A Fair Distance: Running on Empty. Chapter Eleven

In his dream, in which he was pleasantly snuggled up with Blair in bed, Jim interpreted the sound of the phone ringing as the alarm going off. "Chief," he mumbled, "shut that thing off." But Blair ignored him and the damn alarm kept shrilling out its message of 'Get up! Get up! Get up!' until he finally opened his eyes and realized that it was the motel room phone that was being such a pain in the ass.

"Ellison," he yawned into the receiver.

"Detective Ellison, this is Dave Findley, Sweetwater P.D., and we need to talk before court this mornin'. Meet me at Ruthie's Restaurant; it's a block and a half down from the station, at six o'clock for breakfast. I'll introduce you to the best biscuits and gravy in Tennessee."

"Right, I'll be there," Jim answered, his head rapidly clearing. He hung up the phone thinking Findley probably enjoyed waking his ass up. The call wasn't unexpected; he had figured Findley wasn't finished raking him over the coals. Sandburg had a knack for getting people to want to protect him. It wasn't something the kid did on purpose, and usually the protection would be unwanted on Blair's part – even Jim's - but Jim had known after talking to Findley at the station that the cop had joined the ranks of Sandburg's defenders.

Jim got out of bed and started getting cleaned up, remembering the dream he'd been having when the phone rang. In it, he and Blair had made love. And it had been good – like another one of the sweet times they'd had together before things became tense between them. He acknowledged the low, heavy feeling in his groin as he remembered the part of the dream where he had licked Blair's ear till his lover was a squirmy mass of lust, and then he had rolled on top of Blair and used the friction between their bodies to get them both off. They had spooned up then, and in the dream had gone to sleep together.

He hadn't come in his sleep, though. Blair, on the other hand, had blasted his shorts during that meditation he was in when the stigmata bite had appeared. And the kid hadn't touched his dick with his hands either. Jim had checked with his sense of smell and his vision; there'd been no evidence he'd just been jacking off in there, sitting on the floor in the interrogation room. Jim grinned at the memory of Blair blushing and the trick he'd pulled to avoid embarrassing himself in front of Findley. The kid knew he hadn't fooled Jim, though. And it had been kind of hot to think of Blair all wet and sticky there in front of him, the smell of semen strong in the air, at least to a sentinel. Actually, Blair might not have fooled Findley either, but the man had chosen not say anything about it if he had tumbled to what Findley's little buddy had done on the floor in the interview room.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

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As Jim headed to the little town of Sweetwater his mood slipped back into the more familiar dark tones of anger, hurt, annoyance, and betrayal that had accompanied his thoughts about Sandburg for so long now. And now he could add worry to that list. Something was wrong with Sandburg, and Jim had a bad feeling about it. His ex-lover didn't want to tell him what it was, but Jim had done some detecting sentinel-style and had a pretty good idea about what Sandburg's symptoms included. And yeah, it may have been a virus, but what kind of virus? AIDS was a virus. So was the flu. Blair's symptoms did kind of match both and Jim was probably just having another 'fear-based overreaction' but - Christ. AIDS. He knew Blair hadn't tested positive for HIV before leaving Cascade, but god knows who he'd slept with since then or how careful he'd been.

If this was the early stage of HIV then it was too soon for an AIDS test to be given. It would be unusual for the later stage to be evident in just a year, but hell! Sandburg was anything but usual in whatever he did. And his ex-lover had lost a significant amount of weight over the last year.

Well, he'd get the truth about Sandburg's illness somehow today. Maybe Findley would fill him in.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

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Jim located Ruthie's Restaurant easily enough. And there was a black-and-white patrol car parked in front of the place. It was showdown time.

Findley was waiting in a booth in the back of the little restaurant; coffee mugs were on the table, and the remnants of Findley's breakfast was stacked up for the waitress to remove. Jim took it as a message that Findley didn't trust him, since Findley didn't want to break bread with him.

The big cop waved Jim to his table, and signaled to a waitress with a coffee pot in her hand. She filled a mug for Jim and then walked away with the dirty dishes, leaving Jim and Findley eyeing each other.

"Susy'll bring your biscuits and gravy over when we're finished talking. Have you been in this part of Tennessee before, Detective Ellison?"

