Title: Noel
By: Romanse
Summary: Blair's got a promise to keep to Jim and his vow takes him through
an extraordinary journey of life and death - all the way from modern
times to a life in ancient Palestine and back.
Notes: This story is novel-length. I'd rather put that up front as many readers shy away from reading long stories. LOL - while it did take two years to write, it won't take that long to read! If there are long-story lovers are out there, hope you enjoy this one and let me know what you think.
Under the stars and shadows
I give to thee a gift
most excellent and fair.
And yet a dim reflection of
the Gift once bestowed with loving care.
Joyeux Noel
S. Roman
For the tenth time that day since they had been propped next to the front door by their owner, Jim Ellison eyed with a mixture of resignation and amusement, the care-worn duffel bag that had long since passed its better days, and the familiar sturdy backpack that Blair Sandburg carried nearly everywhere. Jim had hardly said a word all day; there was little need to as his roommate merrily chattered away nonstop about his upcoming two-week visit with his mother, all the while darting in and out of his little room under the stairs, alternating packing with cooking and cleaning chores. Blair was on cloud nine, and Jim didn't need his Sentinel vision to see that.
Sandburg gave a quick stir to the pasta sauce he had simmering on the stove. "…and pow wows are not just an important contemporary expression of American Indian heritage, you know, Jim..." Blair's words trailed behind him in an endless flow as he abandoned the sauce to bop back into his room to get yet one more item of clothing to pack into the burgeoning bag.
Jim sniffed the air. "Sandburg," he called, still watching Blair from his vantage point on the couch.
"...the key is not letting those reports pile up..." Sandburg moved from his room into the bathroom and began clearing his hair from the shower stopper before picking up his damp towels from the floor.
"Sandburg," Jim tried again.
"... check out the sound system on the Expedition? I can't wait to break open my new Angie Ferris CD..."
"Sandburg!"
Jim's raised voice startled Blair into halting in his verbal and physical tracks. He turned wide blue eyes on his friend, all the while looking like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "Did you want something, Jim?"
Jim smirked in amusement. "Your sauce is about to burn if you don't turn the stove off."
"Really?" Blair sniffed then as well. "Wow, I don't smell a thing, man. Thanks." He hurried to turn the stove off.
The sauce was saved, Blair's clothes were packed, and his cleaning chores completed. There was nothing left for him to do then but say his good-byes and get on the road. He grabbed his coat and hat from their hooks near the front door and began putting them on.
Sandburg turned and found that Jim was no longer sitting on the couch. The Sentinel had silently gotten up and was now standing right in front of him. Blair jumped in surprise and an awkward silence descended, as for the first time in so many hours, Blair's seemingly endless flow of words dried up. Suddenly, it occurred to the young man that he'd had enough experience saying good-bye to raise it to an art form. "Detach with love" had always been Naomi's well-lived philosophy, and one that Blair himself had been forced to adopt out of necessity.
It made no difference to Blair now that he was only leaving for two weeks, not forever. However, this 'goodbye for now' seemed harder to say than any 'goodbye forever' he'd ever said. There was a fleeting look in Jim's eyes that Blair caught a glimpse of before it disappeared, that stopped him dead in his tracks. It was the look of some dark and unexpressed emotion, and the young man was baffled, unable to decipher its meaning. Suddenly, the clue bus came to a halt in front of Blair. He's afraid I'm leaving and not coming back. Why?
The young anthropology grad student leaned up against the door with his hands in his jean pockets and casually inquired, "So, Jim, ah – you know I'm coming back, right, man?"
"Of course I know that, Darwin, why wouldn't you?" Jim clapped Blair on the shoulder and looked him straight in his eyes. There was no remaining trace of whatever Blair had glimpsed in Jim's eyes a moment ago. Only warmth and caring emanated from his Sentinel's eyes now. It warmed Blair's soul in a way that he had scarcely ever felt while growing up in a nomadic lifestyle that had left little room for forming long-term attachments.
