Hi. Sorry for keeping you waiting so long.
This chapter was supposed to be finished earlier but with the crazy hours I'm working right now, I lacked the motivation and energy to work on this story or any of my other work in progress stories for that matter.
Aside from this story, I've been meaning to get started on the next chapter of 'Pandora's Box Discovered' for a while now and I would have loved to get a new chapter of 'The Birth of Worlds' published as well, especially since we're past the one-year anniversary mark (since I started posting it) for that one. As you can see, none of those plans particularly worked out the way I wanted them to.
That said, I really appreciate each and every review you leave for me. They brighten up my day when the lack of time and energy hits me especially hard. I'm so glad you guys still enjoy this story and are anxious to see how it progresses.
So, without further ado, I present to you chapter seven.
Special thanks to Floopdeedoopdee for her formidable patience and support.
Mrs. Corson parked her car on the corner of S Morgan and W Maxwell Street, roughly fifty yards away and across the road from her destination, number 943. Turning the engine off and plugging the key from the ignition, she slanted her head to get a better view of the lumpen two-story building made of red and limestone brick through the windshield. The main entrance was on the north side, facing Flames Field, broad stony stairs leading up to slate-colored double doors with alabaster glass windows inserted into the wooden frame. Clean numbers and letters carved into a pane above the door identified the structure as the twenty-first district.
Climbing out of the vehicle, Gail rounded the car and grabbed a bag perched on the passenger seat before making her way to the building. The bag, or rather the several containers stacked atop one another, each filled with delicious homemade dishes waiting to be heated in the microwave and scarfed down, served as an excuse for her dropping by the precinct. People brought lunch to family all the time if they were in the area, she rationalized. It was a common friendly gesture, right? At least that was what she told herself and would tell anyone who decided to ask.
The truth, however, was that it was just a subterfuge to check in on Jay. Ever since dinner the previous night, she hadn't been able to shake an unsettling feeling that there was more to his injuries than met the eye. Literally. It was more than just the cuts and bruises and that Godawful looking boot-shaped print on the left side of his face which tied her insides into knots. Apparent in the subtle winces and stifled hisses as well as his overall stiff posture, his careful, almost dreadful movements every time he shifted his position just an inch. All of those were dead giveaways that the young lad was in a lot of pain, even if he would never admit to it in front of her for reasons that she'd never fully grasp.
Moreover, seeing him like this plunged her into this strange sense of déjà vu, reminding her of those first months after the former ranger had come home from his second tour, months in which the simple act of walking had appeared to cost him violent effort. And not just that. Back then, he'd been constantly surrounded by a dense fog of exhaustion bordering on enervation, emptiness if not forlornness. Sadness to a degree of quiet despair. It had been such a dangerous fusion of emotions that Gail had been undeniably scared many times. Not of him but for him. Yesterday, she'd seen glimpses of the same frightening blend, of the physical pain and the mental anguish, and she'd be lying to herself by convincing herself, or anyone else for that matter, that she wasn't worried. Because she was worried, tremendously so. Especially with everything that had transpired in the last couple of weeks and how much it had affected him. Hence her driving over here today.
As she ascended the white stone slabs, Mrs. Corson replayed the heavy conversation from last night's dinner, Danny's unintentional disclosure to Jay that if it had come to the worst, he would have taken the blame for Lonnie Rodiger's murder to clear the detective's name in an instant, without hesitation. Because after everything the young lad had done for them, after selflessly risking his career to provide peace of mind for them, it would have been the right thing to do. But she'd seen how much that admission had shaken the young man. How shellshocked and panicked and lost he'd been afterward. The guilt-ridden and grief-stricken expression on his face was etched into her memory, and so was his self-effacing insistence that he'd merely been doing his job, that they didn't owe him anything ever. It was almost as if…
Gail stopped dead in her tracks, realization slamming into her like a sledgehammer blow. The impetus of it caused her to momentarily lose her equilibrium. Stumbling two steps backward, she reached for the railing to her right in a last-ditch effort to keep from tumbling down the stairs and potentially spilling the contents of her bag. Her legs suddenly felt like jelly and tears pricked behind her retinas as the scales fell from her eyes: Jay didn't think he was worth it. He didn't think he was worth their love and affection, their reciprocated devotion to him when he was nothing short of devoted to them, had been since tragedy struck the family and probably long before that too. Why had she never noticed this? Why had she never picked up on the striking cues? They had been right under her nose all this time!
