Story 10
Story 10
Case Notes by rhyo
gen
Case Notes
He heard the Volvo coming, of course, even when it had been more than a mile away. The distinct, off sound of the little four cylinder engine, with the slight rhythmic miss when the third cylinder failed to fire in sequence was as unique as Blair's voice -- although Blair's voice was something that had been missing from the loft for the last several days and it had left him feeling slightly unsettled.
But now, with the audible cue of Blair's return, he felt a bone-deep sense of relief. Blair had left without a word, leaving an uncharacteristically terse note: Gone on research road trip. Back in two days. Since his run-in with Rainier over Ventriss, Blair'd been serious about finally getting his dissertation out of the way, but Jim had been stunned by the note.
He listened as Blair parked the car, and then slowly walked to the front door. The metal hinges shrieked and Jim winced as the sound knifed through his head. His hearing was up -- way up -- as he listened for his friend and roommate. Blair bypassed the elevator, taking the stairs, and Jim could hear each footstep, slow and reluctant -- Blair was moving slowly, as though weighed down by something.
Finally he heard the sound of a key in the door lock, metal on metal, and the click of the tumblers as the door swung open. Blair stood in the threshold, blinking, and Jim realized that the loft, in early evening, was too dark for Blair to see his way in.
"Turn on the light," he said, his voice harsher than he'd intended.
Blair jumped. "What are you doing, sitting in the dark, man?" He flipped on the kitchen light and Jim had to squint at the brightness. Blair dropped his backpack and Jim flinched. "You are dialed all the way up, aren't you?" He crossed to the kitchen table and Jim's chair.
Jim pulled away from his outstretched hand. "How'd the research go, Sandburg? Get whatever was so important you couldn't even take the time to tell me where you were?" He knew he sounded angry, but now that Blair was back, he was angry.
"Jim---"
"Maybe next time you'd have the courtesy of letting me know where you're going---"
"Jim---"
"---so that I'd have at least an idea of where you were---"
"Shit, Jim, will you knock it off and just listen to me?"
"I'm listening. Make it good, Chief, but don't lie to me."
Blair scowled at him and Jim saw him twitch with the need to make a rude gesture in Jim's direction. Instead he pulled a hair band out of his pocket, tied his hair back and began to pace.
"Look, when I started my PhD work -- hell, even before then -- I sent out letters of inquiry to hospitals, doctors, institutions, looking for potential subjects." He paused to look at Jim, who reluctantly nodded -- this was old history. "Well, last week, I got a letter from a place over by Spokane with case notes and medical records. A patient who shows all the signs of having heightened senses. So I... I went to check it out."
"What do you mean heightened senses?"
"I mean she sounded like she might be a sentinel."
"Let me get this straight, Chief: you went, behind my back, to see another sentinel? A female sentinel?"
"I---"
"Yes or no."
"Yes, but---"
"Dying once wasn't enough?" He grabbed Blair's arm, shaking it slightly. "You had to sneak off to give it another try?"
"Goddammit, Jim," Blair said, pulling free and giving Jim's chest a thump for emphasis, "she's your mother!"
He took a step backward and glared up and Jim found himself just blinking back down at him. The loft was never really silent, not to a sentinel, but it was as though all sound simply ceased. He should have been able to hear the hum of the refrigerator, the soft hiss of the air vents, the creak and groan of the wood and brick skeleton of the building as it slowly cooled in the early evening, He should have been able to hear Blair's breathing, the slight wheeze of congestion on the exhale, and his steady, rock-solid heartbeat. Instead he heard nothing.
"My mother?" Jim sat down, abruptly, at the kitchen table. His mother. "And you knew?"
Blair's reply was muted, as if from a great distance. "I wasn't completely sure before I went, because the name was blacked out on the copies I got, but she had a medical history from Cascade -- including two childbirths -- up until 1972, when she moved to Spokane, and was finally institutionalized in the mid-80s. The age and the timing worked out, and I--- I had to go see for myself."
"Did you... were you... you saw her?"
"Yeah, man, I did. She... I think she was a sentinel once, just like you."
"Was?"
Blair closed his eyes and bowed his head. "She remarried and her second husband had her institutionalized for what they called 'fits of catatonia' -- they used drugs, electroshock, even surgery," he whispered. "Thirty years of misdiagnosis and mistreatment." His voice was thick.
Closing his own eyes for a moment, Jim understood what Blair was trying to convey. The fate of a sentinel in callous medical hands. Potentially his own fate, if he hadn't met Blair. "Did you talk to her?"
He shook his head and raised his eyes, and Jim could see that they were red. "Not... exactly." He licked his lips and took a step closer. "I..." He sat down at the table, across from Jim and ran a hand across his face. "I talked to her. And I..."
