Fishman's Diary
Summary: This very short story takes a "page" out of Chuck's diary. This story represents a "missing" scene to "Fatal Edition".
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Fishman's Diary
November 5, 1999
Dear Diary:
I don't mind telling you that I feel like an idiot right now. I mean, look at me...writing in a diary? How lame is that?! A diary is one of those silly little books that women use to record their feelings. Guys have enough trouble talking about their feelings let alone writing them down. Every woman that I have ever known has always complained that I needed to get in touch with my "feminine" side. Yeah, right. Why would I want to do that anyway? Okay, I admit it. I have on occasion pretended to be "Mr. Sensitive" to attract a really gorgeous woman. But this whole talking about your feelings business, you can count me out. Besides, call me suspicious, but the idea of writing anything down where anyone could find it and use it to blackmail me with later...nope, I'll keep my feelings to myself thank you very much! So I guess that you're probably wondering why I'm writing this now. I guess I'm wondering, too. The only answer that I've been able to come up with I can give to you in two words: Gary Hobson. Yep, my best bud, Mr. All-American, Mr. Boy Scout, has forced me to get in touch with my feelings. And surprisingly, it has nothing to do with money or a woman. It has everything to do with that guy. I love that guy! Well, you know what I mean. I guess I better tell you what prompted all this before I chicken out and become an insensitive jerk (again!) It's not so easy for a leopard to change his spots, you know.
Let me begin by offering this defense. I'm not the only one here who has been hoarding his feelings. Gar hasn't exactly been open with his emotions either. Maybe this whole thing is my fault. I mean when that reporter...when Frank Scanlon called me wanting to dig up dirt on Gary, I should have done more than just try to throw him off the scent. I should have...I should have hopped right on a plane from LA to Chicago to help out my bud. Maybe if I had he wouldn't have had to go through that whole nightmare alone. My gut kept telling me that something wasn't right. Why didn't I listen? I called Gary a few days ago, but I kept getting his answering machine. I figured that he must have been out handling that stupid paper I never imagined that he was spending the last few days as a fugitive, hunted like a dog, and running for his life. Marissa should have called me. I know that she's into that "faith will make everything right" stuff, but she shouldn't have kept me out of the loop. Gary needed me. I could have helped him just like I did when everyone believed that he had killed Hawks. All of Chicago believed then that he was a killer, but he could hide in plain view because he had me and Marissa watching his back.
I came in last night. When I got into O'Hare, I found that all the local papers had stories about Gary's arrest for Scanlon's murder. I called his loft, but I didn't get an answer. I had a cab take me straight to McGinty's. When I arrived there, I retrieved the key from its usual hiding place, opened the door, and entered into darkness. It was late and no one was there. My heart was pounding and I couldn't stop pacing. I turned on the television and saw all these news reports about a shooting at the Cicero train yard. I heard them mention Gary's name, but they hadn't said whether or not he had been shot. I had never been so scared in all my life or so angry. My emotions were one big jumbled mess. How many times had I pleaded with him to use The Paper as a tool for getting very rich? But would he listen? No. I'm with Lois when she says that Gary is so headstrong. Those boyish good looks fool people and sure, he's a pushover most of the time, but that guy is as stubborn as they come. When he wants to do something, there's no talking him out of it. If he had listened to me, we...ah...I mean, he, he would have been sitting on easy street right now. He should have listened to me. Instead, he followed "Mother Theresa's" advice and used The Paper to help ungrateful strangers. Don't get me wrong, I love Marissa (just don't tell her that I said that. If you do, I'll deny it), but this Pollyanna attitude of hers really gets on my nerves. And Gar always had that nasty character flaw of his, you know, the one where he puts everyone's needs above his own. The guy isn't a saint, but he comes pretty darn close. Maybe that's why The Paper comes to him. Wait a minute...did I just say that?
I was going nuts waiting around in that empty bar with my mind torturing me with worse case scenarios. I decided that I was going to that train yard and make someone give me some answers. Just as I started for the door, I heard the door open. The sight I saw made me the happiest I've ever been in my life. I'm not a religious man, but I know that I said a prayer of thanks when I saw Gary standing there and in one piece. But he had been through a lot because of his ordeal and it showed on his face. He looked like hell. He was unshaven and he had bags underneath his eyes. I didn't even know what to say when I saw him. We both just kept staring at each other. Then I went over to him and I hugged him. I felt like crying. He probably did, too, but we didn't. But it would have been okay if we did. People say that real men don't cry and it took me a long time to realize this, but I learned that is not true. Maybe it takes being a real man to allow himself to cry.