"Ma'am?"
From the day Allie had dragged a scrawny, baby-faced, reticent version of the freckled lad into their house for the very first time, he'd been uncomfortable with any well-meaning gestures meant for him. Whether it was the Corsons' repeated offers of support and shelter when things were particularly rough and hairy for him at home or their wholehearted consolation after his mother's passing, Jay had always politely declined, brushed off their concern, and had shied away from any proposals of help and comfort. Frequent words of praise and fondness as well as random acts of kindness always had him blush and stutter in staggered embarrassment because he simply didn't know how to deal with any of it. And really, how would he? Before they took him under their wings, his mom had been the only one he'd ever received any approval and appreciation from.
"Ma'am."
Heartbreakingly though, it hadn't been enough to counteract the young lad's father's constant belittling and excoriating which had torn him down time and again, and when his mom had been ripped away from him way too early for him to ever recognize his worth in the world, his old man had been given free rein to add to Jay's ever-growing feeling of inferiority. No wonder, he had such a hard time accepting that someone who wasn't a blood relative was willing to step into the breach for him, when not even his biological family would. Chest tightening with overwhelming sorrow, Gail pressed her left hand against her ribcage as she bent over, the right limb clutching the railing impossibly tighter. "Oh, Jay…" she gasped shakily, barely more than a whisper.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" Mrs. Corson jumped at the vigorous bass voice. Glancing up, she looked around in confusion until her eyes settled on a set of concerned brown orbs of a dark middle-aged uniformed officer. "Is something wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call an ambulance?" he prompted, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. The redhead didn't reply, merely blinked up at him in confusion as she tried to work out why he would want to do that. "Ma'am?" Increasingly worried by her lack of a verbal response, the officer took a small step towards her, already reaching for his radio to make an emergency call.
It took a moment for Gail to process why the man sounded so alarmed, her hunched stance, grip on her heart, and gasping breath textbook symptoms for someone having a heart attack. As it dawned on her that he must be thinking she was having one, she immediately released her death grip on the railing and her jacket and pulled herself up straighter. Inhaling deeply, she shook her head. "Oh, no. You don't have to call an ambulance. I'm fine. Everything is fine," she assured him with a dapper wave of her hand. The officer narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "Really, Officer, I'm fine," she promised and climbed the remaining steps up the stairs.
The uniformed officer still didn't seem fully convinced, though, the 'are you sure?' written all over his features. Chuckling softly, Mrs. Corson launched into a mindless, nonchalant chatter for further reassurance. "I just remembered that I forgot to pick something up from the store earlier. But thanks for asking." She bestowed him with a warm, charismatic smile as she passed him and slipped through the door. "And thank you for holding the door for me. It's not every day you see gentlemen such as yourself nowadays."
Bowing his head, the patrolman acknowledged her lauding comment with a polite, "thank you, Ma'am. Have a good day." However, his well-intentioned words were lost on Mrs. Corson, her mind already miles away when she entered the precinct and walked up another set of stone stairs and through the opened leaf of yet another opened door. At last, she stepped into the foyer of the police station. A bulky, aged front desk took up center stage, separating the main lobby from the back hallways. Sturdy chairs lined up along washed-out cream-colored walls, which were boarded with contrasting dark walnut panels from the ground to about three feet up, posters and plaques plastered on every empty surface at eye level. A wooded stairway led up to the right, parting in two different directions from a small landing, one of them secured with a metal gate. Gail couldn't help but feel like she'd walked straight into any random eighties cop show or movie she'd ever seen.
