I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.
I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.
Wherever You Are
My Little Runaway
"Jimmy!"
"Jimmy!"
"James Oliver Anderson, can you hear me?!"
He had been right there.
They had been right there.
They had all been right there.
Her and Patrick and Sam and Jimmy.
And then she had gotten up to do . . . something, she couldn't even remember what now.
And Patrick had gone to help her.
And then . . . and then . . . and then . . .
He was just gone.
"Jimmy!"
"Jimmy!"
"James Oliver Anderson, can you hear me?!"
At first they had just thought . . .
"Where's Jimmy?"
"Hiding in his bed, maybe? With his LEGOs? He likes to do that."
He wasn't.
And he wasn't in the bathroom on the potty.
Or under the kitchen table.
Or hiding behind the sofa.
He wasn't anywhere.
And then they had seen him.
Scruffy Sam the Sublime.
Sitting by the kitchen door.
Whining and sniffing.
And nosing at the door as though he wished he had thumbs on his paws to open it.
And they'd started to panic.
"Maybe he's outside?"
He wasn't.
He wasn't in either car.
He wasn't in the hedges.
He wasn't checking the mailbox for Santa.
He just . . . wasn't.
And they . . .
"Do you see him?!"
"No. Do you?!"
"If I did would I be asking you?!"
No response.
Insults and sarcasms were of no importance or significance.
Because their child was gone.
"Jimmy!"
"Jimmy!"
"James Oliver Anderson, can you hear me?"
It was just like one of her crazy, stupid, nightmare visions.
Except it wasn't.
It was real.
It was really, really real.
And it was bad.
Or could be. Might be.
Oh god.
"Jimmy!"
"Jimmy!"
"James Oliver Anderson, can you hear me?!"
And then she saw him.
Jimmy.
Little Jimmy.
Her Little Jimmy.
Her son.
Her child.
Standing there.
By the road.
The road.
How did he get that far?!
The cars and the trucks and the motorcycles.
They're not even slowing down!
And the people.
But what if they do? What about all those people that kidnap children everyday?
"Jimmy!"
And she screamed his name.
And sprinted at him.
If he moved, if he moved-
If someone stopped, if they stopped-
"Ma!"
And he saw.
Raised his hands to her.
A child.
Lost.
And alone.
Her child.
Her only.
Right there next to the road.
And all those people.
And she scooped him up in her arms.
Squeezed him so tight-
"Baby-"
-it probably hurt.
"Oh baby-"
And Patrick was there, face a swarming mixture of terror and relief.
"Baby, don't do that-"
And she, shaking, crumpled to the ground, blinded by the blazing sun and her hysterical tears.
There beside the road.
With the cars.
And the people.
They sank together, the three of them.
All puddled up and crying.
At least the parents.
The ones who knew what could have been.
"Baby-"
Her first instinct was to spank the living hell out of him.
Whale on him until he understood never ever to leave her side again.
Ever.
Scream and yell and shake and rage.
Instead, she just gripped him tighter.
Tighter and tighter 'til he -
"Ooo-"
. . . squirmed.
"Jimmy-"
And she relaxed.
Just a little.
And heard her son's little boy-just-this-side-of-baby voice.
"Mama, where Ma-Da house?"
And she stopped.
Drew back.
"What?"
"Ma-Da house gone-"
Oh my god.
They took him home.
Their little baby boy.
Daddy Patrick carried him.
Nearly wrested him from his mother's grasp in his clear desperation to hold him again.
One hand clutching the back of that little angel's blond tow-head.
The other wrapped around that small, fragile waist.
The child, having been off on quite a big adventure all by himself, seemed content to be cradled in his father's arms.
And they went home.
Laundry basket.
There was a laundry basket in the middle of the floor.
Laundry.
She had been putting up laundry.
Stupid socks and underwear and bras and towels.
Stupid, ridiculous laundry that didn't even matter anyway.
That she had almost lost her boy over.
"Oh god, I'm going to throw up."
After that, they installed child safety restraints on all the door knobs.
Which Little Jimmy promptly removed from said doors and brought to them in his sweet little baby chubby hands.
"Here, Daddy."
"Oh. Uh, thank you?"
And then they drilled child safety locks way up high on the doors . . .
"Uh, Patrick? What about me?"
"Stretch."
. . . and even on the ones that didn't need it.
"Babe?"
"Yeah?"
"That's a closet."
"Oh."
They also talked to the boy.
"Jimmy? Why did you leave without telling us?"
"I go to Ma-Da's house."
A simple, straight-forward answer.
"But Ma-Da lives far away."
He seemed unconvinced.
"No. Ma-Da's house there."
A point.
Right there, Mother. Right out that kitchen door.
Duh.
"Jimmy, Ma-Da and Ma-Ba and Granddaddy live a long way away. We can't walk there. We have to drive."
"Drive. Drive to Ma-Da's house."
"Yes. We're going to go this weeken-"
"Drive Ma-Da's house now."
"No. This weeken-"
"Drive Ma-Ba's house now."
"Ma-Da! Ma-Ba!"
"Baby!"
"Darling!"
"Grandaddy!"
"Hey, Little Man!"
"He did what?!"
Ma-Ba was shaking.
Ma-Da was pale.
Daddy was shaking and pale.
"Oh god, what might have happened?!"
And Annabel felt worse than ever.
"They have to move back here!"
"We have to move down there!"
"Little Jimmy needs us!"
"He could have died!"