Now it was his turn to play, 'hide the emotions'. Blair shrugged noncommittally, grabbed his duffel bag and slung it up and over his shoulder. Then he picked up his trusty backpack and waited expectantly, like a child awaiting instructions from a parent.
"Drive carefully, Chief," was all the sage advice the detective imparted. He smiled, but his ice-blue eyes were serious.
"I will. Take care of yourself, Jim. I'll be back on Christmas Eve." The softly made promise was received by the Sentinel, if the warmth in his eyes was anything to go by.
Then Blair turned and walked out the door and was gone.
The Previous Week
For the first time since Detective Jim Ellison had occupied apartment number 307 at 852 Prospect, festive signs of the holiday season adorned the interior. Even when Jim had been married briefly to Carolyn, the couple had not seen fit to decorate their dwelling. This year, the
iron railing running alongside the loft bedroom was festooned with an artificial garland made from what passed as a decent representation of fresh-cut pines. An equally artificial, but life-like Christmas tree decked out with white lights and colorful Victorian-style decorations stood in one corner of the open living room. A small Menorah had been lovingly placed on the dining room table. Ornamental objects they were, yet the decorations all served as outward signs that an extraordinary change had taken place in the inner heart of one Sentinel.
There were, of course, still those among Jim's colleagues in the Major Crime Unit who would insist first on seeing the apartment before believing that Detective Ellison had actually permitted, if not actually hung, decorations himself. But those who knew him best had no doubt that Jim's roommate, a young man whom the detective had embraced as a brother, had fundamentally changed the ex-Army Ranger, turned cop, and that such a transformation in Jim's home was entirely possible. Up until Sandburg's advent into Jim's life as a civilian police observer and unofficial partner, he'd been a man who had habitually ignored the holidays, shunned the extended hands of friendship, and been perpetually uptight and focused only on getting the job done.
The young, long-haired doctoral student was about as far from anyone's idea of what a best friend for the detective would act and look like, but anyone who spent any time with the two of them quickly realized that Sandburg walked in confidence where other mortals feared to tread. The man Ellison's associates knew now was approachable, warmer – more human and less like the cold hard-ass he'd been for so long.
Those years when Jim volunteered to work extra shifts because the holidays were like any other lousy day filled with crime, were over. Other officers had either wives, or husbands, and or kids, to spend the holidays with. Back then, Ellison was newly divorced and had no kids. Consequently, he saw no reason why those who had families should be unhappy at having to work on Christmas when he had no one and preferred to work alone anyway.
All that was in the past. Pigs really did fly, and the devil needed a blanket. Jim Ellison had Blair Sandburg now, his free-spirited friend, his guide and younger brother in heart. The changes wrought in Jim Ellison's life by his association with Sandburg had taken place gradually, but steadily. The big detective had at first been somewhat disconcerted to feel bits and pieces of his emotional fortress crumbling in the face of Hurricane Sandburg, but that was then, and this was now. However reluctant Jim had been to embrace some of the changes in his life, celebrating the holidays for the first time as an adult was a change he had been looking forward to – far more than the usually perceptive Sandburg even realized.
Jim's low-key attitude toward having mutually agreed with Sandburg on a plan to celebrate the holidays together, especially Christmas Eve and Day, was a finely tuned façade. Jim had carefully hidden the deep personal importance of having Blair there in their home to share in the traditions of Christmas. Jim was a man whose deeply felt, and long suppressed need to have someone in his life to care and be cared for, had been awakened by Sandburg's presence in his life. Even the shadows of his soul still remembered what it was like to share joy and love during the holidays. The holidays of long ago were times for family gatherings, giving and receiving gifts, singing, and eating one's fill of special foods. The Sentinel had once done those things – when his mother had been in the Ellison home, making it an intact family. But then Mrs. Ellison abandoned them one day and never returned or contacted her family again.