Impatiently, Jim realized Findley was going to play tour guide to start off this interrogation.

"No, I haven't, but it looks like beautiful country," Jim responded blandly.

"My family has been here for a long time. Irish, of course, with a name like Findley, but there's a lot of Cherokee in the family tree, too. Ever hear of the Trail of Tears, Detective Ellison?"

"Forced relocation of the Cherokee to Oklahoma, back in the 1800's; yeah, I know of it. Your relatives, were they among the ones taken out west?" Jim wondered where this was going. What did Findley's ancestors have to do with Sandburg?

"Taken out west? No, most of the folks around here are descended from a band of Cherokee that avoided the soldiers and hid out in the mountains. Most everybody in town, if they come from here, has Cherokee blood in them. Course, over the years the Cherokee mixed with settlers and immigrants, and nobody makes a to-do over the Indian blood, but it's there. My Great-Great Aunt Nettie, she was one for doin' all that genealogy business and gathering the stories from the old-timers before they passed. She even got it all written up and handed out to family members, so the old stories and ways wouldn't be forgotten."

Okay, interesting enough chitchat, but Jim thought it was time to steer the conversation where he wanted it to go.

"Sandburg will be fascinated if he ever gets a chance to hear about it." Jim drank some of his coffee; when he put his mug down he asked, "And how was he feeling last night? This, uh, virus he's got, what exactly is it? He did see a doctor, didn't he? Was he sick when he got here, or is his illness more recent?"

Findley hesitated before answering Jim's questions and drew circles on the table with his finger. "Blair slept until the late evening. He was still awake when I started my shift at the front desk around eleven, and he was runnin' a fever still. I gave him some more Tylenol and let him sit in the Chief's office for a while. Said he'd entertain me by playing my brother's old guitar one more time. He fooled around with mostly blues tunes again. Sang a little, mostly to himself, till I reckon his sore throat got to hurtin' too much."

Findley looked straight at Jim. "He said he'd had this one song on his mind a lot and he played it for me. I believe he said his mother, when she was a girl, had heard Janis Joplin sing it. Maybe you know it, Detective Ellison. Blair told me he used to have a CD of her songs and since ya'll lived together – well then, I reckon you've heard it. He said it was called… um… "Ball and Chain." It was a powerful song to hear."

"I've heard it," Jim replied. It's powerfully ambivalent, is what it is. If it's on Blair's mind then he's pretty mixed up about how he feels towards me. Love, dread and pain all thrown together with a side order of helplessness.He drummed his fingers against the table. "Anything else you can tell me about how Blair's doing?"

"Blair; now, he was quieter last night than I've ever seen him, and kind of moody, not his usual self. Course, you livin' with him, you've probably seen him in lots of moods. So is being quiet normal for him? Or is it just because the boy's been sick? A few times he's gotten interested in somethin' and he starts talkin' a mile a minute. Doesn't last though. He kind of catches himself and hushes back up."

Findley took another long sip of his coffee. "He read the note you left telling him there were no charges from Cascade against him. He was real glad that his old boss had alibied him; he said he'd leave town today, after court.

"Now, you asked how long he's been sick. In hindsight, I think he was sick when he got arrested, but he didn't start runnin' a fever till he was in the holding cell. He was taken to the ER for a blood alcohol and drug screen when we took him into custody. The nurse and I, we didn't notice a fever. Later, he didn't complain about feelin' bad; we noticed he was sick and took him back to the ER.

Findley looked hard at Jim. "And I reckon it's Blair's concern whether or not he tells you what the doctor told him."

Jim wasn't going to let that go. He'd push a little; see what kind of reaction he got from Findley. "Has he got AIDS or HIV?"

"You worried about him or about yourself, Detective Ellison?" Findley pushed back at Jim, who caught the implication that Findley thought he and Sandburg had slept together. Jim didn't answer him.

"And if Blair did have AIDS, what would you do about it, Detective Ellison?"

Jim surprised himself by answering straight from his gut. "I'd pack the little shit up and take him home. No way in hell would I let him go through that by himself."

Findley leaned forward towards Jim and said in a lower tone of voice. "Blair thinks you hate him, but he says you're a good kisser. Seems your kisses make his toes curl. And before you add his spillin' the beans to your list of what you're mad at him about, he doesn't know he told me those things. He was asleep when I coaxed it out of him.