Slowing her steps and taking in the antique interior, her thoughts drifted to Jay once more. All too well she remembered the day when the young lad had come by the house to inform her and her husband that he'd been promoted to Intelligence, an elite unit stationed right here in the old Maxwell Police Station, which had once been dubbed the 'Wickedest Police District in the World' for being situated in what used to be the poorest and most dangerous part of the city of Chicago with crime rates way off the charts in its prime – hence its unflattering reputation.
A mere hour after being released from the hospital, left arm in a sling and face pale from blood loss after taking a bullet to the shoulder, Jay had still been looking a little worse for wear. Notwithstanding that there had been a rare twinkle of excitement in his eyes and an even rarer boyish grin curling around his lips as he rattled off facts and statistics about this district, his whole frame humming with contentment, she hadn't seen in him in a long time. This right here, this very place was what had ignited that glow of liveliness. Last night though, less than four months later, it was woefully also this very place extinguishing that same flame practically overnight. Leaving him not just with a bunch of physical injuries the young man refused to let her know about much less disclose the full extent of but also emotionally wounded in a way she had hoped to never see again. It crushed her to no end that he still didn't think like he could share his pain with her or anyone.
Engrossed in her melancholy, Mrs. Corson barely registered the intense scrutiny she was under and was startled by an emphatic huff of a female. "Can I help you?" Startled to find herself standing right in front of the imposing desk when she couldn't even remember walking up to it, Gail glanced up. With her hands propped on the countertop, the woman behind the sturdy furniture was practically towering over her. Her greyish ash-blond hair was tied in a strict ponytail, her head tilted to the side, one eyebrow arched, and jaw jutted as she was nearly fretting and fuming with impatience and annoyance. However, when they locked eyes, the taut features softened instantly, genuine worry washing the anger away as the desk sergeant noticed the ginger's watery, red-rimmed eye. "Are you okay?"
Mrs. Corson flared her nostrils, brows twitching into a dismissive frown. "I'm fine," she answered curtly, brushing any concern off with a wave of her hand, an ounce of remorse creeping in when the reply came out harsher than intended. The officer only meant well, after all. Nevertheless, she couldn't be bothered with the kindness when she had more urgent objectives to pursue. Like making sure Jay was okay and taking care of himself. Of course, she was aware that the young lad was no longer a skittish teenager or newly discharged, war-torn veteran but a grown man who had to make his own decisions – and frankly had done so for a very long time. Still, his lost and pained expression last night, its many layers and hidden depths of meaning kept playing on a loop in her mind and wouldn't stop spinning until she saw him alive and kicking. And every single misplaced inquiry in her welfare only impeded her from doing that.
Feeling yet ignoring the skeptical look she received from the older woman, she steered the conversation away from herself and to the only topic that truly mattered to her right now: the hurting young lad. "I'm here to see one of the detectives working here. His name is Jay Halstead?" she propounded, her voice thick with barely concealed worry and perseverance. "He works in Intelligence," she added hastily, praying the desk sergeant – Platt according to the nametag stitched into her white dress shirt – was familiar enough with his name to show her the way or point her in the direction where she could find him.
"You mean Chuckles?" Trudy probed with a hint of curiosity, attesting that she did indeed know Jay. Gail was cautiously optimistic, nervous energy radiating off her as she shifted her stance in hopefulness. But instead of the answer she was looking for, Platt merely shrugged a noncommittal shoulder and returned her attention to the desk in search of her stapler as she declared in a terse, matter-of-fact voice, "I'm not sure he's in. They caught a case early this morning." Mrs. Corson visibly deflated, dissatisfied by the lack of information, frown deepening and jade eyes clouding as she recalled the former ranger's stiff movements the previous night. He really shouldn't be out in the field like that. What if he ran into danger, had to chase a suspect, or…? "What do you want with him? I'm sure I or one of my officers can help."