Grace Ellison's family desertion had left the father bitter and the two young Ellison brothers bereft of their mother's tenderness. The holidays were henceforth stripped of any real joy and meaning for the boy who grew into the repressed, intensely focused man that he had been for so long. Even then, every fiber in Jim's being longed to simply stop being that lonely outsider looking in. He didn't know it then, but the day Sandburg moved into the loft, Jim had taken a giant step towards that goal. Because of Sandburg, the building where Jim lived was no longer just an apartment; it was a home. Consequently, Jim looked forward to spending Christmas with his Guide with an inner intense zeal that only the similarly deprived could appreciate. On top of Christmas, Jim was also looking forward to participating in the observance of the Jewish holiday, Hanukkah, in honor of his young roommate's Jewish heritage.
The week before, it had suddenly appeared that all of the carefully laid plans he and Sandburg had made, the secret desires Jim harbored in his heart for a normal holiday experience, were about to be dashed to pieces – all because of an out-of-the-blue phone call from Blair's mother, Naomi. In an instant, Jim had become a very unhappy man. Naomi had announced that she was flying in from India for a two week visit in the States. With all her unique brand of beguiling enthusiasm, she had invited her only child to come and join her at a holiday retreat being held at the Mission Mountain Resort, in Polson, Montana, before taking off again to parts unknown, for an unknown length of time.
Blair had been torn over the idea of leaving Jim and his first real home so suddenly, but there was no real question that he would go to Montana to visit Naomi. After all, the young anthropologist had not seen Naomi in close to two years – the longest he'd ever gone without a visit. In his mind, the only problem had been how to convince Jim that he would still be there to celebrate the holidays with him, despite the fact that he would be gone for two weeks right up until Christmas Eve.
Blair realized Jim still didn't feel entirely comfortable handling his Sentinel abilities on his own, and that Jim still had not let down his walls enough to admit it to himself, much less Blair. He also knew that Jim was looking forward to the upcoming holidays; after all, they had made plans together and gone out to buy decorations for the loft. But despite Jim's apparent willingness to observe the holidays with Sandburg, he had not seen fit to share with the younger man the deeper significance of having his friend there to celebrate with him. Sandburg then had no idea of the true degree his friend was looking forward to, and the significance of, spending the holidays with him. Consequently, Jim's young guide was oblivious to the hurt feelings and irrational fears of abandonment that his decision to go had stirred up in Jim.
When Blair had excitedly broken the news to Jim, Ellison's face had maintained the smile, even as it disconnected from his eyes. A dull ache mixed with the sour wine of old, bitter memories drew down like a curtain over his soul. His ears heard "two weeks", but his heart registered "I'm bailing out on you." His reaction had been a typical reflection of old, in-grained habits. Initially, he was angry, but his pride and self-control would not permit him to reveal his wounded heart to Sandburg. Days later, Jim was very glad of that. He came to realize that his fear and anger were irrational; that Sandburg wasn't gleefully abandoning him in favor of a better offer. Sandburg had broken neither their plans, nor his word. They would still celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah together. If his unofficial partner had promised to be home by Christmas Eve, then he would be there.
Having settled the matter in his heart to his satisfaction, the Sentinel did what he did best: he moved into Blessed Protector mode and proceeded to make arrangements for his Guide to have a rented SUV, a black Ford Expedition with four wheel drive and studded tires, to take on his trip through the mountains in winter. Sandburg had at first protested; he didn't have the extra money to spend on a rental vehicle. His sporty baby blue Corvair would have to do for a trek though the mountains. Jim wouldn't hear of it though. He wore down Sandburg's defenses until they reached a compromise wherein Blair set up a timetable to pay Jim back. Once the matter of securing safe transportation for his friend had been settled, Jim, with Blair, brought out their collection of road maps and together, they devised a travel plan that would keep the younger man on the larger, four-lane interstate for as long as possible; the theory being that it would be safer for him – and Blair would be safe if Jim had anything to say about it.
