Lost and Found part IV

Jay

The first thing I notice is that Liam in involved in some kind of activity, his voice breathy and hurried. I can also tell he is outside. First I am angry, then I realize he is calling for a reason and it is probably a good one. He is clear and concise with his concerns and leaves it to me to make the phone call that he can't bear to as he speeds towards his friends house. I trust his concerns and the inclination that go along with them. I don't hesitate.

By the time I get there the ambulance has arrived. The paramedics are in the house and I enter yelling out for my son. He responds from upstairs and I bound up the polished wood with the oriental runner that I'm sure cost more than I make in a month or several months. They are loading Jameson onto a stretcher and Liam is barely holding it together.

I pull him out of the way as they bump their way down the stairs. Once we get back out front I secure the door as best I can, noticing the splintering around the frame. I ask what hospital they are going to and shove Liam into the truck. He is staring at nothing, practically catatonic. I notice he has no coat on, but doesn't even seem to feel the cold. I shrug out of mine and wrap it around him before I stretch the seatbelt out and snap it into place and finally shut the door.

I follow the ambulance as it speeds through the streets while Liam hides in his shock and silence. I don't know what to say or how to say it. Liam and Jameson have been inseparable from the first day of their freshman orientation. Something with them just clicked and they've never unclicked. Mostly it's been good, but there have been bumps, but I can't say that I ever saw this coming and from the look of Liam neither did he.

"You okay?" I ask as I look over at him. At first I don't think he heard me, but he finally croaks out that no, he isn't. I want to ask him a million questions but I know that he can't even answer one right now, so I leave it. Besides answers won't help anything at the moment.

The ambulance pulls into the ED entrance and I find a restricted parking space and pull the truck into it and sling my police parking hanger over my rearview as Liam falls out of the truck and lands on his feet by pure luck. I run over and pull him close, ever so grateful that he is by my side and not the one on the gurney.

We rush into the hospital to see the paramedics speaking with a nurse as a doctor jogs their way. I hear a lot of medical speak and just as we get there Jameson has a violent seizure. Liam's eyes are huge and horrified as he watches his friends body jerk and flail.

"Do you know what he took?" The doctor asks, his voice steady but rushed.

"No," Liam manages to get out.

"Does he take drugs regularly? His parents have any prescriptions?" The rapid fire questions continue as they take Jameson away.

"Um, um, he only does stuff sometimes." Liam stammers.

"It doesn't matter that your dad is here, or what his parents might do, we need to know in order to treat him faster." The doctor begs. "Was this an accident? Intentional?"

"An accident. I think. He's been okay, I guess." Liam is clearly flustered. I squeeze his arm for support but I'm not sure he is even aware of the action.

"Doc," a nurse yells out, causing the doctor to turn around. He grabs Liam and pulls him along with him. "Look at this," the nurse says pointing out a ragged scar on Jameson's left wrist. He had always worn a black leather bracelet on that wrist, it was thick and he was never without out it other than when he was in the pool, now I guess we know why.

"Do you know when he did this?" The doctor asks.

"No," Liam stares. "I didn't even—I didn't—he never told me. He sometimes does Xanax when he is stressed." Liam volunteers.

"Has he been stressed?"

"I think so," Liam says as Will comes around the corner. "His parents—" he begins before he sees his uncle.

There is nodding between my brother and the other doctor and Will guides us to the hallway and then into the doctors lounge where Liam slips away from me and down to the floor, his world reduced to sobs.

I hurry over to my son and try and decide whether to sit on the floor with him or pick him up. In the end I sit down and slip behind him and hold him against me as Will looks on. I have a feeling Will is thinking back to five years ago when I was shot and it was touch and go for awhile. Liam hadn't handled it well. But who could blame him, and I would have been heartbroken if he hadn't had issues.

"I'll go see what's going on. I'll be back when I have some answers. You can stay in here," he says as he turns to leave.

"Wait," Liam calls out. "Vicodin, he does Vicodin sometimes if he can get it."

"Okay, thanks," Will says and then disappears from sight.

"Is he going to die? I don't want him to die," Liam says, his voice interrupted by his rapid inhalations brought on by his sobs.

"He has the best doctors working on him. They will do everything they can. You said something about him being stressed and his parents. What did you mean by that?"

"I think it's our fault he did this," Liam says and then dissolves back into tears, his body stiffening against mine as I hold him tightly and let him cry it out wondering what he is talking about.