Blair's head dropped down, to look at his own hands, clenched on the table top. Jim, already tense, felt something cold curl inside his gut. Blair was trying to tell him something, something he was fairly sure Jim wouldn't like. "Say it, Blair," he whispered back.
"You have to understand," he said, looking back up and speaking earnestly, desperately, "she's diagnosed with dementia, not really responsive to words, but she reacts strongly to outside physical stimulus, displays hypersensitivity to sound and light, has an enhanced tactile response and has to be fed parenterally because she rejects food, probably because of taste and smell." He paused. "Other than that," he said, his voice cracking, "other than that, she's in perfect health, man."
Jim reached out and clasped the expressive hands to still them. "Just tell me the rest."
"It was cold when I left, so I had those cashmere knit gloves that Naomi sent me from Nepal..." He faltered at the mention of his own mother and he turned his hands over in Jim's so that he held on to Jim's wrists. "And she was... I started to do a couple tests, to see if I could get a baseline on senses, maybe help her get some kind of control, but..."
Jim flinched at the mention of tests, tests run on his mother, and Blair winced in response but then started speaking again, faster and a little more desperate.
"But she was in such pain, Jim, reacting to everything, so I took off one of the gloves and rubbed it along the back of her hands until she took it. At first I thought it would just be pleasant for her to touch the material, but... she was fascinated by the texture and color, and then I... I just talked to her." His voice had dropped low, unconsciously, to the soothing deep tone Jim recognized so well.
"You put her into a zone-out. On purpose." Blair nodded, mute, and Jim took in a sharp breath.
Blair's hands were still wrapped around his wrists and his eyes were locked on Jim's willing him to understand, and Jim let his breath out slowly. Blair was upset, Jim could feel it in the tense hold, see it in the rigid line of his body, smell it in his sour, off-scent. "I couldn't just leave her alone and in pain, Jim, it didn't seem right, you know?"
Jim pulled his hands away and folded them across his chest. His own trips to the hospital had been sensory nightmares -- surrounded and assaulted by the sounds and scents of the living and the dying, he was always forced to shut his senses down as far as he could. To be in the hospital and out of control was unthinkable, but he usually had Blair with him to help him tune it all out.
He looked at Blair again, seeing the friend that would never leave his friend or his sentinel alone in a hospital and in pain -- apparently it extended to another potential sentinel as well. He blew out a long breath. "How deep is the zone-out?"
"I'm not really sure, " Blair said, rubbing his jaw. "But when you are zoned, deeply zoned, your respiration slows and so does your heartbeat. I think it's a sort of trance-like state, which is theoretically sustainable, provided food and water, but I...," Blair held one hand up, palm up, and shrugged slightly. "Normally you don't zone that deep, but when you do, it always freaks me out and I don't wait around to see what happens next, I try to pull you out. Jim, it was either that or leave her there in pain and I---"
"I get it, Chief. You did what you thought was best."
Relief flashed across Blair's expressive face and Jim realized that Blair had been expecting him to come unglued. It was still possible, he supposed, but it was all a little much to deal with right now. He looked back across the table and Blair was looking at him, eyes wide, earnest, and he groaned inwardly. It was bad enough that Blair wanted him to reconcile with his father, but he could practically feel the zeal leaking out of the younger man to make sure that Jim made contact with his mother.
Blair leaned across the table, his hands spread wide in entreaty. "That's why I think you should go see her. As soon as possible, man."
Jim pushed away from the table. "Not now, Sandburg, I'll deal with this---"
Blair reached across and caught his arm to keep him in place. "Listen, it gets worse. Her second husband died about ten years ago and her current guardian is her son -- he's 24 and he's been hospitalized before at the same institution. I couldn't get his records, and I don't know if he is a sentinel, I mean, what are the odds? It's gotta be a genetic trait and highly recessive, and Steven isn't a sentinel, and you two are full brothers."
Of course it got worse. Jim closed his eyes. He wasn't willing to deal with other sentinels, even if they turned out to be his mother and his half-brother. "I can't do this, Chief," he said.
"I feel like I have a... a responsibility here, Jim. I have to go back." Jim shook his head, but Blair continued. "Yeah, I do. I said I would. And I need you to come with me."
Jim shook his head again, but he knew it was pointless. He'd go with Blair. And God help both of them.
Make your choice for story : 10
Email to : Sentinelsecrets@hotmail.com
Choose the author, who wrote me?