The ginger shook her head. "Oh, no, that's okay," she backtracked, a sad smile gracing her lips. Trudy slanted her head, raising her eyebrows as she studied Gail intensely, but the latter evaded her sharp gaze, dropping her own to the bag of leftovers hanging from her left wrist. She sighed. "Really, it's nothing. I just happened to be in the neighborhood. I thought I'd stop by and bring him some lunch. Lord knows the lad isn't feeding himself properly," she gushed out, feeling the need to give some sort of explanation for her visit though she wisely kept it to herself that her visit served another purpose as well. Heaving another sigh, she untangled the straps of the bag. "It was foolish of me to come here unannounced. I just assumed… I should have known Jay would be busy. That lad is always working so hard." Gail placed the leftovers on the countertop and met the desk sergeant's gaze, her own eyes soft and pleading as she asked, "could you please give this to him when he's back?"
Platt regarded her for a long moment, realizing she'd leaped to conclusions and came off unnecessarily brusque. In her defense, she wasn't thrilled when people insisted on loafing her detectives in a firm belief that lower-ranked police wouldn't be able to help them. The Intelligence unit she was particularly protective of, knowing fully well that they clocked a lot of overtime by working and solving high-profile cases. They needn't be bothered with petty theft and small neighborhood disputes just because they happened to be living on the same block and carried their grandma's groceries up the stairs once.
But the ginger wasn't here to rob a member of the specialized team of their limited time and distract them to report trivial crimes. She was here to make sure they didn't forget to take a break and care of themselves amidst the craziness that was their job. Her visit was in all sense of the word a social call. However, it was a social call emerging from good intentions only, and that was something Trudy could appreciate. Especially since she was aware that certain officers weren't exactly high on looking after themselves, one whom she wouldn't dare say the name of around the redhead. It was refreshing to see that that one officer had someone outside the department who cared about him enough to make sure he did just that, look after himself.
Taking all that into consideration, the desk sergeant caved, unable to deny the young man that level of solicitude. "I'll see if Chuckles is available." Gail smiled appreciatively, tears pricking behind her eyes. Platt couldn't help but notice the watery veil and returned an empathetic smile of her own, then pointed to the chairs by the door, suggesting, "why don't you take a seat over there?" She pushed the Tupperware boxes back across the desk. "Hold on to these for now. Maybe you can give them to Halstead yourself."
Mrs. Corson nodded in gratitude, mouthing a sincere thank you before reaching for the bag and retreating to the chair closest to the stairs. Meanwhile, Trudy shuffled the papers in front of her into a neat pile, stuffed them into a manila folder, and put them away, not wanting any private information lying around unattended for the time she vacated the desk. However, as she prepared to leave, the ringing phone stopped her in her tracks. She glanced towards the ginger, catching her gaze, and cast and contrite look in her direction. "I'm sorry, I need to take this," she apologized unnecessarily, already picking up the receiver. "Chicago Police Department, 21st district. You're speaking to Sergeant Platt," she rattled off and waited for a reply.
"Dr. Arata with Lakeshore Hospital," a soft bass roared through the receiver. "I'm calling about one of my patients, a detective from your district." Platt frowned in bewilderment, the cogs in her brain turning as she tried to recall if any of her staff had been injured enough recently to require a visit to the hospital but couldn't come up with anything of the top of her head. She wanted to ask the doctor who the mystery detective was but before she had a chance to even open her mouth, the doctor provided her with the answer. "His name's Halstead? Someone, another detective brought him in this morning."
The creases on Trudy's forehead deepened, the information given surprising her. However, it reminded her of Intelligence's undercover operation the previous evening in which both Burgess and Ruzek had taken a few hits. Luckily, they'd both gotten away pretty much unscathed with a few bruises and had been cleared by the paramedics on the scene. Had Jay been in the crossfire as well? If so, why hadn't anyone mentioned anything to her? Since she hadn't seen him after the raid, she had no way of knowing if he had indeed been injured, but someone should have notified her regardless. After all, every IOD incident report from the twenty-first landed on her desk. As it was, nothing had landed there at all, hence her perplexity.