Present Day
In another realm, Fate watched as plans were made, bags packed, and two men, one Guide to one Sentinel, said good-bye to each other. Fate, in accordance with her capricious nature, took no notice of the holiday season of peace and goodwill towards men as she tossed the dice in the air. The dice landed and as she looked, her lips curved ever so slightly upwards.
*******
It would have been an act of strict self-control for Jim not to have tracked his roommate's departure down the hall, into the elevator, down to the street, and out to the car. Since no one was there to see his self–indulgence, Jim allowed himself to extend his hearing until Sandburg started up the big engine of the rented SUV and rolled out down the street. He listened to that sound until it merged with the noise of a thousand other Cascade city sounds that even Jim's enhanced hearing could no longer separate. Not wishing to induce a zone-out, Ellison turned his attention to enjoying some pasta with the sauce Blair had made especially for him.
******
Monday morning, Jim walked into the bullpen of Major Crimes and was nearly blinded by the garish string of red, white, and green lights strung along the outer edges of Detective Rafe's desk. The corners of his mouth, which had begun listing downward ever since he woke up that morning, began to droop down even further. Then Detective Henri Brown came into his view. The sight of Detective Brown's head, which apparently had spontaneously sprouted a pair of felt reindeer antlers, was a sight too much for the grouchy Sentinel. There was no doubt now that Jim's mouth had gone from a hint of a frown to an all out snarl in response to Rafe and Brown's too-cheery good mornings.
Brown and Rafe just looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders. The partners knew from experience that sometimes it just made good sense to stay the hell out of Ellison's way rather than approach him when he got like that.
Jim had no more than claimed his morning cup of coffee and sat down at his desk when he heard the voice of his captain calling him into his office. Jim sighed, picked up his coffee cup, and grabbed a seat in a chair across from the captain's desk.
"So, Jim, you finally got the kid out of your hair, huh?" Simon Banks smirked and leaned back in his chair. "You look like a man who's set to enjoy some peace and quiet for a change – not that I blame you." The Captain of the Major Crimes Department didn't wait for a response from his number one detective. Banks took a swig of his specially-brewed gourmet coffee, chuckled, then added, "Might want to keep it that way and have the locks changed before he gets back."
The chuckle died and the grin on the dark face faded as he observed for the first time, the expression on Jim Ellison's face. Jim didn't look amused at all. In fact, thought Simon, Jim was doing a most remarkable imitation of the pissed-off looking man he'd met in this very office five years ago. What the hell's wrong with him?
Simon cleared his throat. "Uh... is everything all right, Jim? Sandburg's okay?"
To his inner horror, Jim realized he had telegraphed his bereft state to Simon and God knew who else since Sandburg's departure two days ago. By an act of sheer will, Jim's features smoothed out as he allowed the muscles in his face to relax. "Everything's fine, Captain." Jim looked at Simon's face, which clearly showed that he wasn't buying what Jim was trying to sell. Jim gave a short, sheepish-sounding laugh before revising his answer. "Look, I've sort of gotten used to Sandburg's weird food, his non-stop chatter, and his wet towels on the bathroom floor. It's just not the same with him gone."
Simon wisely refrained from poking fun at Jim's surprisingly candid revelation. "But you have heard from the kid since he left, correct?" he asked instead.
"Yes, Sir. Of course, he called to let me know that he had arrived in Montana okay. I haven't heard from him since, and I suspect he's enjoying himself visiting with Naomi and sneaking in 'field research' with any available single woman he can find."
Simon and Jim both laughed out loud at how right that sounded for the young police observer. "Listen, Jim, next time you talk to the kid, tell him I said to be careful up there."
Jim raised an eyebrow and teased back, "Careful, Simon, if someone else hears you, they might get the impression that you actually miss him."
Simon snorted in reply. "Believe me, Detective, Sandburg hasn't been gone nearly long enough for me to even contemplate missing him."
