Hopefully joandarck and bluebrocade will like this.
They’re going up in a elevator. The elevator from the car park.
Nobody really listened to Jim, or at least nobody who could actually get the damn thing done, when he said they needed more escape routes out of this place. Especially after the siege. What a disaster, what a sideshow, all they needed was cotton candy.
Blair tried to make light of the fact that nobody was listening to the Cop Of The Year pointing out that if Jim had his way it would look like a Vietcong hideout, and then swallowing his words (but Jim could still hear them) when he realised that jungle warfare probably wasn’t anything Jim wanted to talk about, period. The kid was, in Jim’s opinion, damn oversensitive. He wondered sometimes what could do that to a kid, who could do that to a kid; and whether it would end the world if he locked whoever in a room with his old man. Maybe he could give Steve the goddamn monkey.
Sure, Jim didn’t want to talk about the jungle, but sometimes he did, for Blair, no for Blair’s research, different thing, it wasn’t like letting the kid sleep over in the loft on that futon thing. It looked damn uncomfortable, but then, Jim’s slept in troop carriers and jungle floors, so comfortable is relative.
And you’d think the walls of the elevator, as it continues its too slow too close climb, were grey. They’re not.
There are little flecks of red in there, a sort of blood-like colour, translucent and opaque all at once.
And Blair’s saying something but he’s miles away. Might as well be in the jungle.
And there are little green dots in there too.
Blair’s beginning to get frantic, somewhere, in another world far from here.
Jim’s world is full of dots. Pointillism. He is in an ocean of dots, the green ones are like algae, or perhaps lily pads and he’s swimming between them trying to avoid the blood red dots.
And Blair’s arms are flailing like he’s drowning, but he’s not in the ocean with Jim.
He’s so far away, it’s as if he was never there. It’s just Jim, swimming, and it’s wonderful. There are no elevators here, or jungles, or cops, or robbers, or fathers, or sons.
It’s just beautiful.
And then he suddenly hears Blair’s voice, “Come on, big guy, come back to me, please, Jim, listen to my voice, follow my voice…” and he doesn’t want to, but he does.
And he’s back in the world with all its attendant cruelties and he almost weeps for the loss of his Eden. Except he can’t, because here he’s Jim Ellison, and tears have no more place here than the transcendent joy of the ocean.