I hold him as if he might be ripped from my arms at any second. I whisper that it will be okay and that I love him. And I wonder how we ended up here. Again I am so grateful that he is here with me and not the one with tubes and wires and myriad of doctors around him. I'm so afraid he has been putting himself in situations that could place him in Jameson's position at any time. The door opens and woman in scrubs starts to walk in but sees us and turns back around and exits just as quickly. I'm am appreciative of her giving up her few moments of quiet so that could have ours. Finally Liam seems to relax.

"I'm okay," he says and pulls free and stands up and walks across the small room. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot and despite the reason, I think it's a wonderful thing that he can mourn the actions of his friend, especially in front of me. I had been concerned that he had pulled so far away that I would never get even a piece of him back.

"Why do you think it was our fault that he did this?" I ask, thinking back to what he had said when we first came into the room.

"It was after his swim meet that he got kinda depressed."

"He did great. He qualified for super sectionals."

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. But I think he said his parents were coming."

"Were they there?"

"I don't think so. But to be honest I only met them once."

"I still don't understand why it would be our fault."

"It's not, but—well, I don't know." He stops talking and looks at the floor. "Dad," he says loudly enough to startle me.

"Yeah," I answer looking at him.

"I didn't tell you everything. Before I was grounded, when I told you all that stuff that I had been doing I left some of it out. I have to tell you, I have to tell you now."

"Okay," I respond, making my way to the couch across from where he is standing, leaning against the wall, his eyes cast downward. All kinds of things race through my brain. He wasn't as careful as he thought and girl has told him she is pregnant. He has a heroin habit. He has dropped out of school and hacked into the schools computer so I can see grades that don't exist.

I am so lost in my own thoughts I almost miss it when he begins to talk. "Um, when I'm at Jameson's house, we, I," he amends, "I sometimes drink some of his dad's expensive alcohol. It's in a fancy bottle and it's old. Jameson says it costs a fortune."

"What is it?" I ask trying to keep my voice even.

"Scotch? Aged scotch, Macallan is the name I think. I just take sips, it's like drinking fire."

"Then why do you drink it?"

"Because we're, I mean, I'm, not supposed to. Because it makes me feel warm inside."

I, not for one second believe that Liam is drinking the good scotch all by himself, but I let it go for now. "I see. Won't he notice it missing?"

"He's not home enough to notice. At least that's what Jameson says. He's not a cop like you, seeing what's different all the time."

"This is going to stop right?" I ask, as I think about all the differences with Liam that I hadn't noticed.

"Yes, it already has. Mostly because I haven't been to his house. But when I was, when we worked on that project I didn't touch it."

"Okay," I say quietly.

"Dad."

"Yeah."

"There's more."

My stomach lurches as I can't even begin to imagine what is next. Is it the pregnancy fear or the heroin addiction?

"Sometimes, he has pot. I think it comes from the dispensary because it's in little jars with weird names, like Fruit Cocktail and Rainbow Banana. I don't know how he gets it."

"And you smoke it?"

"Just a little."

"Like the sips of scotch?"

"Yeah, like that. It makes me feel all floaty and sometimes that's what I need to feel. It's like life is always pulling me the direction it wants and this makes it stop—at least for a little while."

"Is that it?" I ask, terrified that it's not.

"Yes sir, that's it." He says looking up at me, his eyes beginning to return to a normal state. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I did it and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before. I figure there will be extra tacked on to my punishment, but I don't care—you deserve to know and I deserved to have to tell you."

I'm not quite sure what he meant by the last part, but I'll take the honesty all day long. I feel like my whole body has been shaken and it's still rattling. But at least I know and I'm thankful that I do.

"I had to tell you. I want you to trust me again."

"Okay, this is a great step towards that," I say quietly thinking back to a dream that I've had several times over the last weeks. I pat the couch next to me and he comes over and sits down. "I've had this dream about you."

"Another one? Do I die?"

"I don't know. Somehow, I know that you are on the DuSable Bridge, I think I dream it's that bridge because of the report you did on him, anyway, you are sitting there with your legs dangling off as people just walk on by. I run up and you see me, but don't react. I start talking to you, trying to reach you, but I just can't seem to get close enough to you. I beg you to come to me, but you just keep sitting there and then finally you stand up and then I wake up. I don't know if you come to me or jump."

"I come to you. I came to you tonight. I didn't jump, I promise that I won't jump."

"I think you're right, that you do come to me. I think what you just confided in me means exactly that," I say as I put my arm around him and pull him to me. "We'll talk about your other indiscretions when we get home," I promise him.

