A Fair Distance: Running on Empty. Chapter Two.

"Sandburg!"

"SANDBURG!"

I was halfway awake when I heard a loud male voice yelling my name, so I pried open my eyelids to see what the cop wanted from me. As I turned my head on the bunk to look at the redheaded man who was scowling at me, I remembered his name.

'Oh, yeah, that's Mike.'He'd been the one to bring me meals for the last two days I was in this cage. Incarcerated. Held against my will. Prisoner non grata. Jail-bird-Sandburg.

'Jeez, I must have annoyed him by being asleep again.'He continued to glare at me; so I made an effort to answer him, although it wasn't easy, because I'd picked up a cold or something and my throat was sore. "Yeah?" I managed to croak at him.

"Chow time, hippie; get your ass out of that bunk and come eat this fine micro-waved dinner that I slaved over just for you," said Officer Mike while giving me a jerk of his chin to help me get the message to move. Now. Before he fed that tasty processed food to the drug dog or pitched it.

'Hell, I'd vote for pitching it, but I'd already had the lecture one meal earlier about their "tax dollars going to feed an ungrateful prisoner, who better not waste his dinner or my time fixing it."'

He had already placed the tray on the floor inside the cell before waking me up. This place wasn't really meant to keep prisoners in it for long or deal with feeding them; but I thanked Officer Mike because hey, still working on the Karma thing. I made a half-hearted attempt to get some of the lukewarm lasagna dish down my throat; but the tomato sauce stung, and I wasn't hungry anyway, so I gave it up.

I lay back down on the bottom bunk and stared up at the underside of the top bunk. Boring. Nothing to do here but think or sleep, and I had been doing a lot of snoozing because I was so out of energy. I kind of wondered if I was becoming clinically depressed. Man, I had freaked about being kept here, and worried myself to pieces about if it was Jim coming to interrogate me or not, till I had burned myself out. My serotonin and all the other brain chemicals must be depleted, and barely pumping through my head by now. On the up side, I probably wouldn't have any more panic attacks, since I was getting resigned to the inevitable.

I was in Limbo here, that mythical religious zone where you were neither in Heaven nor Hell. Limbo wasn't a place you could get out of on your own, either. You needed the intercession of others for your status to change. And you could be an innocent such as a heathen or a young child and still land in that place of in-between.

Well, okay, I knew the Catholic Church had kind of dropped that doctrine, but it still applied to me. I was waiting for the grand theft auto and contributing to the delinquency of minors charges to be dropped in court. And the only reason I had to wait for court was to allow me to be legally held until somebody from the Cascade bullpen came to question me about Chancellor Edward's death.

What they wanted to know was beyond me. I wasn't around when she was killed, apparently, and nobody was giving me any details, even though I'd asked for them. Sure, I didn't like her, but then, nobody I knew at Rainier had liked her, especially if they were unfortunate enough to have had to deal with her in person. We had certainly had our ups and downs while I was a teaching fellow; and what she did when my diss was released, and her later attempts to sabotage my applications for employment, I considered unethical, and I took steps to address that through university channels.

I wasn't happy she died, but I was real unhappy that even in death, she managed to keep screwing me over, because if I didn't get released by tomorrow, I was going to miss that trucking job interview in North Carolina. I had four hundred bucks to my name, enough clothes to fit in my backpack, a sizeable student loan debt, and no real ties anywhere.

So, Limbo… and the prospect of Hell part…was in who would be coming to interview me. I was steeling myself for it to be Jim, but actually, seeing anybody from there was going to be hard. I had drifted away from my friends there after the diss disaster.

It had been kind of awkward when we had gotten together at a bar or to play poker at Joel's or Henri's. They would cryptically refer to current cases and leads while dealing out cards or getting drinks, and I would be left behind in the conversation. After the offer to join Major Crimes as a detective was rescinded, the guys weren't allowed to fill me in on their cases; the Police Chief had been very clear as to what my restrictions on 'need to know' were, concerning the department's investigations. I also wasn't allowed in the station. And from what Simon had told Jim, the higher-ups weren't too keen on me continuing to live with him, and I know Jim had gotten some flack about it.

And what I had to talk about was, for the most part, embarrassing. I didn't want them to know about another round of rejections from prospective employers, or how I had been let go again from a job I had managed to acquire.

The reasons given for the rejections were usually guarded after a promising first contact: 'I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg, you don't meet our criteria for employment,' or, 'Unfortunately, Sir, the position has been filled.' Occasionally, if I already had been working for a while and was let go, a secretary or middle manager would tell me that my file had been reviewed, and my references were not favorable. I would be eyed speculatively and the body language of my supervisors would shift from accepting to distrust and dislike. Man, that was not the kind of conversation that I wanted to bring to the table with the other guys. And Megan; shit, she was too perceptive, and I didn't want her sympathy or her figuring out the changes between Jim and me.

So that left the weather or sports to discuss. I didn't mention anything relating to anthropology. After the looks on their faces the few times I had done so, I learned to stifle my impulses to mention how what they were talking about reminded me of this ritual or that tribal experience. And nobody, but nobody, talked to me about the biggest taboo of all, my press conference where I outed myself as a fraud to get the heat off of Jim.

