In this chapter, Liam is five and Bridget/Emma is still in Chicago. In fact, this is where she tells Jay that she has to leave. There is a slight sexual situation, but nothing graphic. It is told in the first person by Jay, then Bridget/Emma.

Also, just a shout out to any other fans of Supernatural—where my pen name came from and the show that got me started so many years ago. The program that gave me the inspiration to write and constantly fed my imagination. It was a tearful goodbye to a fabulous run and I will be forever grateful for all that I have done since that very first chapter so many years ago on a forum that I have long since forgotten. But the beginnings of my writing, an outlet for me, saving my psyche from so much, will never be forgotten.

Glass Island

Jay

I scooped up Liam and hurried up the apartment steps. "We're late buddy," I told my five year old son. It had been one of those beautiful early Chicago spring days, the sun had been warm, the breeze light and the promise of summer was already evident. We had spent the day down by the lake and then ended it at the playground by Grant Park. But with as with all things fun, the time went by too quickly and though I had texted Liam's mother,

Bridget that we were on our way, I knew she would be eagerly waiting. She always seemed to be restless until Liam was back in her care. I knew that she trusted me and loved that I had time with Liam, but it also seemed to unsettle her whenever they were separated.

I hit the buzzer underneath her name on the exterior wall and waited as Liam's blond locks brushed against my cheek. He had behaved so well all weekend, cute, cuddly, loving. A few days prior when I came by for my Wednesday night visit he had been irritable and cranky. Of course his behavior was partly due to the fact that I was late. I was welcome to come anytime after five and keep him until 7:30 if I took him out, or stay with him until bedtime at 8:00 as long as I agreed to get him ready for bed and tuck him in. Visitation, was pretty fair and fluid, it was my schedule that often caused the issues—and those issues could cause a cranky five year old.

It was always the disappointment on his face that would make me cringe. Two weeks ago on a Wednesday night Sarge had noticed me checking my watch over and over asking if I had some place else I would rather be. Of course that answer had to be no, except it wasn't. I wanted to spend the few precious hours with my child. But by the time the case got to a stopping point, the best I could do was a phone call and a promise of a better time in the future. It was an empty promise to his five year old ears; at his age everything is in the now and I hadn't been there in his now.

Even though I had been at it for over four years, I still felt like a novice. I didn't even start taking him overnight until he was two years old. It was like I was afraid I would lose him, break him or somehow screw him up if I went over twenty-four hour mark. But eventually I found a groove, built up some confidence and felt somewhat secure that I was doing at least a halfway decent job. Now if I missed a Wednesday night or even worse a weekend, I felt the loss as profoundly as he did.

Today at the playground I would catch him at the end of the slide and swing him around. He loved that—every time—he loved it. His eyes would light up and his laughter was infectious, and was what would get me through the most brutal of days. Every night at 7:30 my phone would ring and it would be his tiny little voice telling me goodnight. I always tried to answer, but if I would miss it, his words would stay in a message that I could listen to just one more time before I went to bed.

The door clicked and we went inside. Liam was heavy in my arms, both of us feeling the day as it had worn us down without us even being aware. The door to the apartment opened and Bridget was standing there waiting. She reached her arms out causing Liam to cling to me, his arms wrapped around my neck. I handed her his backpack that contained his favorite must-have items so she wouldn't be left empty handed.

"He had fun?" Bridget asked as she peered around to look at his face.

I wasn't exactly sure if it was a question or a statement, but I answered anyway. "I believe he did." I said as I walked in towards the living room, Liam still in my arms.

"Stay Daddy," Liam said, his fists rubbing his eyes.

"You need a bath. I think there is sand in your hair," Bridget said.

"No!" Liam protested.

"Maybe, if you take a quick bath, Daddy can you read you a story before he leaves." She bribed.

"Okay," Liam quickly agreed charging off to the bathroom as soon as I set him down.

"Sorry, I should have asked first." Bridget said as she turned to me. "I know you have to work tomorrow."

"It's fine. I don't mind staying," I told her, meaning it.

"Can you stay after Liam's in bed? I need to talk with you for a few minutes."

"Sure," I blurted out as I wondered what she might want. More child support? Different visitation schedule? I went and sat down on the couch as Bridget headed to the bathroom where Liam was calling for her to hurry up. She had mentioned wanting to talk to me when I picked Liam up. Something about a trip. But Liam had come out ready to go and we parted leaving the conversation on hold.

I heard my son's chatter over the running water, and Bridget saying lot's of uh huh's and oh really's, an attempt to give the illusion she was paying attention to his steady stream of words, but I could tell she wasn't, her voice was distant and distracted. This made me wonder even more what she wanted to talk about. I could probably come up with a little more money if she needed it. I hoped she didn't want to change the visitation. I know Wednesday nights didn't work out as often as I wanted, but I would fight to keep them.