Boss and subordinate again laughed. It was the genuine easy laugh that came from years of mutual respect that had blossomed into a deep and abiding personal friendship. Now that the earlier tension had been thoroughly banished, Jim turned to business. "So, what did you really want to see me about, Sir?"
Simon reached over his desk and handed a brown case file over to Ellison. Jim began to flip through it casually while listening to his boss brief him as to the contents.
"According to the coroner's report, two years ago, one Andrew McNair, 14 years old at the time of his demise, died of cardiac arrest. While tragic, it appeared to be an open and shut case, due to the fact that the boy had a bad heart." Simon clicked his tongue in sympathy. "The boy was next on the transplant list to receive a new heart. He died just three days before they got the call that a compatible heart had been identified." Banks paused as if to collect his thoughts. "I can't imagine something like that happening to Daryl," he added in a low voice.
Jim nodded his head in understanding. Simon's son, Daryl, was the light of Simon's life. Daryl was all the good he had left out of a marriage that had lasted nearly 15 years before ending in a bitter divorce. "So who's saying the boy didn't simply run out of time?" Jim asked.
Captain Banks gestured toward the stack of papers in Jim's lap. "The medical examiner's report that came out two days ago does."
Ellison flipped through the file until he came to the report. "Damn," Jim swore under his breath. "It says here that Andrew died of arsenic poisoning." Jim flipped to the next attached page. "The medical toxicologist's report indicates that once arsenic is ingested, it's quickly absorbed into the body, attacks cell structures and among other things, causes heart failure."
"That about sums it up, Jim," Simon replied grimly.
"Okay, so why did it take having the boy's body exhumed nearly two years after he died to find this out?"
"Well, a couple of things, Jim. One being the obvious: the boy wasvery ill. He had a very serious heart condition, and without the transplant, he would have surely died. The fact that his heart suddenly gave out three days before they found a heart was taken at face value as simply being a medical tragedy. Two, his parents, who, by the way, are high society and very wealthy, used their influence to get things moving along quickly as far as taking possession of their son's body. There never was an autopsy to determine the cause of death and there didn't seem to be a need for one. A mere two days after the boy died, he was six feet under the ground."
"And the reason there finally was an autopsy?"
Simon leaned forward on both elbows. "Well, that's where things get interesting. Mrs. Barbara McNair has been Mr. Geoffrey McNair's ex-wife for just under two years now. Mr. McNair used to be the CEO of HealthTech Pharmaceuticals. His company lost millions of dollars by making unprecedented and foolish investments in an unusually high number of experimental drugs and technologies that the FDA later refused to approve. To make a long story short, the company went belly up and Mr. McNair went from a man who was making millions, to a man barely making it at his current job salary of a mere $125,000 per year."
Jim's "hmmf" showed just how much sympathy he had for the man surviving on that kind of money.
"Now, according to Mrs. McNair, her former husband began having an affair with a certain well-known supermodel from Hungary about three years before his son became ill."
Jim looked curious. "Who is she?"
"Alize Szabo," Simon replied, looking expectantly at Jim.
Jim shrugged. The name meant nothing to him, though he was appropriately impressed when he came upon her photo in the case file. The Sentinel emitted a low whistle at what he saw. The photo was a glossy eight by ten modeling headshot that showed a young woman in her mid-twenties, with high, sculpted cheek bones and full lips. Alize Szabo was an international beauty with stunning green eyes and very dark, almost jet black, long hair.
"Beautiful woman," was the extent of Jim's comment.
"She was a hot commodity in the modeling world about five years ago. By the time she met Mr. McNair, she wasn't much on the covers of American magazines anymore. She's all but faded from the spotlight now. Anyway, Mr. McNair was on the verge of leaving his wife to marry this woman when his son developed heart problems after a severe illness," continued Simon.
"She knew her husband was having an affair?"
