The responses to the first chapter were incredible! Thank you so much.
He hated phone calls after midnight.
As Frank picked up his phone he went through all open cases from the day in his mind. There was something about a robbery, probably committed by the mayor's secretary's son – highly likeable, the lawyer was just trying to get the boy out of prison. Not the best reason to wake up the Police Commissioner, but it sort of happened. And it wasn't the worst thing to happen in the middle of the night.
This hope vanished of course when he read Jackie's name on the display. Frank stared at the blinking frame for a second, not daring to answer. Pulling yourself together and find dignity and strength to do your job gets so much harder when you're in your pajamas, lying in a big bed that's half cold.
He took a deep breath. "Detective Curatola?"
He heard Jackie gasp, obviously surprised that he knew her number. He couldn't say why, but his instincts told him that this was a good sign. He allowed himself to breathe again.
"Hey, Dad."
Danny. Frank sighed with relief- His son was in trouble. Worse than an annoyed lawyer, but so much better than the pictures that had popped up before his inner eyes. Frank felt the usual confidence filling him again.
"Hey, Danny. How are you?" He had noticed a slight strain in his elder's voice, but that was okay. The job was hard.
"Dad… Joe. Doe's dead."
Frank closed his eyes as the pictures reappeared. Joe. His big little son lying in a lonely grave, silent forever, his smile gone. Though he had learnt by now to hold his composure when talking about his boy, but deep inside it still ripped him apart.
Holding a baby in your arms, teaching him to walk, watching him as he goes dancing with a girl, realizing him following in your footsteps – the experience of seeing a child growing into a man, a better man than yourself, that's the greatest experience you can hope to live. Nothing had ever felt as good to Frank as being a father.
And then he lost that man, that boy. From one minute to another, the friendly, brave power supporting him through life – was gone. Joe was gone. So was Mary. And though Frank had learnt to breathe and walk and even laugh without them, he knew that a part of him had died with those two. He would never again be as happy as he once had been.
Hearing Danny's pain ringing through the phone was another hit in the stomach. He knew Danny was feeling responsible for Joe, just as he did. And he knew he was missing his little brother more than he admitted. It was hard to see his children suffer, but on the other hand Frank took comfort in the fact that the siblings loved each other so much.
"I know, my son. I know." There was nothing left to say. Only to live with.
"You know? How can you…" Then there was a new silence on the other side, and then: "It's Jamie, dad."
"What's with Jamie?" The commissioner forced himself to stay calm. There was not necessarily need to worry. No need for the ice crawling up his throat and down to his heart, no need to count his own heart beats till they would stop. This had happened before, he mustn't confuse his children, it didn't happen now. "Come on, Danny, you know what time it is? Get yourself home. Jamie'll be fine." A prayer, not a fact. Frank closed his eyes and mouthed a Lord's Prayer. Please watch over my children.
"Jamie got shot. He's been behind me when we were chasing some… robber…" Danny's voice got lower as the world closed in around Frank. His heart was beating fiercely against the words that just stabbed his brain, pumping blood through his suddenly aching body. His hands were shaking violently.
Jamie was shot. He was probably hurt, hopefully, under those circumstances, just hurt. The ice in his throat remained, yet Frank felt hot all over. Instinct again. He just had learnt that his youngest was shot – why did he feel like the bad thing wasn't said yet?
"What…" His voice cracked.
Danny swallowed, and Frank's heart raced up. Running from or running towards the answer? And while his heart went faster and faster, the wheel of time went slower and slower and –
"Dad? Jamie's dead."
- and stopped.
"You sure?" It was a typical Reagan thing that their voices could be so calm when everything inside was breaking down.
"What the hell you think I am, huh? I saw him die, I felt him die right in my arms! I am sure!" So much for calmness. Danny's shouting was washed away by sobs, and Frank felt his head spinning. He needed to put the phone down, he needed to get Danny out of the line. He needed to get his son to be alive.
"Okay", he said, and then, "I'll call Linda to get to you." Thinking was so difficult now that a part of his brain was numbed. He couldn't think about it now. Just another second.
"Jackie just called her", Danny was still sobbing. "He's gone, dad. One moment I held him in my arms just as if he was hurt as a kid, and the next…"
Frank closed his eyes as every new word hit him somewhere between the eyes. "Okay," he managed to get out, without really knowing what he'd just said.