"He could have been injured!"
"He could have been taken!"
"We have to talk to them!"
Throughout the entire onslaught of words, Jimmy their darling, the father of their only child and grandfather of their only grandchild, remained silent.
"Jimmy, when they come back-"
"-we have to talk to them!"
Their usually kind, warm voices were unusually strident, shrill.
Hysterical.
Annabel and Patrick would have heard.
If they hadn't taken Scruffy Sam out for a walk.
"Jimmy, tell them-"
"-you've got to tell them-"
Although it was possible they might have heard the couple of blocks away it took for Scruffy Sam to do his doggie business.
The Tattler-Darling-Walker twins were being very . . .
"Ma-Da, too loud. Shh."
"Hush now, my darling Little Jimmy, Ma-Da's just upset."
"No upsep. Shh."
. . . loud.
"We'll tell the new tenant it's not working out-"
"Have Lucy retract the contract-"
"All that matters is that-"
"-they come home where they belong!"
And Jimmy their Darling nodded.
Yeah, yeah. We gotta do something.
"Listen, Patrick, Annabel, we've been thinking . . ."
Jimmy in his chair by the window, was starting off slow, trying to make sure his words got all put in the right order.
". . . it's a big transition, movin' an hour away."
Bette and Dot, his dear darlings, perched on the couch, . . .
"Stressful on you and Little Jimmy."
. . . nodding adamantly across from him.
"And, uh, it's important for him to have a close connection with his family, ya know . . ."
Anxious. Tense.
". . . especially after he ran off the way he did."
Hanging on, waiting for him to speak the words . . .
"And, uh, well, we were, well, I was thinkin' . . ."
. . . they had begged him to say.
". . . maybe a little more time with us would be a good thing."
Which he wasn't going to.
"What would you think about reinstitutin' the weekend sleepover?"
Not exactly.
"Ya know, droppin' him off on Friday afternoon . . .
Not the way they wanted.
". . . and pickin' him up Sunday afternoon?"
But in a way . . .
"Maybe every other weekend?"
. . . he felt . . .
"Even spend Sunday afternoon together . . ."
. . . everyone could live with.
". . . like we've been doin.'"
And still lead the lives . . .
"Whaddya think?"
. . . Annabel and Patrick wanted to.
And then he just waited.
Hoping, praying . . .
"Wow, uh, well . . ."
. . . they'd like it.
". . . that actually sounds . . ."
And that Bette and Dot . . .
". . . yeah . . ."
. . . wouldn't kill him for it.
". . . really awesome, Daddy! Are you . . . are you sure?"
At least not while the kids were present and witnessing.
"Yeah. I believe so."
"O-okay. Thanks, Daddy."
Big hug, grateful grin.
Loving response.
I love you, Annabel.
"That is not getting them closer, Jimmy!"
"No, but it's not pushing them farther away either."
"That is not what we talked about!"
"No. But it's better than what it was."
"We talked about-"
"We didn't talk about anything. You talked. I listened. And I knew Annabel wouldn't even think of going for it. And if she did, she'd hate it and resent us. And this was the best thing I could think of that would work for everybody. And keep our family together. Even if not always physically."
Fiery silence.
Jimmy pushed through, unabated as the Sunday evening waned.
"Don't you think I want them here? Don't you think I want that precious little grandson of mine wandering in and out of our house all the live long day just because he's right next door and can?"
Continued obstination.
"But Annabel wants the life she has and we've got to let her have it. With a smile. And a hug. And belief. It's the only way to keep her close. Is to let her go and do."
Clenched nearly-identical twin jaws.
Gentle, yet firm Jimmy.
"And you know I'm right."
How dare he?
Not even talk to us about it!
We told him to make her come home!
And then he goes off and concocts some other plan!
Every other weekend?
As if that's enough!
Damn him!
Yes!
He is right, you know.
Yes. I know.
And we'll still get time with Little Jimmy.
I know.
And Annabel and Patrick.
I know.
Maybe we could even take a trip down to Sarasota sometime. See what all the fuss is about.
Yes. We could.
Sister? Are you alright?
No.
No. Me either. Hold my hand?
I love you, Bette.
I love you, Dot.
And I love Jimmy, our Big Jimmy.
I'm not going to call him that.
Oh, can you imagine how he'd strut?
Strut, my ass. He couldn't even bring our daughter home. Our son-in-law. Our grandson.
Sister-
I know, I know. Just give me some time.
Do you want me to tell him everything's okay?
No. Let him suffer.
Bette-
Tomorrow. You can tell him tomorrow. Maybe it will be true.
Alri-
Maybe.
"So, darling, when would you like to bring us that grandson of ours for the weekend?"
"Have a little extra time with just you and Patrick?"
"Oh, um, well, uh . . . is this weekend too early? I know it's already Wednesday but-"
"No, no! We don't mind at all! We kept our calendar open for just such an occasion."
"Now what do you think you and Patrick might get up to during your special weekend?"
"I would say 'sex' but I don't want to-"
"Good for you, darling!"
"Uh, yeah . . ."
Happy New Year, everyone!
And yeah, careful with your kids, okay? When my youngest was two, he just decided to go out the garage door and made it almost to the street in our little cove neighborhood.
And yes, since you ask, he also took all the child safety locks off all the doors in our house and brought them to us. Repeatedly.
So, yeah, watch 'em. ;)
Thanks to brigid1318, autumnrose2010, and midnightrebellion86 for reviewing before. :)