained softly, his voice laced with regret. "I know you've always thought this was about me, Jimmy--that I insisted you not talk about what you could see or hear because I'd be embarrassed if people thought you were a freak." He shook his head sadly. "But it was never just about me. I know I probably didn't handle it correctly, but I didn't know what else to do. I...I just didn't want you to end up like...like him." William stared across at Jim. Tears formed in the older man's eyes as he continued: "I remember the way he was just before...before he went away. And I couldn't bear the thought of that happening to you."

  "Dad...."

  "Did you know I followed your career, Jimmy?" William interrupted, wiping at the moisture in his eyes and forcing a humorless smile. He stepped back over to the table, looked down at the journal that still rested there. "I did. All those years we were estranged I kept on top of your career, your whereabouts. Even your marriage."

  Jim blinked against tears of his own as he remembered the photo album filled with clippings and pictures from his past. The photo album he'd never known his father had made and kept.

  "I can still remember the day you married Carolyn," William was saying. He smiled over at Jim, the smile more genuine now but a deep sadness still in his eyes. "I was so happy for you, but not just because you were getting married and you had a good career started at the police department. I was happy because everything about your marriage and your career told me that you were okay. That you were living a life free from what my father had endured." William paused briefly. "You see, Jimmy, even though I knew I was successful in getting you to deny your senses when you were a boy, I always feared they'd come back to haunt you. So when I saw that you were getting married, I knew you were all right, that the senses had stayed in control." He swallowed deeply, dropped his gaze away from his son. "I know I wasn't the world's greatest father. But I also know that deep inside all I wanted was to save you from what I knew could happen. I never wanted you to go through what my father went through.... I never wanted you to die alone like he did. Insane."

  The last word was softer than a whisper, but Jim heard it easily, heard the anguish beneath it.

  "I still fear it, Jimmy," William continued, looking up at him again. "That's one of the reasons I was so angry when I heard that your senses had returned. And that Blair was encouraging you to use them."

  "Because you thought they could only lead to insanity," Jim concluded softly.

  "Yes. And I'm still not so sure they won't." His father looked at him, pleading in the soft blue eyes. "It scares me, Jimmy. It's always scared me."

  "No, Dad," Jim said,
moving up to his father. "There's nothing for you to be afraid of."

  "But how can you be so sure?" the older man demanded, his eyes searching Jim's.

  "Because I have someone to help me. Someone who was meant to guide me with the use of these senses. Someone who has turned out to be the best friend I've ever had, could ever hope to have."

  "Blair."

  Jim nodded. "He saved my life and my sanity, Dad."

  William frowned. "For now, yes. But are you sure--"

  "I'm sure," Jim cut in with a warm smile. "Dad, I promise you that I will not end up like Granddad.

  Again, tears welled up in William's eyes and the older man reached up and lay a weathered palm against Jim's face. "Jimmy," he whispered, "I know I handled this all wrong--"

  "No," Jim cut in quickly, reaching up to cover his father's hand with his own. "You were just trying to watch out for me. You were scared for me."

  "I'm sorry, Son. You will never know how much I wish I could go back and change things. How I wish I could have found a way of talking to you about all of this before now."

  Jim curled his fingers around his father's palm and lowered their joined hands. He smiled at his father, squeezed softly at the hand he still held. "It's behind us now, Dad," he whispered. "Time to move on."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair stepped off the elevator and headed toward the loft. As he opened the door and crossed inside, his gaze came to rest on Jim. The detective stood in front of the balcony doors, his gaze locked on the city that lay beyond the glass. It wasn't unusual to find Jim staring out at "his" city, but this time something caught at Blair's attention. There was something about Jim's posture, something...wrong.

  "Hey, man, you okay?" he called out, concern tingeing the words.

  Jim turned, his thoughtful gaze coming to rest on Blair. "Yeah, Sandburg, I'm fine."

  "You sure?" Blair prodded. "You seem sort of down."

  Jim shook his head. "No, just thinking." He frowned. "I saw my dad," he said after several seconds, his gaze becoming introspective.