"Okay," he says quietly as he leans back and closes his eyes. He opens them again and looks at me. "Dad, do you think Grandpa had the same dream about you? Did you go to him or jump?"

"I don't think he ever dreamed about me."

"Which would you have done?"

I just look at him with a weak smile, having a suspicion that my choice wouldn't have taken me to my father. I quickly change the subject. "I'm surprised that Jameson isn't in some boarding school somewhere."

"He was." Liam replies, letting go of his question, for which I am grateful.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Some fancy school up in northern Michigan. He went to junior high there. He hated it. During eighth grade he said he kept getting into trouble and threatened to run away if his parents didn't let him go to school in Chicago. I guess he got his way."

"I guess so," I reply, but as I look over Liam's eyes are closed and he looks relaxed.

Liam

I know my uncle thinks I'm asleep when he comes in to talk to my dad, but even though I had been dozing, I was awake now. But I kept my eyes closed so they wouldn't hold anything back on my account.

"We got a hold of Jameson's parents." Will says quietly.

"Are they getting on the next flight?"

"They're not coming."

"What!?" My dad asks, louder than he intended.

"We got him stable, but he's still asleep. They said this stunt was all for attention and they don't reward acting out."

"Unbelievable. What kind of parents are they?" My dad asks. I could tell he got up and was pacing the room, totally frustrated with the acts of the senior Pendelton's.

"The nanny is in Iowa visiting a sick friend. She wasn't going to go, but Jameson insisted. Said he was going to be spending a lot of time at the pool in preparation for the upcoming meet. She is on her way back."

I could hear my dad sigh in frustration as I opened my eyes. "At least I was only abandoned by one parent." I say. "Is he going to be okay?"

"You heard everything I take it?" Uncle Will asked.

"Yep. I'm not surprised. His parents are pretty much gone eleven months out of the year."

"Like I said, he is stable, but until he wakes up, we won't know anything for certain."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know kiddo. We're keeping a close eye on him. He'll have to stay for a couple of days, especially since his parents aren't coming. We need him to talk to a few people about how he feels."

"Like a seventy-two hour suicide hold?"

"Something like that. We need to know how he is feeling and why he did this."

"I get it. I let him down. He wanted to hang out with me but I couldn't, because I screwed up. He texted me a bunch of times today, but I barely read them. If I had answered him—he was just reaching out to me and I ignored him."

"Hey, you can't put this on yourself. You are not the reason that he is here." Will said.

"Maybe, maybe not. But right now, it sure feels that way. I let him slip away and even if he comes back one hundred percent, neither one of us will be the same. I will always have it tucked away in my heart—like a black spot."

"Son, you are human, imperfect. You can't know everything, be everywhere, be responsible for the world."

"You are."

"I try and do my best, but believe me, I have black spots all over my heart. Some I don't deserve, but many that I do."

I can't imagine what he was responsible for that had ever blackened his heart. I mean, I know he was in combat, were there mistakes there or were there mistakes closer to home? Or both? But I have to believe he was doing his best and what he thought was right. Me on the other hand, I just dropped the ball and was selfish.

"I'm going to get some dinner, what do you want me to bring back?" Will asked.

We gave our dinner order and decided to step outside for some fresh air. If I was a smoker I would have gladly polluted the air to help calm me down, but somehow I think my dad would have frowned upon that. Also, I'm not a smoker, nor do I have any cigarette's.

"We have a lot we need to talk about," Dad tells me as we breathe in the Chicago air, that is one part lake breeze and two parts exhaust fumes.

"I'm sorry," I say, figuring it might buy me a minute or two.

"Me too," he sighs and I wonder what the hell he has to be sorry about.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Clearly I haven't been there for you. I haven't done enough to let you know that you can come to me when you need to. That I am available to you."

"You aren't." I reply. I don't say this to be mean, but it is simply the truth. No parent really is, at least not one that values their job. It's then that I realize I have not mentioned the fact that I know the lockbox code and take out his gun. I'm afraid if I do, I'll be in the bed next to Jameson on a seventy-two hour hold. Besides, he always has the gun, and generally when it's in the box, it's because he is home. But there is occasionally a window of opportunity for me to hold all the power in the world, in the palm of my hand. Life and death, lost and found.

I wrote an essay on the topic. Life and death, a life lost, a death found. To conquer death, you only have to die. It seems so very simple. But dad speaks and shakes me out of my reverie as I ponder if Jameson was truly trying to conquer death.

