Warning – Please read.
This series covers the subject of child abuse - both physical and sexual. While a lot of it is 'off screen' and depicted as part of the past storyline, as this series continues there will be sections which do describe it more graphically.
For Better or For Worse
A solitary figure stood, motionless; a man lost in thought, lost in contemplation. He overlooked bold headlines of mayhem and chaos. He filtered them out, allowing his eye to be captivated and mesmerised by a far more important document. Artwork. A bright montage of colours, crashing together and vying for attention on a single sheet of laser paper, held his gaze. Artwork created by a child, an urchin who had collided with his world, throwing it completely off its axis.
Peace and quiet were no longer the norm when it came to Jim Ellison's home life. His orderly lifestyle had been inundated by noise, disorder and bedlam, and his sparse existence had been filled with clutter and mess.
He smiled. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Joel Taggert watched from a distance before moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the man who had recently undergone an incredible transformation. Like Ellison, his eyes were drawn to the notice board. "He's got talent, that's for sure," he said.
Ellison smiled again, which happened more often that not these days. "You think?"
"Beats the pants right off Picasso, if you ask me."
This time Ellison laughed. "Then maybe I should get it framed before one of the idiots around here uses it to wipe up a coffee spill."
"Nobody would be that stupid or that brave." Joel lightly slapped Ellison on the back, another gesture that would not have been commonplace a few months ago. "Hey, I just got off the phone with Jessie and she was wondering if you'd like to stay for dinner tonight. Apparently Blair's been helping making dessert. Chocolate mud cake, I think she said."
Ellison's gaze remained fixed on the artwork as he considered how to frame his answer.
Taggert waited.
Jim finally faced Joel. "I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I think I'm already imposing on you guys enough without lumbering Jessie with two more mouths for dinner." Since Jim had won custody of Blair, Jessie Taggert had been picking up the little boy from daycare and looking after him until Jim finished work. This arrangement was fine at first, but as he got back into the swing of his fulltime routine, the unpredictable hours of police work sometimes meant that Blair was left at the Taggert's house for longer than he had intended.
"Jim, I hope you're not suggesting that we think Blair is an imposition?"
"Not an imposition, exactly, but he is at your place nearly every day after daycare, and I don't want to get into a position where he's any more of burden to Jessie than he already is."
"You're a brave man to use the word 'burden' and 'Blair' in the same sentence. All I can say is that I'm glad Jessie was nowhere near earshot of that last statement, or you'd have the imprint of a size six shoe on your backside forevermore."
"Speaking from experience?"
"You better believe it." Joel folded his arms across his chest, letting them settle before he spoke again. "Look Jim, the truth of the matter is that having Blair at our house in the afternoons has helped filled a void in Jessie's life. Ever since she retired from teaching, she's really missed her daily 'kid fix'. He hesitated, choosing his words. "As a matter of fact, she wanted me to talk to you about maybe letting Blair have his own room at our place. I mean, I'm not saying that we think you can't look after him," he added quickly. "We think you're a great dad, Jim... it's just that... well, children need to have extended families, as you well know, and since we don't have any grandchildren..." Joel paused again, becoming uncharacteristically flustered. "What I'm trying to say is that we would like to become more than just babysitters to Blair. We want Blair to be able to treat our house as his own. Have his own things there... make it a place where he feels happy and content when you're working. And when he's comfortable with the idea, maybe he could stay for the odd weekend? We could take him to the zoo, to the aquarium, or even the museum. He really seems to have an interest in history, and given Jessie's passion for teaching, I really think Blair would benefit from trips like this." Joel's arms dropped to his side, positive that he'd overstepped the line. "Listen to me; I'm babbling and I had no right to suggest that. I'm sorry if I was out of line."
Jim didn't respond. It was reassuring to have confirmation that Blair wasn't a burden on their lives, but the bottom line was that Blair was his responsibility. It had been drummed into him from a very early age that shirking one's responsibilities was nothing short of failure. Although he'd never admit it out loud, the idea of failing Blair scared him to death.
