Author's Note: "I was a stranger, and ye took me in." Matthew 25:35c, Holy Bible, KJV
Disclaimer: I don't own even the smallest part of this and am writing it only to amuse. Please go purchase copies of the DVDs of the show from the people who do own it, so we can increase the Sonnetts' reputation.
What are the three magic words? To many people, the answer was "I love you."
To Jim Sonnett, the answer was and always had been, unequivocally, "Your father's here."
Every holiday, every joy, every pleasure, all rolled into one. Your Pa's here. The very words sounded sweet.
There were so many things he'd wanted to tell Pa, so many things he'd wanted to show him, so many things he'd hoped the two of them could do together. Someday. When Pa could stay. Or when James could go with him. Just to be with Pa had felt so good.
Just bein' with.
His face felt hot. And wet.
The man who had saved him, who'd brought him to the doctor, wasn't Pa. For a moment, he'd believed, but it wasn't. And it hurt. It hurt so much. But then, everything hurt. Even breathing hurt. Jim took slow, shallow breaths.
Of course the man wasn't Pa. He'd left Pa.
Pa was taking care of Jeff. He saw again for a moment his infant son covered in blood, saw the haze of black powder in the air, heard a woman's voice screaming.
No, the man was not Pa. But Jim wished he were. And somehow…somehow, the part of him that had never stopped being James couldn't help liking the man for pretending he was Pa.
Bam-Bam-Bam-Bam-Bam!
Gunfire, unmistakably. He'd heard too many shots not to be sure.
And God, he hurt. Terribly. He was hit!
Bam-Bam-Bam!
A roaring like thunder, was the battle still going on? Surely, there'd be more than one gun?
Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!
He should go and help whoever it was. He felt for his holster. Fire surged along his arm and through his side, across his belly and down his leg. His teeth clenched convulsively. Where was he hit? His holster had been removed, and it was too dark in the ambulance for him to see where they'd tossed it.
Bam-bam-bam!
They'd have to manage without him. Despite the firefight outside, and the fire that burned in every part of his body, Jim Sonnett slept.
Kevin had been afraid the gunfire would bother the young man, but money was money: the opportunity to do a show had been too good to resist. Anyway, there had been no cause for concern. The man was sleeping like a champion. Kevin reached to feel the pale cheek, the broad high forehead. He was warm. Too warm. And too pale. He'd lost an awful lot of blood.
"Don't die on me, kid," he whispered.
A dry rasping noise startled him. It was coming from the injured man. It took Kevin a moment to realize the man was laughing. He was awake, the huge brown eyes clear and gazing back at Kevin with what seemed like real fondness. "Oh, I've survived worse than this, 'Pa.' That's no brag, just fact."