"You're right and I'm sorry." He says, his eyes reflecting that his words are sincere.

"Change the lockbox code." I spit out so fast, I'm not even sure I said it. But I can tell that I had as Dad's head nearly spun around.

"What are you talking about?" He asks, his face contorted from shock, to anger, to bewilderment.

"I know the code. I took your gun out a couple of months ago. I didn't put the clip in. I just sat on your bed and held it. I don't know why, and that scares me." I conveniently leave out that I did it not only a couple of months ago, but a few weeks before that, and a week before that. It was the forbidden fruit and I just had to touch it.

I thought back to when I first understood that he put his gun away every night. I don't remember how old I was, six maybe? Seven? The lecture, the same one I got two or three times a year, it started out about the dangers and responsibility that came with guns and ended with the threat of monumental punishment if I were to ever touch it.

Then came the time when I was thirteen and had gotten caught playing with a gun—it wasn't my dad's but somehow that didn't seem to matter much. The lecture on that one seemed to last for days and the punishment for months.

We had been walking, but suddenly my dad plants his feet and seems rooted to the sidewalk. I regret my words, I should have kept it all to myself. How much more can this man take? He had done nothing but try to keep our heads above water and here I go pushing his down.

"Why?" He looks at me with an expression I don't recognize.

"I don't even know. Not really. I am so sorry Dad. For everything. You don't deserve any of it. You're the one that has stayed with me. I know that you have done so much for me and I can only focus on what I believe you haven't done. Nothing I have done has been fair to you.

"I found the letter and I was mad at you for what Mom wrote. I think it's just because you were here and she wasn't. I did all the wrong things."

"You had my gun?"

"I wasn't going to load it or use it—I swear. I just wanted to hold it."

"Why?" He asks again.

"I'm not really sure. Because it was yours? Because it has probably saved your life more than I'll ever know and because of that—I needed to—I don't know. It's just that sometimes the world is so incredibly loud and full of unknowns. Maybe I felt that somehow it would provide me with some kind of peace. I haven't done it since I've been grounded."

"Because you haven't been alone with it, except for brief moments," he says, almost breathless. He acts as if I have just punched him the gut and I suppose I have. "We clearly have a lot to talk about. Drinking, drugs, sex and guns? I don't even know what to say. Please tell me that is your last revelation?"

"It is. I swear. You know everything now."

He blows out a mouthful of air that appears that he had been holding onto since the start of our conversation. "This all has to change son. Coming clean is a great a first step, but we have to keep walking forward."

"I'm at your mercy."

"Is it punishment that you are looking for? Do you still feel responsible for Jameson?"

"Maybe? I don't know. But this all happened before tonight. I'm really not sure why I have done all that I have. I'm not perfect, I did stuff, but when I found that letter, it was like I just didn't care anymore. Mom says she cared so much and she still left, so what did anything matter. Do the wrong thing for the right reason, the right thing for the wrong reason or do everything for no reason at all. The world is so fucked up and I just didn't care anymore."

"And I never noticed." He admitted.

"I didn't make it easy for you. I was never going to hurt myself."

"But you did, can't you see that?" He asks, his eyes wide as leans back against the wall of the hospital. "Everything you did was so dangerous. The drinking could have gotten out of hand, the drugs—son you know that there is very little margin of error with drugs. You also know I spend so much of my time getting them off the streets and here you are gobbling them down and then having sex? How careful can you be if you are drunk or high? It has already cost you a relationship that you valued. What if I hadn't cleared the chamber and you pulled the trigger?"

"You always clear the chamber and the safety is always on."

"I'm human and often tired when I get home. There is always a chance that I screw up. Son, if I lost you, if anything happened to you—and here you are tempting fate." He says, his voice catching.

I look at the devastation on his face as the guilt washes over me. I had hurt him deeply—the man that sacrificed so much for me and I had just tossed it all back in his face.

"What happens now?" He asks me.

"I don't know. I join the Boy Scouts?"

"It all stops now. I know there is a wide world out there reaching out for you to taste it—I get it. I was a kid a million years ago. I tasted the forbidden fruit—pushed my limits. But the thrill never lasts long and the consequences do."

"What stopped you from doing that stuff?"

"My father's threats and the fact that he often carried them out. But mostly the look of disappointment on my mother's face. The worry, the look of defeat, the feeling that I had failed her."

"Kinda like the expression on your face now."