"So, we still on for dinner at least?" Joel's hopes at a positive response from Jim were fading, as were his hopes of establishing a more solid friendship with Ellison. While he honestly enjoyed having Blair around, and it was true the presence of the little boy had added warmth to their home, he also appreciated the added benefit of getting to know a man who many considered to be unapproachable.
"You want me to drop by the store and pick anything up?" Jim finally answered.
"You're coming!" Joel coughed, clearing his throat. He'd never make a successful undercover cop. "I mean, you are coming? That's great, Jess'll be thrilled." Embarrassed, and feeling very much like an exuberant puppy at the pound, jumping around to display 'pick me, pick me," Joel made a hasty retreat from the room. "No need to bring anything. If you're ready to go by six, I'll meet you down in the garage and we can head out together."
"Sounds good." With a slight smile, Jim tossed the remainder of his coffee down the sink and rinsed out his cup. "Oh, and Joel," he called out. "I'll have to talk it over with Blair first, but I'm sure he'd be thrilled to have a room of his own at your place."
"I've just been picked," Joel chuckled softly as he made his way down the corridor.
~oOo~
"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" The screen door was pushed open with such a force that it banged into the weatherboard cladding. Blair didn't care; he was on a mission and he quickly crashed into his father's legs. "You euhly!" He lifted his arms to be picked up. "I made chocolate mud," he announced.
"I can see that, Chief. Question is, is there any chocolate in the cake, or is it all over your face?"
"It all in the cake," Blair replied.
Jim swiped his thumb across Blair's face and wiggled it in front of the child's eyes, presenting the evidence. "You sure about that?"
"That only be a sample. Jessie say a good cook must always taste befo'e they'd bake."
"I see." Jim wiped away more chocolate, this time from Blair's forehead. "I just hope you never get a job working for a chocolate maker, Chief, because with your idea of sampling, the place will go bust in no time flat."
"I not going to be a chocolate makuh." Blair's voice held an air of insult. "I going to be a 'sploeher and look for treasuh. I told you that, 'membeh?"
"Well Indy, before we let you loose on the world, I suggest we do a little work in the area of table manners first. After all, you can't go meeting the Queen of Persia with chocolate all over your face."
"Ah-um," Joel coughed. "I do believe that my welcome may have been forgotten."
"Joel!" Blair launched himself from Jim's arms, never expecting for one minute not to be caught by Joel. "Did you have a good day?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I did. I got a enbelope from Holly. I not know what it be, but it says 'To Blaiuh' on the front. Holly woted it herself." With the headline news of the day announced, Blair squirmed to be put down. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he scooted back up the path and into the house, the screen door receiving another pounding as it slammed against the weatherboard panels.
"Well, I don't know about you, Joel, but I'm exhausted just watching him."
"You know Jim, if they can't come up with a name for the next hurricane, I've got the perfect suggestion."
This time Jim was ready. He opened the screen door and held it firmly in his hand as Blair once again came barreling out the door. "Look, see it says 'To Blaiuh'. What it say inside?"
Joel ruffled Blair's hair and made his way into the house.
"Daddy, what it say?"
"Slow down a minute, Hurricane Harry." Jim scoped Blair and his envelope up and carried them both into the house. "At least let me get inside and say hello to Jessie first."
"But Daddy, it important."
"It is, is it?" Jim replied.
"Ah-ha," Blair answered. "Please read it."
Pleases and puppy dog eyes – Jim already knew he was beat. "Alright, alright." He lowered Blair to the floor, crouched down beside him and flicked open the seal with his fingernail. "It says, 'Dear Blair. It's Holly's third birthday and we would love you to come to her party on Saturday, September twenty-sixth. We hope you can make it'."
Blair ducked under Jim's arms and squeezed in between his legs, giving himself a perfect view of the piece of paper. "What that mean?"
"Well, Munchkin, it means that your friend Holly is having a birthday party and would like you to be there to help her celebrate."
"Why?" Blair pushed a wayward curl out of his eyes. "What's a birthday party?"
The guilt was back. Blair had obviously never celebrated his birthday.