"I have to know what you want, Detective Ellison. I figure you're thinking of putting Blair in protective custody; because I would be, with my only lead a witness with no home or job who tends to move around the country and drops out of sight."

Jim felt his face freeze into an immobile mask. God-damnit, Findley. None of this is any of your concern.

Findley sighed. "But Blair's not just a witness to you. You were sleepin' with him. Blair thinks you hate him but he's insistent that you won't hurt him; I'm not convinced that's true. I don't want Blair disappearin' on the way back to Cascade, or havin' an 'accident', or you hurtin' him or forcin' him when he's alone and in your custody."

Findley hardened his voice. "And I couldn't arrest you for attacking him before, but if I'm not satisfied he'll be safe in your custody, I'll be showin' that tape of you assaulting him to Adult Protective Services; they'll ask for an Order of Protection. You'll be denied custody, just in case you were to have another 'low blood sugar' problem while Blair is with you. Cascade can pay to house him in the county jail or at the holding cell until another officer arrives to take him to your city.

"So, Detective, best you be thinkin' about how you can guarantee that boy's gonna stay in one piece if you put him in your protective custody. Maybe Blair would want to go back on his own, in which case I can't stop him. He says he's got a long-hauler job lined up, but I doubt that drivin' a truck is goin' to work out for him. He's late gettin' to his employment interview, and he's too sick to be safe as a driver. If he was already on the payroll, one good look at him by his boss would get him kicked off the drivers' roster."

Jim eyed Findley sourly. "We done here yet, Findley?"

"I've said my piece. I can't trust Blair to tell the truth where you're concerned, not while he's awake, anyway. He's keepin' secrets and lying to protect you. How he managed that bite on the back of his neck, I just don't know, but I know he came up with it to keep you from bein' charged. He loves you. I know how things are on his end; it's your end that needs clearin' up."

Jim was disconcerted and annoyed that this backwater cop knew what was private between him and Blair. He could tell Findley wasn't bluffing about the threat to get an Order of Protection; there were no body tells that indicated deception on Findley's part. Maybe he could get Findley to back off from his threat to keep him from Blair.

He tried for a more conciliatory tone of voice and said, "I wouldn't hurt Sandburg, and I didn't send those letters to his bosses to get him fired. My guess is Bergman's behind it; maybe he wanted to keep Blair on the move and hard to track. He forged my name and threw those allegations around to spook Sandburg's employers into cutting him loose.

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Look here, Findley. I'm not confirming whatever Sandburg mumbled in his sleep, but he was my partner and friend, up in Cascade. I amangry about some stunts he pulled before he left town and the way he shut me out of some problems it turned out he was having, but I would never hurt the little twerp."

Jim twisted the coffee cup around on the table, all the time maintaining eye contact with Findley.

"And yeah, you guessed right; I am thinking about protective custody, especially if he's got no job right now. Those notes of his surprised me. He's been serious about working, and he's traveled all around looking for jobs. I had kind of figured he was just drifting with whoever he had hooked up with, but instead he's been hitchhiking on his own. You know how dangerous that is. I could add that he could be killed while thumbing it to justify protective custody for him. You say you think I'd hurt Sandburg if he was with me; I wouldn't ever do that. My captain will vouch for me, if you contact him."

Findley looked disappointedly at Jim and said, "That's a start, but it's not enough to change my mind."

Jim looked on as Findley checked his watch and made a show of laying out a tip on the table. As the big cop got up he softly said, "Blair doesn't have AIDS."

Jim released a long stream of breath and just as softly said back to Findley, "thanks."

Findley then beckoned the waitress over with Jim's breakfast and said, "Court is at nine thirty this morning. Don't be late. The judge gets a tad cranky when folks aren't on time. And I think you should read what Great-Great Aunt Nettie had to say about how that bunch of Cherokee fooled the soldiers tryin' to capture them." He handed Jim a large brown envelope, then walked out the door and Jim watched through the large front window as Findley drove away in his patrol car.