"Probably." He admits, the lines on his face deepening with every word. "Listen to me—going to parties is one thing, but getting drunk, doing drugs, if you can't be there and stay sober then you won't go. Watching a bunch of people getting stupid can be quite entertaining. Plus you can watch out for them."

"Sounds impossible."

"Think of it like this—picture Macy at a party," he begins and I nod, easily envisioning her, "she is drinking, maybe even more than that, she is loose, uninhibited, and some guy invites her to a back bedroom. Would she go if she was sober?"

"No, she wouldn't."

"But there she goes now. You're there, you're straight, can you stop her?"

"I'd try—I would, even if I had to knock the guy out."

"And there's the difference. At that party when you were bombed out of your mind, do you really think you were all that careful with Hannah? If she came to you and said she was pregnant, could you be absolutely sure it wasn't yours?"

"I get what you're saying. But I couldn't have gotten her pregnant—not with what we did," I tell him, my face flushing red.

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure it doesn't work that way."

"You know you can still get an STD even if it's only oral sex."

"Dad," I say quickly, totally embarrassed.

"Hey if you can't talk about it then you shouldn't be doing it. You shouldn't be doing it anyway. In fact after Will gets back and we eat, I think you should be tested."

"No way," I reply, horrified. I can tell my dad is certain this a great punishment as well as a diagnostic tool.

"Sex isn't a toy. It has serious consequences."

"I know. I'm one of them."

"Fifteen years and counting," he winks. "You add drugs and alcohol—well if she was under the influence you are setting yourself up for all kinds of problems. Do you understand? With the age of videos you are at risk of having a very private moment uploaded for all to see."

"Guess I never thought about that."

"Put the brakes on—please. At least until your sixteen. It needs to be special, meaningful. It's time to reevaluate your choices."

"Okay," I agree, thinking this is probably not a bad idea. Besides being with anyone besides Macy didn't feel right, and the kiss aside, it was going to be a long time before she let me touch her in a meaningful way again.

By the time our excursion ends, I have found myself staring at a minimum of two sessions with Dr. Charles in addition to the STD testing. Also, no driver's license before my seventeenth birthday and being subjected to sobriety test each time I come home. He says he will know if I have strayed and whether or not he will, I believe him, because I desperately need to. I need to know that he has my back and will call me out on my indiscretions. I trust that he will, because he is busy doing it now.

And he has already come up with a new code for the lockbox, that of course will be kept secret. That is a secret I can live with.

I need him to be my foundation, because when I read my mother's letter, I crumbled like an abandoned building. Now, my dad was rebuilding me one piece at a time. I can't wait to be whole again, and wonder how much time it will take. But then I think how grateful I am to have someone who can build me up while my friend lies in bed alone and doubting his self-worth.

After we eat dinner in the doctors lounge, Will heads off to check on Jameson. I clear our table and sit back down as my dad looks at me, his gaze holds something I cannot quite pinpoint—gentle, curious but somehow at the same time held a rigidity that reminded me that although I had been forgiven, I still owed a penance.

"Are you upset with Jameson?" He asks me as he wipes away invisible crumbs from the table.

"Yes."

"Why."

I take my time answering, trying to line up my thoughts through my oncoming exhaustion. "Because he was stupid and reckless—" and suddenly I see what he is doing, where he is leading me, but I continue anyway. "Because it could have ended so badly. He thought nobody cared about him—but I do—we do. I get it—Mom had to leave, but for my own good, and you are here and care about me."

"Care deeply. And when you act recklessly, it scares me, hurts me."

"I guess I never thought about that. I never meant to hurt you. I just—I lashed out and you are the only one here to absorb the blows." He nods, seemingly understanding my explanation. My guilt washes over me in huge waves. I can't imagine what I would have done or thought if hadn't stepped up and made me accountable. What if I had Jameson's parents, would I have taken the same action as my friend? I need to stop fighting my father's love. He may work a lot, but he has never withheld the most important factor in a relationship.

I stand up and stretch and as I finish my father is standing next to me and pulls me into an embrace. I feel his love, steady and unyielding just as I imagine he wants me to. I feel his strength both inside and out and suddenly I can't hold him tight enough as tears spring into my eyes as all the emotions of the last weeks and months come at me at a speed that I can't ingest.

We part and suddenly I know I will be okay. We talk briefly one more time before Will returns. I understand that there isn't an expectation of perfection, but there are expectations and consequences if they are not met. But while thinking of my friend, who was just frisked by death—I'll wholeheartedly accept them.