"Blair, honey." Having heard the conversation from the kitchen, Jessie decided that now might be a good time to distract the little boy. "Joel wants to know if you would like to help him ice the cake?"
The word 'cake' had an uncanny ability to immediately evaporate Blair's attention span. He pushed himself out from between Jim's legs. "Can I lick the spoon?"
"You sure can, honey, but you better be quick; you know how much Joel loves chocolate."
With that, Blair was gone, leaving the forgotten invitation in Jim's hands.
"So, I guess you heard?" Stuffing the note back into the envelope, Jim hoisted himself off the floor.
"When is Blair's birthday, Jim?"
"Believe it or not, it was a few days after his mother left him at my door. Talk about timing. His third birthday came and went and at the time, I didn't even realise."
"Well then, we're only a few months late. It's not too late to give him a party of his own. We can have it here. The backyard's plenty big enough, and we can invite some of his little friends from daycare, and of course we'll need to invite some of the people from Major Crime. The catering won't be a problem, and I can bake a cake. I have a recipe for one I know he'll adore, and he can even help me organise the invitations."
Jim held up his hand, putting a dampener on Jessie's enthusiasm. "Jessie, I know you mean well, but I don't know if a party is such a good idea. You heard him; he doesn't even know what a birthday is, and I'm honestly not sure if he could cope with all the fuss. He's only just starting to get used to the changes in his life; I'm afraid that a party might be a bit overwhelming, considering that he has no idea what to expect. He's not used to being the centre of attention. While he's fine here with you guys and with Simon, you must have noticed how shy and withdrawn he becomes when he's faced with a big group of people. It's almost as if he thinks that if he doesn't draw attention to himself, then no one will notice him and they'll leave him alone. I think that with everything he else he needs to adjust to, a party at this stage will be too much."
"Jim, given the circumstances, I realise that a party might sound a little overenthusiastic. However, I also think we need to be careful of not falling into the trap of being under-enthusiastic."
"What do you mean?"
"Normality, Jim." She held up her hand, halting the reaction she knew was coming. "And by that, I'm not for one single minute suggesting that you aren't doing the very best by Blair. What I am suggesting is that there is a fine line between being a protective parent and being an overprotective parent." Jessie moved forward, taking Jim's hand in her own. While she didn't know Jim all that well, she did know him well enough to know that this man was negotiating a fine line of his own. It separated ability from inability and, for a man like Jim Ellison, she assumed that inability wouldn't be an easy pill to swallow. "It's hard, Jim," she admitted. "I've been around children all my life, but when it comes to Blair, it's ... it's hard. God knows there isn't a day goes by without me fighting the urge to wrap that child up in cotton batting and keep him locked inside the house. Just the other day I nearly snapped the head off the grocer for reprimanding Blair for touching his peaches." She smiled and shook her head. "Listen to me. I have the audacity to lecture you about being overprotective when I know full well the minute someone even looks sideways at Blair, I'll do exactly the same thing." The smile fell from her face. "Jim, what I'm trying to say, in what has turned out to be a very convoluted fashion, is that I understand your concerns about not throwing Blair into the thick of things. But I feel it's important that he's introduced to as many normal, everyday situations as possible. The child needs to grow and he can't do that if we keep him from the light – if we keep him smothered. Look, if you feel that a party is too much, would you consider inviting a few of your close friends over for a barbeque, perhaps? We could still have a cake, but keep the whole thing very casual. This way, his third birthday party could be an introduction to hopefully a bigger one next year."
Jim squeezed Jessie's hands. She was right. He knew she was right. Blair needed 'normal'; he needed to experience everything that life had to offer – the good and the not-so-good. If they were ever going to get past what Blair had been through, they both had to move forward. They both had to tackle life head on, and learn to deal and cope with the consequences. "Am I ever gonna get the hang of this?" he asked.
"Jim, you had the hang of this the first time you held that little boy in your arms. Being left with you was the greatest gift that child could have, and will ever receive." She patted his hand, then grasped it more firmly, and at that very moment it was as if they'd become a team, with a handshake uniting them together for a common cause. "Now we better get into that kitchen, James Ellison, before the scallywag eats all of the cake. And by that, I don't mean Blair."
