Post by greenbeing on Jan 14, 2006 15:23:25 GMT -5
DELETED SCENES
Sometimes a scene just plain doesn’t work. Other times you just have to go in a different direction by the time you get to that point of the story. The perils of not writing in order. I put them here just because I think I have a couple nice moments, even if they have no bearing on the story.
***
(This scene would have taken the place of Christie Snaps Jim Out of His Funk after the scene at the church when he met Uncle J the first time. Chapter 15. I’d been watching a little too much Smallville that week.)
Christie looked up when the front door opened.
“Jimmy?”
He didn’t answer.
“The lieutenant called me at work. He said you weren’t feeling well.”
Jim dropped his keys and his sunglasses on the table by the door, but didn’t answer.
Christie watched him closely. She’d asked the lieutenant what was wrong, but he said he couldn’t say, didn’t know, just that an interview had gone awry and Jim didn’t seem like himself.
Hank followed Jim and whined. He still had his harness on.
“Hank,” Christie called.
He padded over and looked up at Christie, giving her his best puppy dog look, hoping she’d help him and help Jim, whatever was wrong.
“I wish you could talk,” Christie whispered. She cautiously leaned over and unhooked the harness.
Hank licked her hand, thinking, “Thanks, but you don’t want to know what I’d say.”
Jim sat on the sofa and leaned back into the (red?) leather. He looked like he was fighting himself mentally, mostly blank, but occasionally his brow would furrow or he’d frown and slowly shake his head. He got up and went to the window, staring out at the city.
Christie cautiously went over to him and put a hand on his arm. “They said you’d gotten back from an interview. Did you learn anything?”
Jim shook her hand off and turned toward her, his blue eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I learned my life is too ordered. We’re stuck in a rut, Christie.”
“Jim…”
He grabbed her and kissed her hard, like he hadn’t seen her in years and would never get to kiss her again. He pulled back, breathing hard and gently ran a finger down the side of her face as he stared intently at her. “I don’t know how I feel about you anymore. We haven’t been getting along that great, but I wanted you to know. I may not always like you, but I do love you.” He ran his hands through her hair. “I love your hair. I love your smile.” His fingers played over her mouth. “Come on, Christie, smile.” He sighed and tried kissing her again.
Christie gasped as she stared at him. “Jimmy—”
“Well? You used to love me. Do you still?”
“Yes.”
“Stop trying to manipulate me and we’ll get along great. Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s go out.” He tugged her toward the door.
“I need to get my purse.” She pulled her hand away and watched him walk toward the door as unerringly as always.
“Don’t be too long.” He grabbed his keys, but left his cane and sunglasses on the table, didn’t grab his coat.
“It’s cold out!” she called as he swung the door open.
He reached for the coat rack and grabbed his black leather coat, then disappeared into the hallway.
Christie ran for the bedroom for her purse. She didn’t want to lose him. Hank was waiting at the front door as Christie searched the pockets of his overcoat for his phone.
Hank whined. If he’s not blind anymore, shouldn’t you tell me? he tried to ask.
“Hank, stay,” Christie said. She gave an extra glance at the dog, wondering for a second if she should bring him along, then ran out the door. If Hank had been able to help, he would have done so before Jim got home.
Jim as already on the sidewalk out front before Christie caught him. He was looking up and down the street, turning his head first one way, then the other. He turned, probably hearing her footsteps. “I thought you forgot about me,” he said with a grin. “Let’s get a cab and go spend the evening in the Park.” He raised his hand as a car passed.
Christie looked out at the street. It wasn’t a cab. Part of her was thankful. She didn’t want Jim outside the apartment, not like this.
He sighed as the car drove past. “Let’s walk. We’ll catch a cab later.” He headed off down the sidewalk.
Christie ran and caught his hand. She tried to put it on her arm to guide him, but he kept sliding his hand down into hers. Resigned, she figured it was better than nothing.
Jim leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You don’t want people to think you’re out with a blind guy, do you?”
Christie turned her head away, as if he’d be able to see the tears in her eyes.