Her eyes flickered towards the anxiously waiting redhead across the hall, wondering if she was aware the young man was injured. If so, she at least didn't know he was in the ER, but maybe she thought he should be? It would explain her deep worry for the detective and her incessant need to check in on him. "Why? What is he in the hospital for?" she finally asked, her voice a mix of confusion, curiosity, and concern.
"I'm not at liberty to say," was the doctor's guarded, less than satisfying response. The desk sergeant silently cursed Hippocrates and his oath for laying the foundations that prohibited him from saying anything. She understood why doctor-patient confidentiality was necessary, that medical information was delicate data that needed to be kept from prying eyes and ears, but shouldn't she at least be privy to anything related to injuries her detective had acquired on the job? "The reason I'm calling is that I was wondering if anyone is on their way to keep him company? He's been here for hours, and he's been by himself the entire time. Frankly, I don't think he should be alone right now," the doctor elaborated, his voice filled with chagrin.
Platt did a doubletake at that. Halstead was alone? Not just was he in the hospital for reasons that were still a mystery to her, but no one from the unit had stayed to make sure he would be okay. Images infringed on her memory of a time years ago when she'd been shot and left alone in the hospital by her fellow officers, anger instantly surging on the detective's behalf for being abandoned in that same uncomradely manner. She had hoped, the department had evolved since then, and she'd particularly expected more from the Intelligence unit, but apparently, she was wrong, and they weren't as tight-knit as she'd always assumed.
"Sergeant, I know you and your officers are busy fighting crime," Dr. Arata once again cut through her musings, the snark not lost on Trudy – not that she could blame him for that; she felt the same way, "and I would call his health care proxy or family instead, but there's no one listed. He didn't ask for anyone either." Trudy exhaled loudly, not quite gasping but puffing out air into the receiver, as she digested the loaded statement. While it wasn't mandatory to have a medical power of attorney appointed, it was strongly advised to have one in their line of work since they constantly put themselves in harm's way. Which begged the question, why didn't Jay, who was particularly eager to jump into dangerous situations, have someone named in case of an emergency. What about family? His parents, siblings? Did he forget, or why didn't he ever put one of them down?
The more she thought about it, the more she realized how little she knew about Halstead, and it irked her tremendously. She made it a point to know pretty much everything about all the officers working in her district, did thorough background checks on everyone when they started. Somehow, though, the youngest detective of the elite unit had slipped through the cracks, and shame flooded her that she hadn't done her due diligence with the kid.
However, amongst her remorse and the many questions jumbling around in her head, it was one that constantly looped back around, repeated flashing like a bright red neon sign, and she couldn't wrap her head around it, much less find a plausible answer. Why hadn't anyone from the Intelligence unit stayed with Jay? Sure, she knew they had caught a case this morning, but that had never stopped them from supporting an injured team member before. Even if they really couldn't spare anyone, they at least made sure someone else was with them. Clearly, that wasn't the case this time. Swallowing her uneasiness over the whole matter, Trudy cleared her throat, voice thick with barely concealed concern. "Lakeshore you said?" she reaffirmed with Dr. Arata, waiting for him to confirm. "I'll make sure someone's with him shortly," she assured rather forcefully.
Platt stayed on the phone long enough to exchange niceties with the doctor, then hung up the phone and made her way straight to the stairs, almost forgetting about the ginger's existence and why she was here. Halting her steps, she turned around and faced the woman's anticipant gaze. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I need to take care of something really quick," she excused herself, her expression apologetic, though Mrs. Corson could easily see the bizarre concoction of brewing anger and dreadful worry in her hazel eyes. "Please wait here. I'll be right back." Gail merely nodded, but Trudy was already halfway up the stairs, leaving her to wonder if the desk sergeant harbored the same concern for Jay as she did for the officer mentioned in the call.
I hope you're not disappointed that there was no Jay in this, but the lad really needed a break from me torturing him all the time.
Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. See you in the next one.