"According to Mrs. McNair, she found out about the affair shortly before Andrew fell ill. She stated that her husband stayed in the marriage for the boy's sake. Shortly after the boy died, Mr. McNair filed for a quickie divorce, and six months later, he had a new wife."
"So she was pissed at her husband for dumping her and she accused him of murdering their son?" Jim asked, unable to hide his incredulous tone.
Simon looked heavenward as if looking for patience. "No, Jim, that's not what happened. Mrs. McNair is currently in a relationship with one of her son's former physicians. He began telling her from the get-go of the relationship, that while he never had any proof that Andrew died of any other cause than heart failure brought on by his illness, he felt that there was something medically off about the boy's sudden demise. He believed that an autopsy should have been performed to find out exactly what and how things went so wrong that fast. It took a while, but he was persuasive enough, and the mother had enough money and influence to get the courts to grant her request for her son's body to be exhumed."
Jim closed up the file. "So you think Mr. McNair had both motive and means to get rid of his son?"
Simon shrugged and lit a cigar. "Somebody killed this boy. It wouldn't be the first time a spouse removed an obstacle that was in the way of getting what they wanted."
Jim grunted his concurrence, then closed the case file and stood up. "Looks like I've got my work cut out for me, Sir."
"Best get to it then. Oh, and Jim?"
"Sir?" Jim paused at the door and looked inquiringly at Simon.
"Take Taggart with you when you go out to talk to Mr. McNair."
"Joel? Is he leaving the Bomb Squad?" Jim asked, genuinely concerned for the other detective, who he knew well and respected.
Simon sighed. He knew Jim wasn't going to be pleased that he had asked the Bomb Squad captain for the favor of borrowing Joel Taggart. After that, his nerves failed him and he took a demotion to Major Crimes as a detective for the two weeks that Sandburg, Jim's unofficial partner, would be gone. "No. He's just getting some refresher skills for two weeks in Major Crime."
"Uh, Simon, I don't think it will be necessary for him to come with me."
"I do. Take him with you, and that's an order." Simon used his firm, authoritative voice to end any further debate.
*******
Turned out that Detective Ellison's and Detective Joel Taggart's trip out to Mr. McNair's home in an upper-middle class suburb of Cascade was a bust. The former HealthTech CEO was on the East Coast attending a business conference on behalf of his newest employer. The company had confirmed that he was not expected back until that Thursday, thus the two detectives headed back to Jim's SUV to regroup. Undaunted, Jim turned to Taggart. "The day's not entirely wasted, Joel, let's go and talk to Mrs. McNair."
"Sounds like a plan," Jim's mild-mannered, heavy-set partner said in assent. Once in the SUV, Jim switched directions and headed out to Barbara McNair's mansion. On the cross-town drive over, the two men chatted casually about the case, the upcoming Jags game, and Jim's absent partner, Sandburg.
One traffic jam and thirty-five minutes later, the detectives arrived at the former McNair family home where the ex-Mrs. McNair still lived. It was an impressive estate with high, thick white columns in front, and a wide circular driveway with a scenic fountain in the center. The house was just one of the many things Mr. McNair had forfeited in the course of his costly divorce.
Jim rang the front door while Taggart stood looking about with an expression on his face that clearly showed how impressed he was with the McNair estate.
Within a minute, a matronly looking, middle-aged woman clad in a crisp, traditional maid's uniform opened the door. "May I help you, gentlemen?" she asked in a reserved, but courteous tone.
The detectives took out their credentials for the maid's perusal. "I'm Detective Ellison and this is Detective Taggart. We'd like to speak with Mrs. McNair, please."
The woman's warm brown eyes widened. "Come in. Follow me, please." The maid led the way past the foyer, down a hall, and into a room that looked like a small, tastefully decorated study. She quietly shut the double doors behind her, leaving Jim and Joel to await Mrs. McNair's arrival.