Restless, I got up and wandered into Liam's room. The floor was free of toys, the bed was made and no clothes cluttered any surface space. Bridget had clearly tidied up after Liam's Friday night departure. My apartment, on the other hand, looked as if a tornado had roared through even though we had spent most of the weekend outside. Like most Chicagoan's, we jettisoned outside at the first hint of warmth. But in the mere minutes we were inside, Liam, as always, made it his own.

I looked at the the picture of the two of us on his dresser. It had been taken on Kindergarten craft night and Bridget was supposed to be in it, but she backed out with some excuse just before the flash went off. It made me all the happier that I had managed to get a few shots of her a couple of weeks before. At first I didn't feel right about infringing on her privacy, but I got over it pretty fast. I kept the picture in the drawer of my nightstand. Just knowing it was there gave me some kind of ease.

Thinking of that day, the elephant that Liam had been so focused on was sitting on his bed next to Bear, the police bear that I had given him. He usually brought the toy with him to my house but he had forgotten it this time, which somehow translated into me having to read him three books at bedtime due to the profound absence of his bedtime buddy. I sighed as I picked up the picture and traced our faces, my gentle grin next to Liam's gleeful cheer. Suddenly there was a noise behind me as Liam ran in, his towel falling to the floor. Bridget smiled as I moved away from his dresser so she could grab his pajamas.

"I'm all clean and my teeth brushed. Two stories Daddy," Liam begged as he stepped into his underwear that Bridget held open for him. She tugged him back from trying to get to his bookshelf, pulling his top on as I stepped towards his selection of fiction.

"I'll pick one and after you get your pants on you can pick one," I told him. I chose a book about a car stuck in traffic who was learning patience while Liam hopped up next to me and picked his favorite about monkey's jumping on the bed.

"I'll leave you two alone," Bridget said disappearing from the room.

"Up you go," I told him as I pulled the covers back. He climbed in bed and grabbed Bear, pulling him close. "Read Daddy," he demanded.

We got through the first book, thirteen pages of stimulating conversations between, trucks and cars, all getting along and realizing their delay had been nothing but a blessing. But we didn't get far into his selection before his eyes got heavy and his head nodded away from me. I pulled the covers up a bit further and kissed him as I grabbed both books and put them back on the shelf, turned the light off and closed the door behind me.

I had worked hard to focus on my last minutes with Liam, but at the same time I was wondering what his mother could possibly tell me. Or—or maybe she just wanted me to stay. I would do that every so often. She would ask, I would tell myself not to do it—it would lead nowhere except for rejection. It was the same thing every time and I could never figure it out—her out. But I stayed anyway.

"What's up?" I asked her as I watched her in the kitchen as she took two beers from the fridge.

"Is he asleep?"

"Yep. Lasted to the third monkey and was out." I said as I accepted the beer.

"Killian's Red, you like it don't you?"

"I like beer," I replied taking a big swig. "Didn't know you were such a fan?"

"Not really, but—I thought I'd have some for you." She said taking a sip. "I know ironic right? The Irish chick isn't a fan of beer."

"This must be big news."

"He has so much fun with you. I'm so glad that you have grown so close."

"Yeah, well, I don't have the day to day stuff, so it's not too hard to have fun on the weekends. But yeah, I'm glad that we are pretty bonded."

We made our way over to the loveseat and sat down. She set her beer on the coffee table while I hung onto mine for dear life. "Jay—I'm going away. I'm not sure for how long yet."

I had heard her words as they were spiraling in my brain, swirling, clattering, bouncing as if they were on springs. "You can't take him away from me," I blurted out, terrified that I was going to lose Liam. I was already thinking about how much a lawyer would cost, how much of a chance I would have of making her stay here or some kind of arrangements that would keep my son in my life.

"Jay—take a breath—listen to me," she said clearly feeling my anxiety. "I'm not going to take him away from you, I'm asking you to take him full time."

Now my brain did an about-face, my terror in a complete reversal. "I'm not equipped to be a full time father, I don't have the time, the patience, the resources." I wasn't even sure I had said it out loud until she smiled, and her hand came to my face, her fingers trailing down my cheek.

"You'll be fine. I have ton's of sitters and have asked for referrals for several in your neighborhood."

"But my schedule—you know—I can't," I stammered, panic ringing in my voice.

"You can. I know your schedule is long and crazy, but I have found people and centers who can take children around the clock. And perhaps—well maybe you can cut back on your hours."

"I can't. I'm in the top unit of the city—you don't give that away." I expected an argument but I guess she didn't feel she was in a position to give one as she simply smiled.

"Then you can do both," she assured.

My heart was hammering at the news. I didn't know what to think or do. Why was this happening and where was she going? "You can't," I managed to eek out.