“Let’s go in here.” Jim stopped suddenly.
“We can’t. It’s an apartment building.”
“Then let’s find a cab.”
“There’s a restaurant across the street.”
She needed to get him settled somewhere, call Karen, or maybe Dr. Galloway. She needed to find out what had happened. Maybe he had a head injury and needed medical attention. She could only hope.
Jim immediately started to cross the street without checking for traffic. Christie pulled his hand back too suddenly, reeled him in as he stumbled.
“Don’t do that,” he said viciously. But this time he went through the motions of looking up and down the street.
“It’s clear,” Christie finally said. She took a step forward with him. “Curb.” The stepped down and went halfway across the street, then she stopped him to wait for the other way to clear.
“You’re nervous,” Jim said, lifting her hand to his lips.
“Come on,” she said. They crossed the rest of the lanes. “Curb.”
“Don’t do that. I don’t need that,” he said with a sigh.
“If you’d hold my arm properly, you wouldn’t need that,” Christie said quietly.
“You want to argue here? On the sidewalk for everyone to hear? Go ahead.” He put on hand on either side of her face and looked down at her. “Christie, I’m blind. I’m always going to be blind. But I’m not going to let it rule my life.”
Christie stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss, then led the way into the restaurant. She sat him down, then excused herself. At the other side of the room, near the restrooms, Christie opened Jim’s phone and started scrolling through his address book. She could keep an eye on him while she made a couple calls. A waiter went up and handed him a menu. Jim held it awkwardly a minute, opened it, squinted, leaned closer. He ran his hand over the laminated surface, then set it down. Christie turned back to the phone. She found Karen’s number and pressed send, but when she looked up, Jim was gone.
She ran.
He was standing in the middle of the street, listening for traffic. She waited for a truck to pass, then ran after him, just as he made it to the other side, his foot catching the curb and pitching him forward. He rebalanced and stepped onto the sidewalk, then made a ninety degree turn and kept walking.
“Where are you going?” she asked, breathless. She caught his hand, but he shook her off.
“You call this normal?” he asked angrily.
* * *
(This would have taken place in Chapter Seventeen, right after Clay’s visit, right after the very end of the chapter.)
“Let me help with dinner,” he offered.
His cell phone rang before she answered and she pulled away.
“Christie—”
“It’s okay, you can help.”
The phone rang again. He sighed and crossed over to the table by the front door where he’d left it. “Dunbar.”
“Jim,” Karen said, “how’d the rest of the day go?”
He groaned. “I forgot to call you back. Sorry. Walter stopped by.” He filled her in on what little else they’d learned.
“Where does he get this information?” she asked. “He knows something about everyone.” She sounded a little bitter.
“Walter’s been around. He knows everyone.”
“But still—”
“Karen, next time you have a date, run him by Walter first.”
“Thanks, Jim,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Definitely. Get some sleep.” He turned the phone off so it wouldn’t interrupt again. If it was an emergency, they could page him.
“How’s Karen?” Christie asked when he walked into the kitchen.
“Feeling better.” He leaned against the counter a second, then remembered the visit from Clay. “Did you see the envelope from your editor?”
“Yeah. I’ll work on it later tonight.”
He nodded and left her, going into the living room for his beer.
“I see you’ve been busy,” she said as he started to clean up the coffee table. “Leave them out. We can work together tonight.”
Jim set the books back down. “’Kay.”
“You know, while you were in rehab…” she started slowly. He listened as she got out a pan from one of the lower cupboards. “They told me I should write you love notes in Braille. Sort of an incentive for you to learn it.”
Jim didn’t even have to ask if she’d done it. They’d barely been speaking at that point in time and he’d been too busy learning how to get around to care about how he was going to read. Then he’d immediately started lessons in fighting, gone to get a guide dog…
“Shoot,” he said. “I have a class tonight.” He checked his watch. “It starts at eight.”
“Oh.” He heard her put the pan back in the cupboard. “I’ll make something quick and you can get out of here.”