Taggart walked over to the antique mahogany desk and stared down at a gold-framed picture of a laughing, freckled-face young boy playing in the sand at the beach. The detective seemed mesmerized by the joyous innocence of the healthy looking child. Joel Taggart certainly was an experienced, seasoned police officer, yet the years of seeing the worst of humankind had not worn away his sensitive nature. The man's compassionate brown eyes reflected the sadness of the tragedy of a young life cut short. "And you must be Andrew," he said softly, too low to be heard across the room by anyone with normal hearing.
Jim heard him clearly and came over to the desk to look at the professional photograph. Before he could open his mouth to make a remark, the double doors opened inward and a blond woman, who looked to be in her late forties, walked in. It was clear she had been a very attractive woman when she was younger. She was still beautiful, but the cruelties of life had left her face with a bitter hardness. Her fine clothes, perfectly coifed hair and her makeup did little to hide the fact that she was grieving, angry, and under tremendous stress.
"Mrs. McNair, I'm Detective Jim Ellison and this is Detective Joel Taggart. We've been assigned to investigate the death of your son. We're sorry to come here unannounced, but your ex-husband is out of town, so we were unable to interview him. We thought we'd come by and talk to you about Andrew and your ex-husband."
"Thank you for coming, Detectives. I'll answer any questions I can. My son was murdered and I want his killer brought to justice," Mrs. McNair said bitterly.
Jim and Joel had no problem discerning from Barbara McNair's tone and facial expression that she meant her ex-husband.
Joel cleared his throat subtly. "Mrs. McNair, do you have any idea when Andrew would have ingested the arsenic? What was he doing in the days leading up to his death?"
Mrs. McNair's face lost a bit of its hardness and something akin to a hint of guilt crept in.
"Andrew died on a Monday morning. The weekend before, Geoffrey and I had some very important social events to attend, so we didn't see much of Andrew." Barbara looked away from the detectives, as though she believed she would see condemnation in their eyes. "I'll never forgive myself for not being there to know that something else was wrong with him," she continued softly. "Friday afternoon, Andrew complained that he was tired and had a headache."
Mrs. McNair's voice had a tinge of desperation to it when she said, "You have to understand something, Detectives, that wasn't unusual for my son. He needed a new heart, but he demanded that life be as normal as possible for him. Andrew worked hard to keep up with school projects and his friends when he could, but when things got to be too much, he just wanted to rest in his room." Mrs. McNair shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Not that I blame him," she murmured. "He lovedhis room so much; it has every conceivable video game, home theater system, and computer set-up imaginable."
"Has?" Jim asked, not missing the woman's use of the present tense.
An odd flush came over the grieving mother's face. She walked over to the desk and picked up the gold-framed picture of her son. She began to explain herself, keeping her eyes fixed on those of the dead boy, his joyful eyes frozen in time forever. "I was in shock when Andrew suddenly collapsed and died. I just knewthat a heart would be found for him in time. I believed that with all of my being, but... but when Andrew's heart gave out, I was just so angry." Only Jim's Sentinel hearing picked up what Mrs. McNair softly added next, "I was angry at Andrew."
"Is that why Andrew was buried almost immediately?" Joel asked sympathetically.
"Yes, Detective Taggart. Perhaps my being angry doesn't make sense, and I certainly realize how wrong I was now, but I was the one who insisted that Andrew be buried immediately." After a brief silence, Barbara placed the photograph down tenderly and turned to face the detectives. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears as she continued, "Death stalked my son relentlessly. First we fought it; then we ran, then we just hid and waited. In the end, death won and we lost Andrew." A sigh full of longing and regrets escaped from the mother's lips.
"There didn't seem to be any point in delaying the funeral." A single tear spilled from one of the woman's eyes and trailed down her face. She brushed it away brusquely and took a deep breath. "We couldn't change what happened. Andrew needed to be buried, so Geoffrey and I buried our son. But I refuse to touch anything in Andrew's room. I don't care if other people think it's sick – my son's things are here just as he left them, and that's the way it's going to stay."
