New
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Author-Vision
Titles
If the Walls Could Talk
{unfinished}
by Vision
Unfinished.
Summary: None yet.
Disclaimer: Canon characters do not belong to me. They are the property of Pet Fly and Paramount. I don't make any money etc., etc.
Part 1
I'm standing here outside her door, trying to come up with some lame excuse that might get me out of this appointment. It's not like I haven't been here before, not like I don't know what's going to happen to me. I know the drill -- she'll talk, I'll listen, I'll talk, she'll listen. It's really quite simple. Simon will get off my case, and life will return to what passes for normal around here. All I need from her is that slip of paper that says that I can return to active duty, and everything will be just fine. It's simple, really. Quite simple...
The door to her office opens suddenly, and I take a faltering step backwards. Shit, I didn't even hear the guy coming. I guess that just proves how shaken I really am. My senses have been all over the place for so long that I can't seem to get a handle on them anymore. The guy gives me a half-smile as he brushes past me, and I can feel the heat burning in my cheeks. Great, just great. Why me? There's nothing quite like meeting a fellow officer outside the shrink's office. Talk about embarrassing.
I'm just about to pack it in, when I see her face smiling at me just beyond the open door. She's standing behind her receptionist's desk, no doubt preparing for her next patient. Unfortunately, that next patient just happens to be me. She looks at her watch briefly, obviously noting that I've waited until the last possible second to make an entrance. She has a folder tucked under her arm, and she nods her head in my direction. There's no turning back now, and for a moment I feel like some floundering fish caught in a fisherman's net. Escape is not an option.
I step inside the office, making sure to shut the door tight behind me. Taking a quick glance around at the empty chairs, I feel a bit more at ease. I wonder if there's any mention of how I always book the last appointment of the day in her notes. Surely, she hasn't noticed something like that. Who am I kidding? She's a shrink for god's sake! She probably knows I wear white socks all the time.
Clare, the receptionist, gives me one of her award-winning smiles, and I find myself returning it. There's something about that woman that just makes you want to smile back at her. I guess it's the fact that she sees so much pain all the time and can still give you a sincere smile despite it all.
I count the steps from Clare's desk to the fancy wooden door at the end of the hallway. There's twelve steps, or at least there was last time I was here. Okay, so I happen to need a distraction while I'm making my way to the end of the hallway, so big deal. Some people bite their nails, I count steps; it's just a nervous reaction. It's probably just a crazy habit I picked up on Vice or in the army or something. You need to know where you are, or you can't find your way back...
I pause again at the entrance to her domain, knowing that beyond this door, is the lion's den. Okay fine, so I'm exaggerating; it just seems that way to me. I can remember my first visit here, just after Jack went missing, so many years ago. I could have sworn their were bars on the windows and raw meat laying on the floor. I can remember the caged feeling that I had, the cornered, frightened animal that I became when I walked through this door. God I was an idiot; I can't believe she didn't tell me to go find myself another psychiatrist. Simon must have briefed her about my attitude because despite my less than perfect behavior, she never batted an eyelash.
It's been a long time since I've seen her, and somewhere beyond the fear, I guess I sort of need this. I mean, she's really not that bad a person, pretty easy to talk to as well. She's beautiful, smart, and even mildly amusing. Not exactly the ogre that I've made her out to be.
The door is slightly ajar, and I timidly push it the rest of the way open. She's seated in one of the high- back chairs, legs crossed, waiting patiently for me to enter. There'\s nothing frightening about her, no talons, fangs or other hideous features to make me shy away.
There's something different about her office, maybe because of the un-office-like way she keeps it. There's no big oak desk or hanging degrees, no leather couch or fancy rug. It's just this room, this calm place, like a sitting room in an old estate somewhere. There's lace curtains, two cozy high-back chairs, a single bookcase, and my personal favorite, the pacing area. Personally, I think she created that area just for me, either that, or she purposely shifts the furniture if she knows I'm coming. I'd like to believe I'm not the only man in the world who need to move freely about an area when he's talking.
A warm light floods the room, and I feel immediately drawn to the huge window adjacent to my pacing spot. The blinds have been opened, to reveal a most spectacular sunset. There's nothing quite like a Cascade sunset to make life seem all worthwhile.
"Hello Jim. How have you been?"
Her voice shakes me from my musing, and I enter the room and shut the door behind me. I give the door an extra push just to make sure it's securely shut. Lord knows, if I have to do this, nothing is getting past that door without me noticing it.