Jay

I let go of Liam when his hands finally release me. He needed the embrace just as much as I did. I have spoken with Will on a regular basis since I had discovered Liam's downfall. I had to share it with someone and he is an excellent listener and withholds his opinion until I specifically ask him for it—most likely because he simply doesn't have any worthwhile answers. But still, it helps that someone else is in this adolescent vortex along with me.

Of course everyone at work is aware that something is amiss. They know that Liam didn't stop by after school for the ambiance or the study of police work. I haven't given them details and they haven't asked. They don't know he has had recent moments of being a sullen teenager, smelling of sex and booze, battling a high he can't control, telling me to fuck off in his drunken stupor. They still see him as the adorable five year old he was when I first came to the team. Or the sweet ten year old who handed out homemade bracelets and high fives.

He has fallen so far so fast, the hole he is responsible for was not dug by a teaspoon, but by a backhoe. Once when he was eight and we were living with Erin I had one of those exhausting days of balancing the responsibilities of work and Liam's many needs. It was a day filled with drop-off's and pick-up's, forgotten homework, a play date in a far flung neighborhood, a lost baseball cleat and the fact that he needed nourishment in the midst of all this chaos. I had told her that night as I collapsed into bed that night that I wasn't sure I could keep this up for ten more years. She quickly reminded me it could always be worse, that it could have been twins—or—and she pauses for a beat, piquing my curiosity as I waited for the back half of her offering. She finally smiled and said and says, "a girl." What would I have done if Liam had been a girl? I wouldn't even have the beginning of a clue as to what to do with a tiny female. But then again, Liam is the same sex as I am and I still don't have a clue.

The ice he and Jameson have both been skating on was so thin, that I am beyond grateful that they haven't fallen through, though we still don't know what damage Jameson might have suffered—beyond what he already has. I feel as if both Jameson and Liam have been lost and are still not yet found—a teenage purgatory. I see it all the time, each and every day—the streets filled with uncertainty wrapped in baggy jeans and eyes dulled by disillusion. Many of these souls are never recovered, not fully, but then are any of us able to shed the parts of our embittered youth?

Our wait seems to go on for too long—Will has been gone forever and it concerns me. I look over to see the same concern on Liam's face. Something is not right—or, Will simply got held up in transit. Finally he comes through the door, his face stoic, but then it often is—his medical face I call it.

"He's awake. I told him that you were both here and he seemed surprised. I also told him that his parents weren't coming home and he didn't seem the least bit surprised by that. But he asked for you Liam." He motioned his head for us to follow and so we did.

Liam seemed tentative at first, but as we walked he picked up the pace until he practically passed Will.

"He's right in there," my brother pointed and Liam quickly disappeared through the door.

Liam

I enter the room, walking slowly but getting there too quickly. Jameson is in bed with an IV piercing his hand and hooked up to beeping monitors. It took me back to the time when my father was shot and suddenly my knees went weak. Life is precarious at best and I was sick of these constant reminders. Jameson's eyes were closed, but he must have heard me coming because his eyelids flipped open.

"You came," he proclaimed.

"Of course I did."

"Come sit down on the bed. They took my contacts out and I can't see shit. I guess next time I do this I should put my glasses on."

"There won't be a next time," I tell him with as much conviction as I can.

"I'm sorry that I pulled you into this drama."

"Drama? Dude you could have died."

"I guess so. But then I guess that was the point. I remember changing my mind—that my parents had already taken so much from that they weren't going to take me too. But as I dialed your number, I thought, what if you don't answer. I know you would have felt so guilty and that was the last thing I wanted. But you did answer and you came."

"I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I called my dad on the way and I kinda broke your door."

"What?"

"I just sorta ran through it—adrenaline, I guess."

"It was unlocked."

"Oh. Anyway, my dad called the ambulance and showed up just before it took you away and we followed you here. I told him everything—about the man cave activities. Sorry, but I had to."

"It's okay."

"What did you take?"

"Everything I could find. I just couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't see anything clearly, or maybe it's because I finally did see everything clearly."

"What did you see?"

He took a deep breath and despite his blurry vision looked across the room. "It was my swim meet. My parents promised they'd be there. This was as far as I had ever gotten—sectionals—a chance at super sectionals. My mom said they would be back in the country and would definitely plan to see me swim. She promised me!" He said gritting his teeth.