Jim and Joel simultaneously glanced at each other before Jim asked, "May we see Andrew's room?"
"Of course." Mrs. McNair seemed to pulled herself together and led the detectives up to Andrew's room.
Jim approached the room with a large degree of curiosity and a tiny amount of trepidation. His mind was sifting through the myriad possibilities of what he might find. Would being in the room feel like being in a bizarre, perfectly preserved shrine to a dead boy, or would it have a lived-in feel, as though its owner had simply gone to get a snack and would be coming right back? Ellison knew all too well about a house that had rooms like a cold museum, having grown up in one. Thinking about the frozen-in-time room stirred up ghosts of memories better left undisturbed and had Jim feeling slightly uncomfortable. Still, the Sentinel shrugged it off as he stepped through the door. He had a job to do and he needed to use his Sentinel abilities to help uncover any clues that might reveal who had robbed a member of his tribe of his young life before his time.
Mrs. McNair went up to the door of Andrew's room and no further. She watched with sorrowful eyes as Ellison and Taggart proceeded to step inside and look around. Joel couldn't seem to help himself; he let out a low whistle. From the look on his face, he was overwhelmed by the room. Never in his life had he imagined a 14-year-old boy's room to look like what Andrew's did with it's multitude of genuine, full-sized arcade games, a mini theater-style movie screen, and modified home-style vending snack machines. Everything in the room was wired for sound and entertainment. As for Jim, the Sentinel was silently grateful that nothing that could have triggered a zone-out was turned on. This kid was never bored, he mused silently.
Jim went to the center of the room and began to perform a visual sensory sweep. His keen mind took in and catalogued the contents of Andrew's entertainment paradise while Joel began to look through the drawers and on top of the shelves. Hanging on the walls were several guitars that had been autographed by various rock stars, and full-sized movie posters hung in between. Jim had no problem reading the signatures on the items with his Sentinel vision. Stacks of comic books and sports trading cards warred for space on the boy's desk, along with textbooks and volumes of classic literature. Abandoned sports equipment remained as keepers of the memories of Little League victories, skateboarding hang-tens, and unrealized hoop dreams.
Finding nothing of any evidentiary value, Ellison, followed by Taggart, proceeded to inspect Andrew's huge, walk-in closet. As expected, Barbara McNair had not disposed of her son's clothes. The closet was full of the dead youth's shoes, jeans, shirts, as well as shelves filled with old souvenirs, action figures and other toys and mementos from an earlier age in Andrew's life. Having found nothing, it was beginning to feel like a fool's mission.
It was Joel Taggart who, at the last moment, found something that might yield some clues as to who and how Andrew might have been poisoned. Joel's shoe came in contact with an old Nike shoebox in the corner, partially obscured from view by a pile of unwashed clothes. When he'd lifted the lid, he'd discovered Andrew's journals along with the boy's discreetly stashed magazines of 'questionable content'.
Joel called Jim's attention to the journals while simultaneously, tactfully, replacing the shoebox lid over the magazines. Joel began to leaf through one journal, while handing another over to Jim. As he took the proffered journal, Ellison couldn't help but be reminded of Blair. For almost as long as he had known his absent partner, the young man had religiously kept a journal to record his innermost thoughts. On quieter evenings, Jim would enjoy reading the latest best seller while Blair quietly wrote in his journal. Jim refocused his attention and began to thumb through one of journals from the month preceding Andrew's death.
"We're gonna need to take these journals with us, Ma'am, would that be all right?" Jim asked Mrs. McNair.
Mrs. McNair nodded. "Yes, of course," she murmured.
Ellison and Taggart gathered up the journals and quickly took their leave of Mrs. McNair and the shrine to her dead son. The detectives were eager to return to the office and begin combing through the journals for any possible clues.
Except for one brief exchange, the drive back was mostly accomplished in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Five minutes into the drive home, Joel had turned to Jim. "That was kinda creepy."
"Yup," came the taciturn reply.
TBC