Marissa must have known that Gary and me needed to talk alone because she asked me to call her a cab to take her home. I did and it didn't take long for the cab to arrive. It was like this big hug fest before she left. She welcomed me back with a hug and then she hugged Gary. She held him so tightly almost as if she were afraid to let him go. She told him that she would talk to him tomorrow. Gar called out to her before she left. He said something about keeping his promise about seeing her soon. I don't know what he meant by that, but Marissa obviously did because she smiled and then she left.
I hugged Gary again. I could see that he was very tired. We went upstairs to his loft. He opened the door, turned on the lights, and just stood there for a moment. He acted like he was looking at this marvel, like he was seeing the Taj Mahal or something. But I guess the truth was that he was just happy to be home. He probably feared that he would never see his home again.
Then he stared at me almost as if he were memorizing my face or something. He didn't say anything; he looked at me as if he had been afraid that he would never see me again, too.
I knew that after spending the last few days running he'd probably want a shower then bed. But he surprised me when he said that he wanted to talk and that it couldn't wait until tomorrow. We proceeded to the couch and sat down. Maybe it was pure exhaustion that had opened the Hobson floodgates because Gary told me everything about the last few days. He told me how he had been arrested because he was found over Scanlon's body, about how he had taken a lie detector test to show his innocence but that instead make him appear guilty, about spending the night in jail, about his swan dive out of that court house window, about almost being captured, and about what happened at the train yard when his nightmare ended.
And I surprised myself by doing something that I don't normally do...I listened. I haven't always been a very good friend to Gary. I admit that. I stole The Paper from him once to get myself out of that mess with the SEC and I even hired Leonard to follow him around so that I could get footage of him helping people. That had to be my lowest moment. We ended up on Springer's show trying to get back that tape. He didn't have to call me a jerk, though. I was, but he didn't have to say it on national television. Anyway, I haven't always been the kind of friend Gary deserves to have, but at that moment, I did what a friend should do, I was there to listen.
Wow! I wrote more than I thought that I would. Maybe this whole writing down your feelings stuff isn't as bad as I thought.
But just don't expect me to do it again!
The End.
Summary: This very short story takes a "page" out of Chuck's diary. This story represents a "missing" scene to "Fatal Edition".
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com
Fishman's Diary
November 5, 1999
Dear Diary:
I don't mind telling you that I feel like an idiot right now. I mean, look at me...writing in a diary? How lame is that?! A diary is one of those silly little books that women use to record their feelings. Guys have enough trouble talking about their feelings let alone writing them down. Every woman that I have ever known has always complained that I needed to get in touch with my "feminine" side. Yeah, right. Why would I want to do that anyway? Okay, I admit it. I have on occasion pretended to be "Mr. Sensitive" to attract a really gorgeous woman. But this whole talking about your feelings business, you can count me out. Besides, call me suspicious, but the idea of writing anything down where anyone could find it and use it to blackmail me with later...nope, I'll keep my feelings to myself thank you very much! So I guess that you're probably wondering why I'm writing this now. I guess I'm wondering, too. The only answer that I've been able to come up with I can give to you in two words: Gary Hobson. Yep, my best bud, Mr. All-American, Mr. Boy Scout, has forced me to get in touch with my feelings. And surprisingly, it has nothing to do with money or a woman. It has everything to do with that guy. I love that guy! Well, you know what I mean. I guess I better tell you what prompted all this before I chicken out and become an insensitive jerk (again!) It's not so easy for a leopard to change his spots, you know.
Let me begin by offering this defense. I'm not the only one here who has been hoarding his feelings. Gar hasn't exactly been open with his emotions either. Maybe this whole thing is my fault. I mean when that reporter...when Frank Scanlon called me wanting to dig up dirt on Gary, I should have done more than just try to throw him off the scent. I should have...I should have hopped right on a plane from LA to Chicago to help out my bud. Maybe if I had he wouldn't have had to go through that whole nightmare alone. My gut kept telling me that something wasn't right. Why didn't I listen? I called Gary a few days ago, but I kept getting his answering machine. I figured that he must have been out handling that stupid paper I never imagined that he was spending the last few days as a fugitive, hunted like a dog, and running for his life. Marissa should have called me. I know that she's into that "faith will make everything right" stuff, but she shouldn't have kept me out of the loop. Gary needed me. I could have helped him just like I did when everyone believed that he had killed Hawks. All of Chicago believed then that he was a killer, but he could hide in plain view because he had me and Marissa watching his back.