"I had called and left messages that day and texted both of them a million times and never got a damn response and I knew. I knew! But I still had hope—hope that somehow that they just couldn't answer for some reason. But when I finished and looked around I didn't see them anywhere. I didn't see anybody until I got out of the pool and saw you. Then, as I kept looking around I saw your dad. He was smiling and clapping and gave me a thumbs up. I couldn't believe he had made it. He was there, despite his schedule—and I think that hurt more than I could have ever imagined."

I had feared this and said as much earlier when I had told my dad this suicide attempt was our fault. But it hurt so much to hear it from him.

"You had been in a funk before you got grounded and you wouldn't tell me why. I began to wonder if we really were friends. I mean if you couldn't tell me what was bothering you, then was I really worth the relationship? Then you were grounded and I just felt adrift. I had never really had many friends and no real friends until you—and I was watching you slip away—or at least that's what it felt like. Then you were at my meet—and—nothing made sense to me anymore."

"My dad said I could go and watch you."

"I took a beautiful gesture of you and your dad supporting me—it was lost on me. I was beginning to see every gesture as shitty. Your effort only reminded me of my parents lack of it. I had made a bargain—in my head—to myself, that if my parents just did this one thing, then their absence the rest of the year wouldn't even matter if they could just do this for me. But they couldn't, wouldn't. I was that meaningless to them.

"I got a text that night saying their schedule had changed. That was it. No apology. They didn't even ask how I did."

"I'm sorry man. So sorry."

"And you were falling apart and wouldn't tell me why. So I began to wonder what was the point of me even being here."

"You can't leave me in this world alone," I tell him.

"But you aren't alone. You have your dad—his coworkers—they're like your extended family. You have your uncle, who I met a few minutes ago. Plus Macy still loves you—I can tell. And you have a lot of other friends that just tolerate me when I'm with you."

"That's not true. They like you."

"This," he says holding up his scarred wrist ignoring my reply. "Remember when I told you that I wanted out of that boarding school so I started acting out and threatened to run away?" I nodded. "I did all that, but the school was used to working with spoiled rich brats and nothing seemed to work. My parents certainly didn't care and as long as they paid the bill, the school didn't either.

"So I did this," he said holding up his wrist, the raised skin, red and evident. "The school didn't want the notoriety of a suicide—not something you put in the pamphlet. So, I actually won a battle. But I only cut one wrist—in case nobody came, I could still stop the bleeding."

"But someone did find you?"

"My roommate. He was a decent kid I guess. He called for help and stayed with me. It royally pissed my parents off. They had let Marta go and she had gotten another job, so they had to basically double her pay to get her to return. Not too many nannies want to start with a thirteen year old, so it was worth it to them to get her back quickly."

"What about summers?"

"I thought I would travel with them. But they had found a camp in Alaska that started right after school and ended when school started."

"What does your dad do for a living?"

He laughs out loud and it unnerves me. "A job? He doesn't work. The money is inherited. My great-grandfather and grandfather made the money. My mom came from her own money—even older than my dad's. Their marriage was never about love, but keeping up with some kind of standards demanded by the rich. And apparently the lack of love produced—well the inability to do so."

"Wow. I thought your dad worked at some big job, that required all that travel and your mom was either helping him or supporting him in some way."

"She doesn't want him to have any freedom. She doesn't even want to be with him, but she doesn't want him to be alone either. God forbid either one of them find happiness I suppose—maybe it's true that misery does love company."

"So do you get any of the family money?"

"I do. I have a trust that is set up for my education. But the money can only be used for my education. Then when I'm twenty-two, providing I have graduated from an approved college, I get a sum. I get another amount when I'm twenty-five and then again at thirty."

"Were you grandfather and great-grandfather good people?"

"Actually they were. They made their money in concrete or something. But my great-grandfather had started out as a working man and he made my grandfather do the same."

"Well, the best way to honor them and get back at your parents is to do something meaningful with the money. Get your degree in social work or business so that you can help those that need it the most. What do rich people hate the most?"

"Well, I know what my parents hate the most—poverty. A good work ethic," he said chuckling. "They were born on homeplate and insist they hit the homerun and have no respect for those that aren't at least on third base even if they didn't earn it for themselves."

"Then you go help people who are struggling to get down the line—people who want to be better, do better but can't even find first base—be the one waving them in the right direction. There is so much need and never enough money or goodness. Be the good one."

"Will you help me?"

"You bet. I won't keep any secrets from you again if you promise me this never happens again?" I said looking at the IV and then his wrist.

"Promise."