For a moment both men just fought for their composure and against the truth. Just as Frank felt like he couldn't keep up the line any longer, Danny murmured, "I gotta go, dad. I'll tell Linda."
The Commissioner nodded and out the phone down with shaking hands, allowing the father to totally take over.
Jamie was dead.
He had lost another son.
Sitting straight in his bed, Frank let the truth flood through his body and soul, knowing that now he had to face it. It was over and Jamie was dead. He was gone.
Frank didn't feel a thing.
Even after minutes, after he'd been through the talk in his mind over again – he simply didn't feel anything. He was cold and numb and Jamie was dead and it didn't make sense.
Slowly Frank climbed out of his bed and went through the dark house, over to Jamie's room.
All the anxiety he had felt before was gone by now, it was just as if his whole being was at ease again now that he knew what had happened.
Jamie was dead. Frank shook his head. He was a father, he should feel more when thinking this sentence through. But he didn't. Actually, thinking "a cop's dead" hurt more than "Jamie's dead". It was just not imaginable – seeing his little handsome boy lying motionlessly on a metal bed, not smiling anymore. That didn't make sense.
The Commissioner's hands had stopped shaking by the time he opened the door to Jamie's former room. Since he was the youngest, his furniture and games were the most intact, and Jack and Sean often came up here to play.
Frank sat down on the bed, his head spinning but not really getting reality in.
Not till he saw the photograph on the night table. It had been taken almost fifteen years ago, and they were all on it: Frank himself, an arm around Mary, the other around Linda. Mary had both of her arms around Erin, protective about her daughter and her first grandchild, Nicky, just six weeks old. John was standing right beside his wife, but not touching her. Danny was sitting in front of Linda, leaning on her legs, and next to him was Joe.
And between Danny and Joe, right in the middle of the picture, was Jamie, ten years old and smiling.
His sweet little boy who always wanted to help people. Frank touched the glass frame but didn't dare to lift it up. That was what he had just forgotten.
Jamie was dead. Like, really. It wasn't a joke or news for the press or something in the local police report.
It was his son. And he was dead.
Reality set in with fists of iron. Frank slipped off the bed and fell to the ground, his body still numb to the world around but highly alert to the truth that sat on his chest.
"Jamie…" Saying the name of his youngest child ripped the masque down for good. Frank started to sob violently, unable to breathe, unable to see. This was a nightmare. He couldn't go through this, he couldn't be there for his children to help them go through this. He couldn't lose another child, not again, not Jamie… he turned his head around wildly, his tear-blinded eyes only catching flashes of vision. The room was filled with memories. Here he had sat with Jamie, explaining algebra to him – just once, then he had been able to do it himself. Over there was a bit of blood cause Joe and Danny had fought in here, they always fought at Jamie's so their parents wouldn't find him.
Every place, every bit of space in the room was inhabited by Jamie, and Jamie wasn't anymore. It nauseated Frank to be here, yet he couldn't move.
"Jamison", he croaked, as if it was the medicine. Just that it wasn't.
"Jamie." Not enough air inside here. As Frank got up and left the room – after stroking and patting the blanket back into its usual shape – he realized that a part of him still was numb to everything. He would just realize it totally, the police officer in him said, when he had to call Erin.
God be good, Erin.
Hand on the doorknob, Frank turned around again. Jamie's room was so dark now, so empty.
"I… I have to call Erin", the Commissioner said into the darkness with a now calm and toneless voice, "I have to call Erin and tell her that Jamie" – he felt tears shooting into and at once out of his eyes – "is dead." He coughed over the last word, it choked him. It was this feeling that made it clear to Frank at last that he was wide awake, that it wasn't a nightmare, or – yes, it was. But it was one of those nightmares you can't wake up from.
"Jamie's dead", he whispered again, and now his mind was filled with pictures of his son, laughing, crying, being worried for someone else – he always was - , sick and healthy, as a baby and a teenager. His son. A young man as good as any he'd ever known.
His little boy. He was gone. Frank heard his own labored breath. How was he supposed to live till he could see Jamie again? How was he supposed to live without him?
And how was he supposed to tell Erin about it?
Frank broke down again, crying. He was so tired. It hurt so bad. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to see his wife again, he wanted to kiss her and tell her how beautiful she was.
He wanted to see his sons again. He wanted to hug them and never let go and protect them from everything.
Mary. Joe.
Jamie.
The names choked him.
He wanted to finally come home to them.