"Fine," I say, not quite sure if that's the answer she was looking for. That's the thing with shrinks, you're never quite sure if you've said the right thing or not. She doesn't seem surprised by my answer, so I guess I can move on.
"How's the arm?"
I stare past her, hoping that she doesn't want to linger on this subject for more than a minute or two. "Better. The doc says I can go back to work later on this week."
"Really? I'm happy to hear that; you must be relieved."
"Yeah, I'm ready to go back to work."
She smiles at that statement, and gestures towards the chair opposite her. "Why don't you sit down?"
I consider telling her that I'd rather stand, but quickly change my mind. Maybe if I sit down, she'll let me out of here faster. Standing hasn't exactly proven to be successful in my past sessions, so maybe I should try a different approach. I mentally count off the six strides to the chair facing her, and carefully ease myself into the oversized chair. I feel like the material has swallowed me whole, pressing my body firmly into its grasp. Sometimes I wish she had chairs like the ones in the ER waiting rooms -- hard, plastic ones that are easy to get out of. There's something to be said for sturdy, uncomfortable chairs that make exits quick and painless. It's going to take me at least five seconds to lever myself out of this thing.
I fold my hands in my lap, resisting the urge to show any sign of impatience. "Thanks."
"Simon filled me in on the details of what happened. I understand you were shot in the line of duty."
"That's right."
"I see," she says, forcing me to look into her eyes.
"An armed robbery at a convenience store. Bullets were flying; I got in the way."
She nods a few times before she continues. "Did you return fire?"
The temperature in the room seems to have risen at least ten degrees. "No. I went down pretty quick."
"Of course," she says, tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. "How's Blair? Tell him he still owes me that book he promised me."
I feel like I'm in some kind of race car and she just slammed on the brakes. I take a moment to compose myself before answering. "He's away on a trip."
"How long has he been gone?"
I'd love to tell her that he's been gone a hundred and forty four hours, fifteen minutes, and somewhere around eleven seconds. Not like I've been keeping track or anything. "Almost a week."
I can't help but notice her eyebrows make that little arch, and I swallow hard because of it. "It must have taken some smooth talking on your part to make him stay away."
"I didn't tell him; why spoil his vacation. I can take care of myself. Besides, he would have done that mother hen thing, and I hate that." I sure hope that statement came out the right way. I better add a shrug to go along with it, just to be sure.
I can tell by the look on her face that I must have said something wrong. She has this ability, this way of seeing through people that makes me very uneasy.
"So you were alone this week then."
I'd like to say that eight visits from Simon, four from Joel, six from Rafe, and three from Megan and Brown hardly qualifies as being alone, but I don't.
"Yeah, I guess."
She seems to notice my growing agitation, and quickly shifts gears. There's a moment of silence between us, and I find myself staring out the window. The sky is ablaze with the colors of a Cascade sunset: blue, red, and orange hues, all blended together into a perfect tapestry of light and color.
"What did he look like, Jim?"
She knows I'm stalling, I'm sure of it, but I need more time to form some sort of intelligent lie to forestall this line of questioning. "Who? What did who look like?"
I hear the slight scraping of her shoe against the wood floor as she shifts positions in her chair. "The gunman. What did the gunman look like?"
I pretend as though I'm trying to remember what the man looked like, but really I'm willing the sun to set. "Just a guy."
Turning my eyes back to look at her, I notice that she's staring at my now clenched hands. I know for a fact that my knuckles are white, and that there's probably a cut or two from my fingernails pushing against my own flesh.
"Simon said that he looked familiar. Like someone you had seen before."
I blink a few times, wishing now that I really could be swallowed up by this chair. "I've seen lots of guys."
"There was a robbery a few months ago, you were shot by a man in a convenience store..."
I feel like there's no air in the room, like I'm underwater, sinking deeper into the unknown. I'm out of the chair in two seconds flat, three if you count that stumbling motion just before I stride across the room to look out the window. "This has nothing to do with that! What are you getting at?"
"Just that according to Simon, it was the same man."
I whirl around to face her, my arms thrust out from my sides, palms open and spread to the sky. "So what! What is this, some kind of interrogation? What else has he told you? What other little tidbits of information has he been feeding you?"