"Oh, like I said, I told my dad about our scotch drinking and other stuff—so he might be talking or yelling at you in the next few days."

"You know what? That would actually be fine with me," he replied smiling.

Will

I looked over at Jay as we both hovered just outside the door eavesdropping. "You, brother have already contributed so much to society already, but your greatest contribution may not be what you do, but who you raised. I think he's going to be fine and if you two stick together, you can conquer the world."

"I don't know about the world," Jay replied.

"Well, then Chicago."

"Yeah, maybe just Chicago.

Eleven years later

Jameson

I look up to see my best friend walk through the doors of Lost and Found, a place I started from the ground up and this was my third location in the metropolitan area. He had a twin on each arm and smiled at me. The facility had been his idea and we had spent many a night brainstorming. It was a place for children or parents who needed somewhere to feel safe—to work through whatever nightmare their life had become. I looked around as Jenna and Josh ran to the air hockey table.

"They look good," I told Liam.

"The adoption is official. They're Halstead's. We were walking out of the courthouse when Josh looked up at my mom and asked if he could call her that."

"I'm sure she said yes."

"She did. I think hearing the title from a young child is filling the hole of our separation."

"And your dad?"

"Well, he went from Daddy Jay to just Daddy." Liam laughed.

"Well, it may have taken a lot of years but you finally got siblings."

"I suppose so. Oh, I have a box of books in my car for you. My mom schmoozed a donation out of the Scholastic dude."

"She strikes again." I laugh thinking about all the support the Halstead's have given me, as well as many of their friends and coworkers.

I think back to the year of my suicide attempt. Leaving the hospital I could only hope that Liam would remain my friend and his promises of support and companionship weren't false. I came to find out quickly that they were in fact as heartfelt as they had appeared. Jay made it quite clear that I was now accountable to him and that he would be checking in with Marta on a regular basis as to my behavior. And he did. He also checked my grades and we had regular talks if I strayed, and even if I didn't. Finally I seemed to matter to someone and it made every bit of difference in my life and in my soul. I owed Jay so much and Liam as well, since he carved out time from his own father/son relationship and allowed me to take it. And I found that to be very useful when deciding how to go about changing lives for the better. I understood what it was like to have no support, to feel that nobody cared what happened in your life—until I did. I knew which one was better. And I had the power to make life better for so many others.

Liam and I both take a big breath in and out as we nod and take in what we have created, we call it Lost and Found because everyone gets lost once in a while and all they need is a little help to find their way. The building has a high fence around it, to keep those who belong, in and safe, and those who don't, out. There is an outdoor play area including water features—the splash pad is a definite favorite in the summer and the basketball court is in constant use. Inside, there are all kinds of coves for different activities. A corner of books and bean bags. Story time happens throughout the day with Emma often reading out loud to an audience. A computer area for homework and research as well as for resumes and job searches for adults. A molded plastic kitchen for little ones and a real kitchen for the bigger ones as Home Economic projects don't wait for anyone. A small animal area for kids that have never had pets that is full of gerbils, guinea pigs, and a bunny. Fooseball, ping pong and air hockey tables are scattered about. There is a sewing spot and and a laundry facility. A food pantry and clothing giveaway are towards the back. Musical instruments and a practice area for those who need a spot away from complaining neighbors are upstairs—Liam gives drum lessons twice a month. A community area where those employed in different areas come and talk to the kids, Liam and Jay included. They are both regulars, talking about police work and gaining the trust with those that have been suspicious of the department and its efforts. There is a small stage and dress up area and where skits are put on regularly. There is an emergency babysitting area for parents who need to drop of their kids for a myriad of reasons. An arts and crafts area with tables for different age groups is upstairs near the table where the tutor often sits waiting for a student in need. All this is done with money from my trust and great many volunteers who just needed a venue in which to share their talents.

There is always a licensed counselor on site as many of our visitors are there for desperate reasons and this place is just the first stepping stone in their healing. In fact it was the twins who helped inspire much of the specifics of this project times three. The first site was so overwhelmed and in demand, I just had to keep going. And I'm so glad that I did.

Liam and I join the twins knocking the little plastic disc back and forth as I watch their faces glow, I know that I finally got what I had been looking for—what I had been meant for.

Thank you all for the kind reviews and messages. I greatly appreciate them. I will take a week or so off before I begin to post the final chapter. It will be a long one and broken down into several parts.

Soundtrack:

Hideaway by Dan Owen

Hurt by Nine Inch Nails

Praise You by Hannah Grace