I came in last night. When I got into O'Hare, I found that all the local papers had stories about Gary's arrest for Scanlon's murder. I called his loft, but I didn't get an answer. I had a cab take me straight to McGinty's. When I arrived there, I retrieved the key from its usual hiding place, opened the door, and entered into darkness. It was late and no one was there. My heart was pounding and I couldn't stop pacing. I turned on the television and saw all these news reports about a shooting at the Cicero train yard. I heard them mention Gary's name, but they hadn't said whether or not he had been shot. I had never been so scared in all my life or so angry. My emotions were one big jumbled mess. How many times had I pleaded with him to use The Paper as a tool for getting very rich? But would he listen? No. I'm with Lois when she says that Gary is so headstrong. Those boyish good looks fool people and sure, he's a pushover most of the time, but that guy is as stubborn as they come. When he wants to do something, there's no talking him out of it. If he had listened to me, we...ah...I mean, he, he would have been sitting on easy street right now. He should have listened to me. Instead, he followed "Mother Theresa's" advice and used The Paper to help ungrateful strangers. Don't get me wrong, I love Marissa (just don't tell her that I said that. If you do, I'll deny it), but this Pollyanna attitude of hers really gets on my nerves. And Gar always had that nasty character flaw of his, you know, the one where he puts everyone's needs above his own. The guy isn't a saint, but he comes pretty darn close. Maybe that's why The Paper comes to him. Wait a minute...did I just say that?
I was going nuts waiting around in that empty bar with my mind torturing me with worse case scenarios. I decided that I was going to that train yard and make someone give me some answers. Just as I started for the door, I heard the door open. The sight I saw made me the happiest I've ever been in my life. I'm not a religious man, but I know that I said a prayer of thanks when I saw Gary standing there and in one piece. But he had been through a lot because of his ordeal and it showed on his face. He looked like hell. He was unshaven and he had bags underneath his eyes. I didn't even know what to say when I saw him. We both just kept staring at each other. Then I went over to him and I hugged him. I felt like crying. He probably did, too, but we didn't. But it would have been okay if we did. People say that real men don't cry and it took me a long time to realize this, but I learned that is not true. Maybe it takes being a real man to allow himself to cry.
Marissa must have known that Gary and me needed to talk alone because she asked me to call her a cab to take her home. I did and it didn't take long for the cab to arrive. It was like this big hug fest before she left. She welcomed me back with a hug and then she hugged Gary. She held him so tightly almost as if she were afraid to let him go. She told him that she would talk to him tomorrow. Gar called out to her before she left. He said something about keeping his promise about seeing her soon. I don't know what he meant by that, but Marissa obviously did because she smiled and then she left.
I hugged Gary again. I could see that he was very tired. We went upstairs to his loft. He opened the door, turned on the lights, and just stood there for a moment. He acted like he was looking at this marvel, like he was seeing the Taj Mahal or something. But I guess the truth was that he was just happy to be home. He probably feared that he would never see his home again.
Then he stared at me almost as if he were memorizing my face or something. He didn't say anything; he looked at me as if he had been afraid that he would never see me again, too.
I knew that after spending the last few days running he'd probably want a shower then bed. But he surprised me when he said that he wanted to talk and that it couldn't wait until tomorrow. We proceeded to the couch and sat down. Maybe it was pure exhaustion that had opened the Hobson floodgates because Gary told me everything about the last few days. He told me how he had been arrested because he was found over Scanlon's body, about how he had taken a lie detector test to show his innocence but that instead make him appear guilty, about spending the night in jail, about his swan dive out of that court house window, about almost being captured, and about what happened at the train yard when his nightmare ended.
And I surprised myself by doing something that I don't normally do...I listened. I haven't always been a very good friend to Gary. I admit that. I stole The Paper from him once to get myself out of that mess with the SEC and I even hired Leonard to follow him around so that I could get footage of him helping people. That had to be my lowest moment. We ended up on Springer's show trying to get back that tape. He didn't have to call me a jerk, though. I was, but he didn't have to say it on national television. Anyway, I haven't always been the kind of friend Gary deserves to have, but at that moment, I did what a friend should do, I was there to listen.
Wow! I wrote more than I thought that I would. Maybe this whole writing down your feelings stuff isn't as bad as I thought.
But just don't expect me to do it again!
The End.