Ainm, Carodee, Castalie, Fluterbev, Lamardeuse, Moonglow, Rhianne, Rhyo, Timian, Tommyboy, Starwatcher
Case Notes by rhyo
gen
Case Notes
He heard the Volvo coming, of course, even when it had been more than a mile away. The distinct, off sound of the little four cylinder engine, with the slight rhythmic miss when the third cylinder failed to fire in sequence was as unique as Blair's voice -- although Blair's voice was something that had been missing from the loft for the last several days and it had left him feeling slightly unsettled.
But now, with the audible cue of Blair's return, he felt a bone-deep sense of relief. Blair had left without a word, leaving an uncharacteristically terse note: Gone on research road trip. Back in two days. Since his run-in with Rainier over Ventriss, Blair'd been serious about finally getting his dissertation out of the way, but Jim had been stunned by the note.
He listened as Blair parked the car, and then slowly walked to the front door. The metal hinges shrieked and Jim winced as the sound knifed through his head. His hearing was up -- way up -- as he listened for his friend and roommate. Blair bypassed the elevator, taking the stairs, and Jim could hear each footstep, slow and reluctant -- Blair was moving slowly, as though weighed down by something.
Finally he heard the sound of a key in the door lock, metal on metal, and the click of the tumblers as the door swung open. Blair stood in the threshold, blinking, and Jim realized that the loft, in early evening, was too dark for Blair to see his way in.
"Turn on the light," he said, his voice harsher than he'd intended.
Blair jumped. "What are you doing, sitting in the dark, man?" He flipped on the kitchen light and Jim had to squint at the brightness. Blair dropped his backpack and Jim flinched. "You are dialed all the way up, aren't you?" He crossed to the kitchen table and Jim's chair.
Jim pulled away from his outstretched hand. "How'd the research go, Sandburg? Get whatever was so important you couldn't even take the time to tell me where you were?" He knew he sounded angry, but now that Blair was back, he was angry.
"Jim---"
"Maybe next time you'd have the courtesy of letting me know where you're going---"
"Jim---"
"---so that I'd have at least an idea of where you were---"
"Shit, Jim, will you knock it off and just listen to me?"
"I'm listening. Make it good, Chief, but don't lie to me."
Blair scowled at him and Jim saw him twitch with the need to make a rude gesture in Jim's direction. Instead he pulled a hair band out of his pocket, tied his hair back and began to pace.
"Look, when I started my PhD work -- hell, even before then -- I sent out letters of inquiry to hospitals, doctors, institutions, looking for potential subjects." He paused to look at Jim, who reluctantly nodded -- this was old history. "Well, last week, I got a letter from a place over by Spokane with case notes and medical records. A patient who shows all the signs of having heightened senses. So I... I went to check it out."
"What do you mean heightened senses?"
"I mean she sounded like she might be a sentinel."
"Let me get this straight, Chief: you went, behind my back, to see another sentinel? A female sentinel?"
"I---"
"Yes or no."
"Yes, but---"
"Dying once wasn't enough?" He grabbed Blair's arm, shaking it slightly. "You had to sneak off to give it another try?"
"Goddammit, Jim," Blair said, pulling free and giving Jim's chest a thump for emphasis, "she's your mother!"
He took a step backward and glared up and Jim found himself just blinking back down at him. The loft was never really silent, not to a sentinel, but it was as though all sound simply ceased. He should have been able to hear the hum of the refrigerator, the soft hiss of the air vents, the creak and groan of the wood and brick skeleton of the building as it slowly cooled in the early evening, He should have been able to hear Blair's breathing, the slight wheeze of congestion on the exhale, and his steady, rock-solid heartbeat. Instead he heard nothing.
"My mother?" Jim sat down, abruptly, at the kitchen table. His mother. "And you knew?"
Blair's reply was muted, as if from a great distance. "I wasn't completely sure before I went, because the name was blacked out on the copies I got, but she had a medical history from Cascade -- including two childbirths -- up until 1972, when she moved to Spokane, and was finally institutionalized in the mid-80s. The age and the timing worked out, and I--- I had to go see for myself."
"Did you... were you... you saw her?"
"Yeah, man, I did. She... I think she was a sentinel once, just like you."
"Was?"
Blair closed his eyes and bowed his head. "She remarried and her second husband had her institutionalized for what they called 'fits of catatonia' -- they used drugs, electroshock, even surgery," he whispered. "Thirty years of misdiagnosis and mistreatment." His voice was thick.
Closing his own eyes for a moment, Jim understood what Blair was trying to convey. The fate of a sentinel in callous medical hands. Potentially his own fate, if he hadn't met Blair. "Did you talk to her?"
He shook his head and raised his eyes, and Jim could see that they were red. "Not... exactly." He licked his lips and took a step closer. "I..." He sat down at the table, across from Jim and ran a hand across his face. "I talked to her. And I..."