The last job I had, did actually keep me employed up to the time I had to leave Cascade. The hours, though, made it harder to get together with the bullpen gang, since I worked evenings and weekends. Luckily, the only references this job had needed were how well I could mix drinks, flirt, and handle the customers. Jim disliked my bartending and waiting tables job and was always trying to get me to quit. He didn't like anything about it; not the part of town I worked in, the hours, the clothes and jewelry I wore, the way I smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and other people's lust when I came home in the early morning hours. I hated to disturb him by climbing into bed so late and smelling like my job, and taking a shower was out of the question; so I got in the habit of either hanging out in all-night cafes, or walking, or sitting out by the bay till morning, or just sleeping in my own bed.

I think now that sleeping apart like that helped widen the gap between us. At the time, Jim would growl about me quitting so I could be home when he was, to eat together and sleep together. He wasn't happy that I chose to keep my job, lousy as it was, because it was important to me to be making my own money and not be mooching off of Jim.

Borrowing twenty bucks off of him to pay back later was standard operating procedure for me when I was a grad student. And I frequently had been behind on paying the rent to Jim, but I would catch up, usually with a song-and-dance about why it was late. Being lovers, though, made me leery of being in a rent-boy position. My self-image balked at being a kept man and I didn't want Jim to start thinking he was my free ride 'cause I knew that thought might fester and poison our relationship. Ironic that it became poisoned anyway.

Jim had come down a few times my first week at The Meeting Place, which he'd said should be renamed The Meat Market, but he made the customers uncomfortable with his glowering at anybody who talked to me. The manager told me to lose my boyfriend at work or lose the job, so I insisted to Jim that he stop coming to see me there. He agreed; but the contemptuous look in his eyes when he watched me get dressed just made my stomach ache with tension, and I could feel his respect for me diminishing every time I walked out the door. He started to say things to me about what my job entailed, under the guise of humor; saying that I was giving false advertising by dressing like a slut - at least he hoped it was false advertising. The old table-leg comments made their reappearance, too. He'd give me a punishing, hard kiss before opening the door, and he'd swat me on the ass as I walked out past him. It wasn't playful; it was a reminder I'd better behave while I was out of his sight.

I ended up working there for over three months, which was a record compared to the other jobs I'd held: running a cash register, short order cooking, welding, delivering for a Pepsi plant, and unloading shipments on the docks. I didn't even get in the door for the professional jobs I sent resumes to, and for a pretty good reason - through an acquaintance at one of the social service agencies, where I had interviewed for a job mentoring troubled teens; I found out that Chancellor Edwards had been sending a personal letter to everyone requesting my records from Rainier, denouncing me as a fraud with no morals, and a terrible work history. Even just a confirmation that I had a masters degree in anthropology would trigger this letter, which would just make my application moot. I started leaving out that I had even gone to college on applications.

I also went to her office to have a 'chat' with her regarding this letter. She wasn't there, but I did talk to the Assistant Chancellor. He sympathized with my story and helped me fill out a grievance form against her for overstepping her boundaries, for sending unsolicited slam letters to prospective employers, and for collaborating with 'Good Old Sid, Mom's Boyfriend' in releasing my diss when I had forbidden it.

I felt sorry for him, having her as a boss. His name was Nathan Bergman, and I ended up talking to him a few more times regarding my grievance. He told me it was progressing through proper channels and that mine wasn't the only grievance to be filed against her. In the end, I received a letter stating that the university appreciated my concern, but they considered my grievance to be unfounded.

It was pointless to try and meet with her, I decided. She was trouble, and I had a feeling that I should keep my distance from her. Nathan called me to tell me he didn't agree with the grievance committee, and to let me know I could use his name as a personal reference and skip the Rainier system. I thanked him for his help, and I did put him down on applications when I left Cascade. I couldn't use the police connections because I didn't want Jim to know where I was and the other Rainier ones would trigger that damn letter against me. I found out from Nathan that even reference letters from Eli Stoddard or other professors, the ones who weren't holding the diss against me, would also have her letter included in the packet sent from Rainier. Nobody else was willing to be a reference outside of the university system, and Rainier policy did not allow for a quick telephone thumbs up. No, an official administrative form had to be filed and the last step was to send the response by mail or fax, through Chancellor Edward's office.

After I moved to New Mexico and was working at a welding shop, I met up with Nathan once more, by chance. One afternoon I found tucked under the windshield wipers of my Volvo, a note from him with his phone number, saying he was in town for a conference. So I called him; he told me when we talked on the phone that he had spotted my Volvo on the street and thought it would be fun to look me up. I laughed and told him he must have really taken a few wrong turns to end up on my street. He picked me up outside the rooming house where I rented a room and took me out to dinner, on Rainier's ticket, filling me in on some of the university gossip. He said he had always admired my car and gave me his card, telling me if I ever wanted to sell it to give him a call. The offer he gave was very generous.

