I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.

I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.

Wherever You Are

Always

He had thought about performing one last time, on Halloween. Juggle. Sing. Anything. To make him come and see.

But if he had no hands, he was no longer a freak, was he? He was just a man. A man with no hands.

A freakless freak. Without a Halloween.

And therefore, uninteresting to the creature the fearful, whispering sideshow carnies knew as Edward Mordrake.

Plus, Jimmy reminded himself in his darkest of nights, if he did somehow manage to die by the undead hand of the double-faced aristocrat, he would never again be reunited with his darling wives.

And that, for Jimmy, would be Hell.

So he endured.

Day after endlessly dull, Tattler-less day.

And then, it happened.

"Hi, Daddy."

She finally called.

Not Patrick.

Not a telemarketer.

Not a wrong, drunk . . .

"Hey, man, tell Terry to come to the phone, man."

Sorry, son, you've got the wrong number."

"Oh bullshit, man, I know he's there. Put him on the phone."

. . . dumbass.

"Hi, Annabel. How are ya?"

Her reply, though civil, sounded somewhat strained.

"Daddy, Patrick and I have been talking."

Words clipped.

"Oh yeah? What's going on?"

But calm and composed.

"And, well . . ."

And she stopped.

And he waited.

He had all the time in the world.

Time.

He was just biding it until he could be with his darlings again anyway.

If only it didn't have to go so slow.

And then Annabel spoke again.

". . . we want you to come live with us."

With certainty.

"In Sarasota."

And Jimmy, of course, adamantly refused.

"No, Annabel. You've got your own life. I don't want to get in the w-"

But Annabel was Annabel.

Especially when she had made up her mind.

Just like . . .

Bette and Dot. Girls, I swear, she's just like you.

. . . her mothers.

"You won't be in the way, Daddy. We want you with us. And so does Little Jimmy. He needs his granddaddy."

"Annabel, you don't need the burden of-"

"Daddy, I love you, but that's a load of shit. We have an extra room. We want you. Please. I'm sorry I shut you out. I was wrong. Please come be with us now."

So, to cool the fire in his daughter's heart and to lighten the heaviness his own, Jimmy Darling Walker, packed up his things.

And went.

The house sold.

Record time.

Young couple, just starting out.

He nodded and smiled and wished them well.

". . . leaks in the humidity sometimes. Just lettin' ya know."

Then sat himself in the passenger seat of his son-in-law's Rabbit . . .

"Are you okay, sir?"

And Jimmy managed a passing smile.

"What'd I tell ya about that 'sir' there, Patrick?"

Patrick, good bo-,er, man, amending once more.

Almost a cadence between the two of them now.

"Jimmy. Are you alright, Jimmy?"

"Yep, just about. It's justa house, ya know."

And they both knew, as Annabel would so kindly put it later on in response to her husband's retelling, that statement was full of shit.

But the orphan Patrick Anderson . . .

"Okay. Would you like to stay and say goodbye another minute?"

"No. No. Time to move on. Life's for the livin'."

. . . knew when to let brave words be brave words . . .

"Alright. Come on, Sam."

. . . in the hearts of those who manage to speak them.

"We'll take Poplar, I think."

And when not to drive past the boarded up old storefront that used to be Clark's Grocery.

Life was different in Sarasota.

More noise . . .

"Hey, Granddaddy!"

"Hey, Little Man!"

More mess.

"And the Cheerios spoon launch is a success!"

"Yeah, it sure is. Can you get 'em out my hair? Thanks."

"What's going on in here?"

"Nothing."

"Why is Sam covered in breakfast cereal?"

"Uhhh . . ."

More everything.

"Going on the trolley tour with us Sunday, Daddy?"

"Sure, Annabel, sounds like fun."

And Jimmy, adjusting to life outside Brandon, Florida, grew to love it.

It was a good five years.

". . . lunch with me, Daddy?"

"Sure. We'll call it a date."

"You got it, Daddy."

Not always good.

"How'd you do that to your arm, Little Man?"

Life's not that way.

"Chuck said I couldn't do a backward somersault off the trampoline into the pool at his house."

"How'd that work out for ya?"

"Duh."

But mostly . . .

". . . -ya Harding, Jimmy? I didn't know girls could be so violent."

"I did."

. . . after a while . . .

"Really?"

. . . life's just . . .

"Yep. I'll tell you a story one day."

. . . life.

And then, one Saturday afternoon, he felt more tired than usual.

Heart aching thick and dull in his chest.

"Think I'm gonna lay down for a while."

And Annabel's heterchromiated eyes zeroed in on her father.

She was thirty-five now. Strands of grey now just starting to streak her blondish brown hair.

She fretted over it, he knew.

She had no idea how beautiful she really was.

"Sure, Daddy. You okay?"

He summoned a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Just tired."

She went to him then, hugged him tight.

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, Annabel. See you in a bit, alright?"

He pet the dog.

"That's a good boy, Sam."

And met Patrick just coming out of his twelve year old's room where . . .

". . . you next time-"

. . . the boy seemed to have just been in the process of beating the stuffing out of his father in WWF Raw.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try, Dad!"

And faced Jimmy's smiling mug.

"He's just so much better at that than me."

Jimmy nodded.

"I don't even think hands would help me beat 'im, ha. Listen, I'm gonna lay down a while."

Patrick nodded amicably.

Jimmy poked his head in his grandson's room momentarily.

"Hey, Little Man! I love ya!"

Goodnatured eye-roll from the prepubescent boy.

"Granddad, I'm not little, I'm twelve!"

"I know, Little Man."

Then he turned back to his smiling son-in-law.

Jimmy wished he had a real hand to lay on the forty year old's shoulder.

"I'm proud to call you my son, Patrick. You're a good man and I love you."

He was old now. Old and wiser and unencumbered by the cares and concerns of youth.

He could say it now because he felt it.

Say it and not care how uncool it sounded.

Patrick, younger and far wiser than Jimmy by a good three decades, responded without hesitation or embarrassment.

"I love you too. Sir."

They grinned at each other in mutual love.

"You take care of them now, Patrick. And make them take care of you too. That's part of the deal. You take care of each other."

Patrick nodded in agreement.

"We do. Thank you."

Then his face became a puzzle.

"I thought you were just going to lay down for a while."

Jimmy nodded, shrugging.

"I am. Sometimes though, at my time of life, things have to be said when they're thought or you miss remembering to say them."

Then he shuffled on, vaguely aware his son-in-law was probably staring at his slightly hunched back in unease.

I sure do love 'em. All of 'em.

Sure gonna miss 'em.

In his room, he undid his hooks, letting them slip them down onto the floor by his bedside.

Relieving his shriveled, aching stumps of their forty-five year burden.

Already feeling lighter, more relieved.

The afternoon light soft and warming on the comforter of the single bed.

He sank into it, sighing deeply as his weary bones groaned and ached.

I wish, I wish . . .

I wish I had my hands again.

I'd touch their faces and stroke their hair.

I'd hold their hands.

And tell them all how much I love them.

I'd tell them all.

Did I?

Did I tell them all?

Then Jimmy Darling Walker closed his weary dark eyes.

And went to sleep.

Thanks to brigid1318, autumnrose2010, and midrebellion86 for reviewing previously.

Final scene tomorrow.