"I have to."

"When will you be back?"

"When I can."

"That's rather open-ended. Days? Weeks? Months?"

"When I can Jay," she said as she leaned in, her lips heading for mine. But I wasn't ready to fall into the trap that always ensnared me.

I leaned back and then stood up, my hand running through my hair. I paced several steps in each direction and then chose not to sit down when I got back to the couch. "How? Why?" I began my one word sentences again.

"It's complicated. But it is something I have to do. If it wasn't so important, believe me I wouldn't go. I have no choice. I'm counting on you Jay—you are a fantastic father and I know you can do this. His eyes light up every night when it's time to call you. He looks out the window every Friday night when you're supposed to pick him up, waiting, watching every person that goes by, every car that goes down the street."

"I don't understand," I told her, because I didn't. She loved Liam more than anything. She also loved her job, the apartment and the city—what in the hell could make her leave it all behind? "Tell me why. I can help you. Think of what this will do to Liam—to me."

"I wish that you could help but you can't. The reason isn't here."

"Is it your visa? I'm sure we could figure something out," I offered.

She smiled, but it showed nothing but sadness. I wanted to tell her I loved her, but the words just wouldn't come out. I had been so guarded about revealing my feelings for her, mostly because of the fear that they wouldn't be reciprocated, and who wants their heart crushed.

"Do you know the lullaby I sing to Liam?" I nodded yes, though I only had a vague idea having only heard a few times. I only recalled that it was very haunting. "I sing, that I'll fly for you, my child, my son. I have to fly for him now."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I have to go." She replied, reaching out to me again. "It means that despite the fact that I love my son more than anything I have to leave him. It means that despite the fact that I love you Jay Halstead and want nothing more than to live my life with you, I have to leave." She said as tears began to fall from her eyes.

I stood there like an idiot not knowing what to do or say. I couldn't believe that she had admitted her love for me while I left my words laying on my tongue. I leaned over and pulled her up and as we came together it felt like it always did. I had always compared us to magnets, turned one way we repelled each other, but turned the right way we grabbed a hold with a ferocity that couldn't be denied. Our bodies seemed to melt into one another and our mouths found their target. Our kisses were hungry and wet. Seemingly reading each other's minds she jumped up and wrapped her legs around me as I carried her past Liam's closed door and into her bedroom where I set her on the bed and before either of us realized it, our clothes were heaps on the floor.

She laid back on the bed as my lips began to explore her body, inch by inch. I knew that this would be the last night we were together, not only from her words, but from her desire that seemed to burn through her skin. We both seemed to know that we would never find love quite like this again. Our connection seemed to blaze brightly when given a chance, and I only wished we truly had had that chance. My best days, even as short as they were, were the ones spent with her. We had enjoyed magnificent days and nights, seeing nothing beyond ourselves and that was good enough. We created a beautiful child together and I believe that we could have created a life together as well. When I was with her, it always felt like that last piece of a puzzle being snapped into place, the picture finally completed. I used to pretend that we were together, on the nights I tried to push my day away, I would envision our little family, small and mighty, full of love. But apparently the pain and problems of her past held a stronger pull than her love for us.

I looked into her eyes, two turbulent pools of blue, as I entered her. We held each others gaze, not wanting to look away. I went slow, not wanting this to end. Her arms lay over her head on the mattress and I placed my hands in hers, fingers intertwined. I leaned in and kissed her again, connecting in every place we could. As always, we found our easy rhythm. There were rarely theatrics or a need for constant movement and motion, it was just us, in a place that was just for us. I pulled my head back again and looked at her beneath me, her face soft, but betraying the emotions that had stayed bottled up and unspoken. Clearly she had run away from something and had run far. But she wasn't able to tell me what it was even though it would take her so far away. I tried to hang on as long as I could, but finally relief washed over us both and I collapsed next to her. It was only then that I had realized, I hadn't even thought to use a condom. She seemed to know exactly what I was thinking as she turned to me and smiled.

"No worries. It's okay."

I wasn't sure how she knew that, but I trusted that she did. We lay face to face taking each other in, like a deep breath, or staring at a favorite painting trying to understand why you found it so fascinating. I held my hand up and she reached up and took it, our fingers intertwining once again, as if we held on tight enough, we could make whatever this was go away.

We got up, pulled the covers back and climbed under the sheets. I pulled her close to me and despite my best efforts not to, I fell asleep but not before I whispered my love for her.

Bridget (Emma)

I could feel Jay's deep and even breathing. Before he had found slumber, he had reciprocated my words of love from earlier. I embraced them as hard as I did him, I would hang onto them forever. I pushed my body back a fraction backwards until my it folded perfectly into his. I was surprised he couldn't feel my body tingling in its satisfaction and elation of our touch and togetherness.