That night I thought about it, and the next day I called Nathan. I had student loans to pay off, and I could catch the bus to work for now and cut down on my expenses. My Volvo was a greedy baby to maintain, and Nathan would appreciate her. We met again, and I signed the title over to him. He paid me in cash, which kind of surprised me, but he said he thought it would be easier for me than a check. I was sad when he drove away with her; I had really liked that car…

I was tired of looking at the other bunk, so I rolled over onto my side and stared at the steel poles that fenced me in and kept me in this little Tennessee town. 'Limbo sure is b-o-r-i-n-g.'
I had been locked up since Wednesday night. It was now Saturday, early in the evening, and I hadn't seen Dave since Thursday around noon, after the boys had put me in the clear with their statements. I had asked Officer Mike, he of the red hair and grumpy nature, when Dave would be back working, and was told grudgingly that he was scheduled to work the overnight shift for Saturday.

I was in limbo about seeing him again, too. He had seen me act like a wuss with that panic attack, and I cringed whenever I thought about it. Still, he had been kind to me and seemed like the kind of guy who was a straight shooter. And a part of my brain wondered if he was straight, period. In a theoretical kind of way, only, because I hadn't dated anybody since I left Jim. Well, there were a few quick sexual encounters, but I couldn't even remember what those guys looked like, now. It wasn't like I was going to try and make the same mistake again, by getting emotionally tangled with my sex partner. So Dave was safe from me; I liked him too much to have sex with him. I had learned my lesson from being with Jim.

Jim… I felt my thoughts sliding towards the locked up attic of my mind where I tried to keep the memories of our loving and fighting with each other…

I started thinking about the fun times we'd had in my Volvo, when things between Jim and me were still good, before I had left Cascade. I replayed in my head the good memories of Jim riding in it, complaining about the leg room, the first blow job I ever gave him as we parked in an out of the way place near a beach. He wouldn't let me try and blow him if he was driving Sweetheart. Afraid he'd wreck, I guess, which was funny when I considered all the other times he came close to smashing that truck.

Yeah, for a while the sex had been good; and I felt that even if some of my doors to Jim's life had closed since I couldn't be his police partner, being his lover would bind us together as domestic partners.

I had taken that old cliché, 'All's Fair in Love and War' and had nerved myself to make a move on Jim. I'd ambushed him one weekend, had set things up with a nice dinner; with wine, not beer, to lubricate the seduction.

Beer was for being buddies, for watching the Jags, or hockey, or baseball. It was for hanging out with Simon and the rest of the guys, at a bar or a bar-b-que. Drinking beer was what we would do after a long, tiring day; we would come home and gulp down a cold one.

Wine, now; that was for lovers. I'd called on any gods that cared to listen for luck, and had hoped that Jim had gotten the message as we'd flirted through dinner. We'd played this game back and forth so much over the years, bantering and touching each other, but tonight; the flirting was going to be acted on; by me, at least. I'd also prayed that I wouldn't get my ass thrown out of the loft if Jim turned me down for asking to make love with him.

Jim could tell that the wine signified something different between us. He was charming that night, and had smiled at me frequently. He followed my suggestion to sit down together on the couch and let me take his hand in mine. I stroked my thumb over the back of his hand; and hesitantly, shyly, told him that I'd been attracted to him for a long time and I wanted to be more to him than his friend or guide. He showed me he was receptive by bringing our hands up to my lips, shushing me; and then with our hands still together had lightly touched down the side of my face, leaving a tingling trail behind on my skin. Then he had slid his hand out from mine and placed his other hand on the other side of my face. He had done that before, both his hands on my face, giving me little pats or strokes. This time, though, he leaned over and held my head as he kissed me questioningly on the lips. I kissed him back, at first carefully, then with more passion, our mouths opening and exploring each other, as we learned to make love with each other that night.

My gamble had been successful, and I was no longer just Jim's friend. No, I was his lover; and I felt that I was finally who I should be, that this new role in Jim's life would be forever, the 'until death do us part' kind of forever. I had never allowed myself to feel so intimate before with any sexual partner. I had never before put together emotional closeness with physical pleasure, as I did with Jim.

It had all fallen apart, though, as chaos theory said it would. The center could not hold, had unraveled into a tangled mess. The Chaos Gods had shown their power; and over time, the love Jim showed to me started to feel like something different, something ugly and hard. And that ugliness followed me wherever I traveled, sabotaging all my efforts to build a new life for myself.

I felt that old devastation of my heart sweep through me again, and I wished, I wished I was far away where I could try and forget what Jim had meant to me. Stuck here, with nothing to distract me, knowing he could be on his way to question me and maybe arrest me, it was hard to keep my thoughts from centering on him. I still loved him, and I thought I always would. Too bad hisfeelings had done the pendulum thing.

I sighed - and rolled over to look at the other side of my cage.

'Fuck. ...Yin and Yang, night and day, equal and opposite reactions… and as for love and war… Man, there was nothing, but nothing, fair about them, at all…'

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Continued in A Fair Distance: Running on Empty. Chapter Three.