Jim ate his biscuits and gravy, and maybe his breakfast lived up to its reputation, and maybe it didn't; fuck, he couldn't tell. He'd dialed down his sense of taste to way below normal, not wanting to be distracted by the flavor of the food. He needed to work out what to do about Sandburg. And before that could happen, he had to figure out his own feelings regarding his ex-partner.

He was a cop, a sworn officer of the court and, he hoped, a decent man. Watching that tape of himself mauling Blair had left him feeling very uncomfortable about what he had been doing. The difference in their sizes had jumped out at Jim as he had observed himself lifting Blair up and holding him off the floor. And Blair had kept asking him to stop. Was Findley right in his assumption that the next step would have been him raping Blair? Christ, he hoped not. It had been difficult to see much of Blair's reactions to Jim molesting him, but he hadn't acted like he was scared of Jim during the later interview about the Edwards murder. Instead, he'd jumped down Jim's throat about those letters allegedly written by 'James Ellison.' He guessed he could see why Blair assumed they were genuine, but… well, he wished Blair had just trusted that James Joseph Ellison wouldn't do something so vindictive, petty, and mean.

Jim pushed the uneaten portion of his breakfast around his plate with a fork. Jesus, nothing was going as he had planned since walking into this small town's police station. And the fun wasn't over yet.

Actually seeing Blair had shifted things from black and white to all shades of gray. And seeing him sick and thin had shook Jim up. Thank God he didn't have AIDS. Blair wasn't invulnerable; he was on his own with no family or friends for support. Blair was a tough kid, and resilient, but this year had been hard on Sandburg. He hadn't been crisscrossing the country for fun, and instead of settling somewhere he'd been forced to keep moving.

Jim's thoughts went back over the same old territory. Blair had screwed him over by leaving Cascade. He was Jim's lover; he should have trusted Jim enough to ask him about Melissa…

And if Jim was being honest with himself, maybe he had set up the Melissa situation as a test for Blair. Well, his subconscious maybe had done it; he didn't set out to hurt his partner on purpose. He could have avoided hurting Blair by blowing off the restriction on telling him about Jim's cases. If he had, then Blair would have understood Jim was undercover, and anything Blair heard concerning the woman Jim was supposedly seeing was part of the job.

Perhaps Jim had kept his mouth shut and flirted more than was necessary for the job, just to see what Blair would do when he found out. Looking back over his behavior, he could see that he had been asking for trouble. And he got it. Blair didn't confront him; he ran instead.

Jim pushed his dishes to the other side of the table, suddenly sick of the game he'd been playing with his food. Fuck. The more he thought about his anger towards Blair the more uneasy he felt. He'd probably – no, definitely – screwed up here.

He was a total moron for not understanding till now that some of his anger towards Blair really was anger at himself, for pushing Sandburg like that. He should have taken into consideration the kid's instincts for cutting his losses. Blair'd grown up watching his mother end relationship after relationship. Jim knew enough about Naomi to see that she would have started each relationship with glowy-eyed enthusiasm, which would have died considerably down as her relationship hit some snags. "Detach with love, Sweetie," she would have drilled into Blair as she packed their bags.

And Blair had tried to do that. The letter he'd left for Jim was all about how he'd failed Jim and how Jim now had the chance to find his real love, to claim his real guide. He didn't call Jim a two-timing son of a bitch; although, based on what Blair knew about Jim and Melissa, that's exactly what he was. Blair seeing them together in that bar - well, that was the final exam, all right. And Jim, not Blair, had flunked it, he now realized. Blair had been cautious and checked his sources of information, just like the careful academic he had been. Simon should have known what was going on, and he would have reassured Blair that Jim was on the job. Instead, due to Simon's vacation, the captain hadn't been updated with full intelligence. And Blair had detached himself right out of town.

Maybe Jim was more like his father than he had realized. Maybe he had set Blair up to fail, with his little loyalty and trust test, just like his dad had set up no-win situations with Stevie and him when they were kids. Jesus, what a cluster-fuck this was.

Jim shook his head and his eyes landed on the brown envelope Findley had left for him. This was another kind of test, he figured. Why else foist somebody's family history off on a stranger? Jim opened the envelope and slid out the papers inside.
He straightened them; and then, taking a sip of his no-flavor coffee, he began to read…

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Continued in A Fair Distance. Running on Empty. Chapter Twelve