I'm running off at the mouth now, and I can't seem to stop. My heart's racing with the anticipation of what questions and possible answers I can and cannot bear to give. It's all so damn confusing. I've got to get these emotions back under lock and key. Shit, this has to stop, before I, before I tell the truth...
Part 2
I can't help but rake an accusing gaze over her, trying my best to shake her professional demeanor to the core. She holds my gaze, refusing to back down from my verbal abuse.
"Why didn't you fire back?" she says in that tone that reeks of confidence.
I stand in stunned silence, my hands falling lazily to my sides once more. "I told you before..."
"What you told me before and what's in the report are two different things. This has nothing to do with Simon, Jim; this has to do with you. According to the report, the man had a hostage; he fired; you pushed Simon out of the way and took the bullet yourself. Am I right?"
I think I nod, but all I can see is her face dissolving in front of me. The events of the shooting flash through my head, and it starts again. The pain, the noise, the fractured memories, broken and distorted, crashing and pummeling my brain. It hurts, everything hurts. I can hear her voice, distant and accusing, and I want to shut down. I want to zone; please let me zone. I need to get away. Take me, please, oh god, don't make me say it. Please...
"I didn't want to shoot him." The words slip out before I can stop them. I wish I could take them back. I wish...I wish...I'm so sorry.
"Why, Jim? Why didn't you shoot him? You had a clear shot. There was no one in your way. The hostage was pushed aside, and yet you hesitated. Why did you hesitate? Tell me what you saw."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Simon! Get down!" I tackle him to the ground, and jerk my head up quickly to face the gunman. I manage to scramble to my knees just as the bullet lodges into my shoulder. My body snaps back from the force of the bullet, and I fall backwards against one of the shelves. My gun is still securely lodged in my hand, and I raise it slowly, leveling it at his chest.
And then it happens...
There's a trickle of sound in my ear, and I think it's Simon, and something about shooting the perp. I'm not sure though, and for some reason, it doesn't really matter.
A cool wetness slowly drizzles its way along my pant leg, and I watch as a pool of red liquid slowly snakes along the tile floor. Blood? No, not blood, grape juice. I must have knocked a bottle of juice off the shelf on my way down. It smells sweet and sour -- and childlike.
My eyes follow the trail of red along the floor to the gunman's running shoes, size ten, blue. My gaze travels up his dark blue jeans, to the off white tee shirt that hangs below his too small leather jacket. My eyes lock on his straggly, dirty blond hair, and I'm afraid to look any further. Memories flare in my mind, sending a rush of panic through my body. I stare at him, taking in his facial features, denying what I see before me. His bulging blue eyes seem to laugh at me as I fight to breathe. His mouth opens and a whisper, low and raspy, falls from his mouth. I hear it and yet want nothing more then to ignore it.
"We meet again, Jim. Welcome to the jungle."
He growls, a low rumbling sound, that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The sound of Simon's gun cuts through the image, and I watch as the perp crashes through the glass and lands in a heap just outside the door.
"No!" I scream, thrashing against Simon's hold, trying to get to the perp laying lifeless in a bed of glass. I know he's dead, but I can't help but fight anyway. Simon grabs my face in his hands and turns me to look at him.
"Jim! Stop it!"
I grip his wrists in my hands, oblivious to my own injuries and search his eyes for redemption. "Please. Oh god, keep him away from me; keep Blair away from me. You got to listen to me. It's happening again. I thought it was Alex, but I was wrong. It's him, Simon; he's the key. This guy, somehow he's connected to all this. You got to promise me."
His voice finds its way to me, calm and reassuring. "It's okay, Jim. Just relax. He's dead. I need you to calm down. The ambulance is on its way. Just breathe."
And I can feel him lowering me to the ground, and for a moment I try to convince myself that this is all a dream, and that at any moment, I'm going to wake up...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can feel the wood floor beneath me, and gentle hands brushing lightly across my forehead. Her voice is soft with only a slight edge of panic.
"Jim? The ambulance is on its way. You just relax; everything is going to be fine. Simon and Blair are going to meet us at the hospital. Did you hear me? Blair's back."
Her words drown what is left of my self-control, and I reach up to loosely grasp a lock of her brown hair. I feel so cold; my fingers are numb and unresponsive. She takes my too cool hand in her own and rubs tiny circles along my knuckles. The pull of darkness beckons me, and my heads feels unusually heavy. I tilt my head to the side, letting my cheek rest against the cool wood. My eyes close, and as I allow myself to drift into the void, I see an image of a white dove perching on our clasped hands.
