The nightmares were always the same . . . James asking me to come with him . . . telling me to join him in his final act. He's smiling the entire time . . . saying that Dad couldn't protect us anymore . . . or at least his Dad couldn't . . . he just put two bullets in him. I ask him why . . . why shoot Malden . . . he replies that Malden threatened to kill his little sister. I am all he has left in this world . . . he grew up poor . . . his parents treated him like garbage . . . he knew that he didn't belong . . . his father called him the biggest mistake he ever made. James extends his hand to me . . . I start to walk forward asking him not to do this . . . he acted in self defense . . . . I would do anything to help him.
Woody . . . I hear him running up the stairs calling my name. I hear Walcott tell him to shoot to kill if he's trying to hurt me . . . she's wrong he's only trying to hurt himself. James asks Woody to shoot him . . . he'll die a lot faster . . . the fall won't hurt as much. I beg him to stop . . . offering James my hand . . . asking him to please come with me . . . I can help him. James takes hold of my hand . . . pulls me towards him . . . disrupting his balance . . . I beg him to stop. I tell him that I love him . . . he laughs . . . says that he needed to hear that years ago . . . too little, too late. James lets go of me . . . says that he always wanted a little sister . . . says he'll see me again someday . . . he freefalls backward . . . a smile on his lips.
I collapse to the floor . . . my heart somewhere in my stomach . . . my stomach contents spilling all over the floor. It was the first time that death had ever made me physically ill.
I wake up . . . beads of sweat rolling down my face . . . my clothes clinging to my body. I look at the clock . . . it's one in the morning . . . that was about the time that he committed suicide . . . time when the city is supposed to be sleeping . . . everything is supposed to be quiet. My thoughts aren't quiet . . . I should have pulled him from the ledge . . . I let him die.
I wasn't sure if Dad knew about James. I wasn't ready to find Dad . . . he had his own demons to struggle with . . . I didn't need to add to the burden.
I pull myself out of bed . . . walk to the window . . . I can't see the downtown from here . . . everything in my neighborhood is quiet . . . as it should be. Hope that where ever James is . . . that it's quiet . . . it's a serene quiet that he never knew on Earth. I feel the tears roll down my cheeks . . . I dress carefully . . . jeans . . . a long sleeved shirt and my jacket.
The drive is always the same . . . I came here most every night. First, I go to his home . . . the only place that he did call home. It's in disrepair . . . James said that it was never much . . . a dirty hole in the wall. I walk through the rooms . . . let my fingers linger along the holes in the brick . . . the partially deconstructed dry wall. I wonder what room was his . . . how was his room decorated . . . what toys did he play with . . . what was his adoptive father like . . . his adoptive mother . . . what did Malden think of my mother's pregnancy . . . was my father excited about having a baby. So many questions . . . there was no one left to give any answers.
I walk down to the river . . . James is still in the river . . . though his soul has long since escaped the shell of skin, bones, and muscle that it once lived in. He's drifting somewhere . . . his death . . . it wasn't too much unlike his life . . . drifting from place to place . . . running from the demons of the past. James and I weren't all that different.
I walk the river . . . I walk for about a mile . . . then circle back . . . thinking that missed him somewhere along the way. I'm cold . . . despite the mild temperatures . . . it's not really coldness . . . it's the numbness . . . a lack of feeling . . . I'm not sure if the feeling will ever come back.
I always make it to this bench on the riverwalk . . . I could sit there for hours . . . waiting for James . . . waiting for Dad to come take me home. I haven't been back to work for two weeks . . . Garrett has asked me to take it easy . . . asked me to go talk to someone . . . maybe go find Max. I can't do anything of those things . . . I can't grieve until I find James . . . I need him so much more than I could ever admit. Nigel calls me in the evening . . . fills me in on cases . . . it's sweet . . . it's hard for him to see me this way . . . he's asked me to go see Dr. Stiles . . . I tell him that I can't . . . there is so little that I can do for myself . . . this is one of the first times I've felt helpless . . . felt vulnerable.
I question my paternity a lot . . . I'm not sure who I am . . . who I belong to. I spend hours looking in the mirror . . . looking for Dad's nose, eyes, lips, ears. I don't see Dad in me . . . I wonder if my father was buried . . . if my brother put two bullets into him . . . if he drugged me. Daddy . . . did I ever call the right man Daddy? I've gone to Dad's house a few times . . . I took hairs from his brush . . . I've gone so far as to take them to a genetic testing lab . . . donated my DNA. The results will be in tomorrow . . . they rushed my case . . . I said that it was very important. I'm not sure if I want the results . . . she did this out of sickness . . . she loved Dad . . . she didn't know what to do.
I haven't seen Woody since the night James died . . . I remember saying that I hated him . . . I hated him for giving James no other options. That's all that I could say while I was sobbing . . . I didn't mean a word of it. He's called once . . . I've been screening my calls . . . I rarely answer the telephone . . . there is no one that I really want to talk to. Woody called to see if I was okay . . . I knew what it meant . . . Jordan, are you still alive . . . or did you join your brother in the river . . . I got calls like this from Lily, Nigel, and Garrett. There were many times that I considered going into the river . . . I couldn't bring myself to . . . I wasn't sure why . . . I didn't see what I had to live for.
"Jordan," he said as he sat next to me . . . put a hand on my thigh . . . I didn't flinch . . . I couldn't look at him either, "Why are you here?"
"I'm waiting for him to come home," I whisper suddenly becoming choked up . . . letting out some of the grief that I had been sequestering.
"Can I wait with you?" Woody asks . . . handing me a cup of coffee . . . I break down . . . I begin to sob . . . resting my head against his shoulder . . . feeling my lungs ache . . . my heart pounding against my chest wall . . . calling out for my brother . . . begging him to come home.
He doesn't say a single word . . . just lets me cry . . . soaking the sleeve of his dress shirt . . . holding me until the pinks and oranges of the morning infiltrate the sky . . . not needing to say the words . . . letting me try to find peace with the demons . . . resolution among all the questions that I long to ask, but will never have answered. His presence reminds me that I can still feel . . . even if it hurt . . . reminds me that I am home . . . even if home is in ruins . . . reminds me that there will be resolution . . . that he will do anything to bring James home. For this, I am thankful.