This is what I wanted, what he seemingly was willing to give me. Our nights together, our mornings filled with coffee and smiles and wishes of a good a day. Our little boy playing at our feet. Could I pretend that my past wasn't a constant danger that I felt hovering over my shoulder? A dagger that was waiting to slice through our world? Could I tell Jay that I would stay and we could try? Were we safe? Would we stay safe? I asked these questions, already knowing the answers. Even though it had been over six years, I could never relax, never enjoy my life knowing that I had put those that I loved the most in harms way.

I could never truly be happy knowing that danger constantly lurked; that there was a very real possibility of Jay being killed simply because he was with me, our son taken to an unknown land and raised by a sadist. I would certainly be left alive where the torture would be much greater than if I was allowed to die.

I knew that I become complacent. I had ceased to look, to watch everything around us. It hadn't been that long ago that Liam and I were at the park when he had found a stuffed elephant and insisted that he take it home with us and care for it. I was so busy in our discussion, so focused on Liam that I disregarded everything else, something that had been happening with more regularity than I cared to admit. As we headed for home, I felt it—an unseen eye—a feeling of being watched, but when I looked around it had already passed and I had been too busy to notice when it mattered.

The next day Liam brought home a paper to sign him up for T-Ball. He had asked, then begged and demanded to play, but I had said no. I denied him because it would mean more exposure—exposure to more people, more places, more possibilities of being captured in pictures. Americans insisted on taking pictures of themselves during every event as if they didn't document it and then post it—it never happened. That if others didn't see their involvement in life then they weren't truly living. I was shaking my head no and declining selfies with other mothers, group pictures at Kindergarten functions and my self-exclusion was becoming obvious and causing the whispers among the mothers to thicken. It was seemly clear that it was more than just my accent that separated us. And I knew as Liam grew, it would only worsen. It would never be fair to ask him to abstain just to give me peace. To possibly move at every shift in the wind. To even face the possibility of having to take him away from his father.

The risk would grow and it would be something that I just couldn't be responsible for or perhaps it wasn't something I would take responsibility for. It was a selfish act, I was selfish despite trying to convince myself I wasn't. Leaving behind what I loved for their safety sounded noble—but I had been the one that had knowingly put them in that precarious position in the first place. I hadn't been concerned about the lack of birth control that had caused momentary panic in Jay, as unbeknownst to him I had had my tubes tied when Liam was three. I just couldn't bear the possibility of bringing another child into my world and have them become ensnared and victimized by a situation that they would never come to know or understand—which I believed was the very worst thing—a victim of ignorance but part of a darkness that carried very real evil.

I had gone walking today. Something I would often do after my chores were done on the days that Jay had Liam. I would take the bus to the Loop and walk among the buildings, towering and straight. All the windows like eyes looking down on me. Each one held an office full of people, all with stories of their own. I walked by the river and then down Michigan Ave with all the stores, reaching out with their promises of goods and rewards to those who stepped inside. Finally I had come to Millenium Park and stopped by the Bean to watch the flocking natives and tourists alike pay homage to its shiny exterior. Then down to Grant Park and the fountain that had always captivated Liam. It was there that I saw Jay. He had Liam up on his shoulders, his hands firmly holding Liam's legs, he was looking up and talking to him as Liam was pointing towards something in the distance—and when Jay nodded and headed the direction in which his son had indicated—I knew—I knew the time was now. I knew Jay, who at one time had been somewhat skittish and fearful of his small son—that somehow one wrong move or word would cause the child to disintegrate, now held a confidence that was laced with a sensitivity that would make—had made—him a great father. Their bond had formed and strengthened and was only proven to me even more when Liam refused to let go of Jay's neck when they had arrived home. It was as if I needed one more sign that it was time and my own five year old son, had known exactly what it was.

I did sign Liam up for T-Ball and I put the forms and practice schedule in the list of babysitters for Jay. I just can't make them pay for the sins of my father, a man who I knew would never give up—not really. Even if he never found me, he would always be nearby, a haunting and constant presence, tainting everything we did or didn't do. Why should the two people that I love the most have to be pulled into whirlpool that they could just as easily escape.

If I told Jay, he would insist that we would be safe—and he would truly believe it. He would believe that he could take care of us and any demons that dared to touch our lives. He kicked in doors, shot first and asked questions later—but never with a force as strong as the one that I had left behind. He had no way of knowing their reckoning. He had no concept of how big an evil this was and just how small he was in comparison. He had fought enough battles in Afghanistan and would have many more to fight in Chicago—this was a battle that wasn't his to deal with and to ultimately lose like so many before him had.

I had come to Chicago and built an island, one where I was very happy, but in the end, it had only been made of glass and it had finally shattered.

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