~oOo~
"Jessie that was a feast in itself. I can't remember the last time I ate so well."
"Well then, perhaps we should make it a regular Friday night occasion." There was hope in her eyes, and a little wink in Blair's direction to help seal the deal.
"If you're not careful, I just might take you up on that offer."
"That's what offers are there for."
"Friday is a good day for chocolate mud," Blair interjected.
Jim pushed the uneaten carrots on Blair's plate closer to the youngster. "It's also a good day for vegetables, Chief."
Letting out a dejected huff, Blair picked up his folk and stabbed at the carrots. "Only if you be a wabbit," he grumbled.
"You think?"
"Ah-ha." Blair looked up at his father with an expression that usually worked. "Please, Daddy."
"Pleases and puppy dog eyes," Jim muttered. "Alright, Bugs, you're off the hook. Now scoot, before I volunteer you to help wash up."
"Why don't you all scoot." Pushing her chair back, Jessie got to her feet. "I'll get this done a whole lot quicker without you both under my feet."
Jim was about to protest, but it was short-lived. Joel was tugging on his sleeve like a man anxious to get out of Dodge before the ruckus began. "Joel, anyone would think you just got a 'get out of jail free' card."
"Better. I just built a hotel on Boardwalk." With the finesse of a quarterback, Joel dodged the kitchen towel heading his way, ducked around the table, planted a kiss on Jessie's cheek and was out the back door, all in under ten seconds. "
"Wow, I've never actually seen him move so fast."
There was a twinkle in Jessie's eyes. "I have."
"You know what?" Suddenly Dodge had become a little too dangerous for Jim. "I'll just go check on Blair and then head out to the shed with Joel. See what he's working on."
He left Jessie in the kitchen, not even wanting to think about any other circumstances that had Joel moving so fast.
"Hey, Squirt. What'cha up to?"
Blair's eyes were fixed on the television, leaving the question unanswered.
"Okay, obviously not needed," Jim muttered. He left the beer bottle he was carrying on the coffee table, and headed down the hall toward the bathroom.
When he returned to the room, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. His mouth lurched into gear before his brain had time to slam on the brakes. "Blair, what do you think you're doing? Put that down, now!"
To any other child the reprimand would have been strict, but not overtly threatening. But Blair wasn't just 'any other' child. He dropped the beer bottle and was out the front door and down the porch steps before Jim had even moved.
"Shit! ... Blair! " Mistake number two, but it was too late to retrieve the words. For Blair, a voice was only happy or angry. He didn't recognise the variations that came in-between.
"Jim, what's wrong? Where's Blair?"
"He took off!"
Jessie turned on the porch light. "Took off, why? What happened?"
Jim scanned the front yard. "I came out of the bathroom and Blair was drinking the beer I'd left on the table. I raised my voice, told him to put it down and the next thing I knew, he was out the door."
"Blair," Jim called out into the darkness. "I'm sorry I yelled, Munchkin." He traipsed down the stairs and jogged down the front path, stopping at the gate. The street beyond was completely void of life.
"Jim, the gate's still shut and it's too high for him to climb over that quickly." Joel was now behind him, a hand on his shoulder. "Jess, go next door to Norma's. He could have squeezed through the hole in the fence and be hiding in her garden.
Joel's hand suddenly became heavier. Jim could feel it pressing through his shirt, warming his skin. His vision tunnelled and his world became cylindrical, as if he were looking through a cone; looking down the rabbit hole.
The touch of Joel's hand on his shoulder became impossibly heavy. It weighted him down; he worked to lock his knees, fought to stay on his feet. Then it hit. It was only a thump – small, forlorn and sounding so alone, so lost. He moved, forward, then back, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. Joel's hand was still there. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't budge. His world narrowed again and he was falling, tumbling down the rabbit hole, just like Alice. Unlike Alice, this was not beginning of a journey, but the end. His fall was broken by a concrete path – a path that led from the front gate, to the front stairs. A path that trained his line of sight directly toward Blair.