Part 3
I hear him, not just in a physical sense, but in a way that strikes so much deeper. His words are like a metronome -- the centering, steady beat that keeps my world in synch. He can reach me even when science and medicine fail. His words brush something inside me, each syllable awakening bristles of memory and bringing me back from the darkness.
I listen to his words and slowly dredge my mind through the haze of the zone-out. The fog lifts, and I sigh inwardly as the last of the eery blackness pools to the back of my mind. Even though my eyes are still tightly closed, there is no more darkness...
I track him with my hearing, following a mental map easily sketched out by my senses. He's two corridors away, fourteen paces from the nurse's station, seated in the second chair from the right. His left leg is jittering nervously, and his heart rate and breathing are jacked up way beyond normal. Simon is seated beside him, a stale cigar tucked in the breast pocket of his suit. Their voices are harsh whispers, both feeling the effects of too much waiting and not enough information. Their conversation reaches my ears, and I find myself eavesdropping.
"I can't believe you didn't call me. How could you let Jim go through this alone? Did you hear what the doctor said? He's got an infection, Simon, and it damn near killed him."
"Look, Sandburg, I wanted to call you, but Jim wouldn't have it. What the hell was I supposed to do? I checked him; we all did. How was I supposed to know he was turning down those dials, or whatever it is you call them?"
"I know, Simon, I know. I should never have left him alone in the first place. Thank god Brook was with him when he passed out. I can't imagine the questions she's gonna have when this is over. There's gonna be some major damage control needed before we can get past this. You'd think after all we've been through Jim would trust me by now."
"There's something else...something I think you should know."
"What? There's more?"
"The man that shot Jim was the same man that shot him in the convenience store a few months ago. You know, just before...just before you drowned in the fountain."
"Shit."
Our hearts simultaneously skip a beat and a rush of footsteps interrupts my eavesdropping. A woman's voice and a pressure on my left arm distract me momentarily.
"Detective Ellison, are you awake? I'm Laura. Can you open your eyes for me?"
I flinch away from her touch and slowly open my eyes. She smiles at me and removes her hand from my arm.
"Do you know where you are?"
"H-hospital," I rasp, hoping that's sufficient enough an answer to send her packing. No such luck.
"Dr. Matthews will be in to see you shortly. You gave us all quite a scare. Are you in any pain?"
"Some, " I admit, realizing that despite my best efforts, I'm unable to control the pain anymore.
"As soon as the doctor comes back, I'll get him to give you something." She smiles again, and I pretend to drift back to sleep. Her voice fades to a dull drone in the back of my head, and I search for my center once more.
"Did Jim say anything? Did the guy speak to him? This is unreal. What about Alex, is she...is she still...?"
"I checked myself; even let Jim talk to the chief of staff at the psychiatric facility. She's locked up, safe and sound. Look, Blair, the only thing I can tell you is that Jim was adamant about keeping you away from him. That's all I know."
"What about the guy? Is he dead?"
I listen intently for Simon's reply, knowing the answer even before it leaves his lips.
"They managed to resuscitate him."
"He's still alive? Oh man. Does Jim know?"
"No. I didn't think it was a good idea to tell him, given the situation."
"Is he here?"
"Yes. I've got a guard at his door and another one outside Jim's."
I feel my heart sinking into my chest, the weight of two worlds pressing against my insides. There has to be a way of keeping Blair away from me; there just has to be. The hollow pit that has now become my stomach, tightens in response to the fear that runs unchecked through my body.
My mind shifts gears quickly, tossing aside possible solutions to an impossible situation. The scene at the hospital after the drowning incident flashes in my head, and I hear his words as clear as if Blair were sitting right here next to me. I remember telling him that I wasn't ready to take that trip with him. Now as I hear his words replaying in my mind, asking me to join him in the water, I feel... different. The fear of an uncharted sea no longer terrifies me, and I allow my mind to capsize into unnavigable waters. I'm unable to see the shore, and yet all doubt seems to flow away with the tide.
I hear his voice again, this time panic-stricken.
"What's going on?... Oh my god, Jim. No!"
The monitors beside my bed suddenly spring to life. Their high-pitched wail assaults my senses. I allow myself to sink deeper... deeper... until the sound fades, and the waters close over my head.
...end...unfinished...