Blair's head dropped down, to look at his own hands, clenched on the table top. Jim, already tense, felt something cold curl inside his gut. Blair was trying to tell him something, something he was fairly sure Jim wouldn't like. "Say it, Blair," he whispered back.
"You have to understand," he said, looking back up and speaking earnestly, desperately, "she's diagnosed with dementia, not really responsive to words, but she reacts strongly to outside physical stimulus, displays hypersensitivity to sound and light, has an enhanced tactile response and has to be fed parenterally because she rejects food, probably because of taste and smell." He paused. "Other than that," he said, his voice cracking, "other than that, she's in perfect health, man."
Jim reached out and clasped the expressive hands to still them. "Just tell me the rest."
"It was cold when I left, so I had those cashmere knit gloves that Naomi sent me from Nepal..." He faltered at the mention of his own mother and he turned his hands over in Jim's so that he held on to Jim's wrists. "And she was... I started to do a couple tests, to see if I could get a baseline on senses, maybe help her get some kind of control, but..."
Jim flinched at the mention of tests, tests run on his mother, and Blair winced in response but then started speaking again, faster and a little more desperate.
"But she was in such pain, Jim, reacting to everything, so I took off one of the gloves and rubbed it along the back of her hands until she took it. At first I thought it would just be pleasant for her to touch the material, but... she was fascinated by the texture and color, and then I... I just talked to her." His voice had dropped low, unconsciously, to the soothing deep tone Jim recognized so well.
"You put her into a zone-out. On purpose." Blair nodded, mute, and Jim took in a sharp breath.
Blair's hands were still wrapped around his wrists and his eyes were locked on Jim's willing him to understand, and Jim let his breath out slowly. Blair was upset, Jim could feel it in the tense hold, see it in the rigid line of his body, smell it in his sour, off-scent. "I couldn't just leave her alone and in pain, Jim, it didn't seem right, you know?"
Jim pulled his hands away and folded them across his chest. His own trips to the hospital had been sensory nightmares -- surrounded and assaulted by the sounds and scents of the living and the dying, he was always forced to shut his senses down as far as he could. To be in the hospital and out of control was unthinkable, but he usually had Blair with him to help him tune it all out.
He looked at Blair again, seeing the friend that would never leave his friend or his sentinel alone in a hospital and in pain -- apparently it extended to another potential sentinel as well. He blew out a long breath. "How deep is the zone-out?"
"I'm not really sure, " Blair said, rubbing his jaw. "But when you are zoned, deeply zoned, your respiration slows and so does your heartbeat. I think it's a sort of trance-like state, which is theoretically sustainable, provided food and water, but I...," Blair held one hand up, palm up, and shrugged slightly. "Normally you don't zone that deep, but when you do, it always freaks me out and I don't wait around to see what happens next, I try to pull you out. Jim, it was either that or leave her there in pain and I---"
"I get it, Chief. You did what you thought was best."
Relief flashed across Blair's expressive face and Jim realized that Blair had been expecting him to come unglued. It was still possible, he supposed, but it was all a little much to deal with right now. He looked back across the table and Blair was looking at him, eyes wide, earnest, and he groaned inwardly. It was bad enough that Blair wanted him to reconcile with his father, but he could practically feel the zeal leaking out of the younger man to make sure that Jim made contact with his mother.
Blair leaned across the table, his hands spread wide in entreaty. "That's why I think you should go see her. As soon as possible, man."
Jim pushed away from the table. "Not now, Sandburg, I'll deal with this---"
Blair reached across and caught his arm to keep him in place. "Listen, it gets worse. Her second husband died about ten years ago and her current guardian is her son -- he's 24 and he's been hospitalized before at the same institution. I couldn't get his records, and I don't know if he is a sentinel, I mean, what are the odds? It's gotta be a genetic trait and highly recessive, and Steven isn't a sentinel, and you two are full brothers."
Of course it got worse. Jim closed his eyes. He wasn't willing to deal with other sentinels, even if they turned out to be his mother and his half-brother. "I can't do this, Chief," he said.
"I feel like I have a... a responsibility here, Jim. I have to go back." Jim shook his head, but Blair continued. "Yeah, I do. I said I would. And I need you to come with me."
Jim shook his head again, but he knew it was pointless. He'd go with Blair. And God help both of them.
Make your choice for story : 10
Email to : Sentinelsecrets@hotmail.com
Choose the author, who wrote me?
Ainm, Carodee, Castalie, Fluterbev, Lamardeuse, Moonglow, Rhianne, Rhyo, Timian, Tommyboy, Starwatcher