"The porch." He moved forward, first on his hands and knees until the momentum brought him to his feet. Joel's hand left his shoulder. "He's under your porch."
The only way under the stairs was through a small hole, created by several missing concrete blocks. It was big enough for a child to squeeze through and small enough to keep him out. Jim dropped to his knees and stared into bleak, damp, darkness.
"Jim, I've got a flashlight." It was thrust into this hand, already burning bright.
"Blair, Kiddo, it's Daddy."
The flashlight found its mark. Blair was pushed back as far as he could go, his back pressed against the front wall of Joel's house. He was scared, that was obvious, but it was the look of resignation on his face that took Jim aback. He'd been found, discovered; the game was up and now it was time to face the music. But this music turned into a full-blown concerto right before Jim's eyes. To Blair's right was a bottle of water, and to his left, a package of cookies. Joel's porch wasn't just a random place found by a frightened little boy in the spur of the moment. Blair's escape had been premeditated. The size of the hole, the provisions, and the bear – for company and reassurance – told a cautionary tale of Blair's life. The pages of that life-book were open and fluttering in the breeze and told Jim all he needed to know; there was no need to read the story. Blair didn't trust him ... didn't trust any of them. At the tender age of three, Blair had already learned a lesson that had taken him years of military service to learn. If you want to live, then trust only yourself.
"Jim?" He didn't turn around. He didn't need to see Joel's face to know what the other man was thinking, or feeling. "What now?"
What now? The question had an infinite number of possible answers, but only one definitive response. "Now we change the story," he said. "We change both our stories."
"Munchkin," Jim said, softly, "do you remember what I told you that night you broke the glass? Do you remember, Blair? Remember the promise I made to you?"
Blair didn't move an inch. He didn't move any closer, but he didn't move any further way.
"I made a promise to you, Blair. I made a promise that I would never hurt you ... not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I know I sounded cross and my voice sounded angry and I'm sorry that it did." Jim held out his hand. "I'm learning here as well, Kiddo, and you're going have to realise that sometimes I'll make mistakes. But you also have to know that when I make a mistake it will never, ever involve me smacking you or hurting you in any way. I need you to realise that, Blair. I need you to know that.
Blair still didn't move physically, but emotionally, Jim felt he was getting through. A single tear tracked a silent path down the little boy's cheek.
"Blair, do you remember the day Simon asked me to see the lady in the big office downtown? The day when I was very, very angry?"
Blair nodded. Angry days never drifted too far out of his mind.
"Remember what happened, Blair? Remember what happened, just between you and me?" Jim pushed a little hard, hoping Blair would remember without having to reveal all the details in front of Joel. "You trusted me, Kiddo. The door was wide opened and you could have left anytime. You could have run away, but you stayed. Do you know why you stayed?"
Blair nodded, just barely, but Jim saw a definite movement, despite the gloom of his surroundings.
"Why did you stay, Blair?"
"'Cause what mama told me." Blair's voice was soft, still unsure.
"What did she tell you, Kiddo?"
"She said, daddies loved they little boys."
"That's right, Blair. Daddies do love their little boys and this daddy loves his little boy more than anything else in the world. But do you know what else?"
Blair wrapped his arm tightly around his teddy bear – another of his shields. Its head flopped to the side and its aging seams bulged under the pressure. "No," he said.
"With love comes trust. Trust to know that I'll never hit you. Trust to know that you're safe with me." Jim held out his other hand, praying to every deity he could think of that Blair would reach out for his hand and take it. That Blair would give in to trust. "Do you trust me, son?"
It was like watching grass grow in slow motion, but finally, inch by precious inch, Blair moved toward Jim. Their hands finally touched, but Jim didn't take a firm hold. The decision was Blair's – and only Blair's – to make. He could keep moving forward or he could move back. Jim had all night.
Blair kept moving forward. He crawled out of the dark and, for a short moment in time, stood perfectly still and stayed perfectly quiet. The porch light shone from behind, outlining his profile. Another tear was captured, this time by Jim's thumb.
Blair folded into his father's arms, but remained perfectly quiet.
~oOo~