“Thanks.” He cleaned up the books and put them back on the shelves.
“You aren’t going to—”
“I don’t like leaving things out.” He grabbed his beer. “But if you’re still up when I come back, I’ll read you the exercises, how’s that?”
“You’re not still working on random letters, are you?”
“I moved up to full words already.”
“How long until you can read me a coherent story?”
“Coherent? Maybe never at this rate.” He leaned against the counter. “But I’m working on it.”
“You want to light the candles? We can have a nice romantic dinner of leftovers.”
Jim got out the box of matches, feeling for the wicks of the tapered candles. He lit two of them carefully. “You need to get some scented ones so I can enjoy them, too.”
“I thought you didn’t like candles.”
“Yeah, open flame around a blind guy. Sounds like a good idea to me.” He took a drink of his beer and cupped a hand around the flame, feeling the heat. He stared, focusing his eyes, trying to see what he knew to be a concentrated bright light, but there was still nothing. “Blueberry,” he said. “You should get blueberry next time.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He brought his hand down and touched the cold beer bottle after the warmth of the fire. “Did I tell you I actually didn’t get in trouble about yesterday?”
“But you got in trouble for going out to the bar?”
“Strange, huh? But Tom backed me up.”
“That was nice.”
“I guess Marty and Karen backed me up about the bar thing…” He shook his head. “I still wish Karen had been there yesterday.”
“You don’t think anything would have happened if she’d been around?”
“I don’t know. I trust her. And I was so worried about how I was going to do my job without her. The other detectives, I’ve never needed them before.”
“So now? Are you going to let them in on what makes Jim Dunbar tick?”
“I think I should. It’ll be easier on me if they know.”
“It’ll be easier on them, too.”
“What do you mean?” He followed her movements as she went to the microwave.
“I mean, sometimes it’s hard to know what you can and can’t do. If you let people know, it’s more comfortable.”
He blinked. “I still don’t follow.”
“Remember Walter’s party? You were okay around me and Karen and Walter, but around the people you work with now, I saw them watching you a couple times, wondering if they should jump in and help.”
“Help with what? If I need help, I ask.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Or, if you need help, do you just ask Karen?”
Jim bit his lip as she set a plate in front of him. “I don’t want to have to rely on people.”
“Oh, Jimmy, not that again.”
“Okay, I admit, I lean on Karen more than the guys. But most of the time I don’t need help.”
“You just told me you trust Karen more than Tom or Marty—”
Jim laughed at the mention of Marty’s name. “Yeah, Marty, like I’m going to be opening up to him anytime soon.”
“You still don’t know what happened between you two?”
He shook his head. “I was actually almost getting to trust him…” He picked up his fork. “I don’t know, Christie, maybe I do bring out the worst in some people.”
* * *
(continued, same chapter, next scene)
He felt good and focused, if mildly bruised, after an hour sparring on the mats. He’d learned a few new techniques, even managed to incorporate one into the fight that night. He’d been able to really concentrate, blocking everything else out. It had been a while since he’d been able to not think of anything but the movement.
He buckled Hank’s harness in place and whistled a little tune as he pulled on his coat. It was getting colder outside and it really did smell like Christmas, that biting chill that sometimes precedes a big snow. He hoped it wouldn’t snow yet. He’d been out a few times, training mobility in the snow. It was easy to get lost and disoriented: normal sounds muffled, landmarks obscured, snow piled where the day before the route had been clear. He’d have to go through it all with Karen, the sooner the better for warning her, he was sure.
Christie’d been there for a lot of it. She had to learn, too, all the little things about guiding him properly and what to help with and how to make sure he could use everything in the apartment. At the time he’d resented spending time with Christie and the mobility instructor. He hadn’t wanted her to be aware of anything—he’d thought he could go through rehab, come home, and fake it. She’d never know the difference.
“Come on, Jimmy, it’s snowing.” She’d woken him up by shaking him.
“What time is it?” he asked groggily.
He had batted her hand away.
“In the afternoon. It’s Saturday.”
He’d forgotten he was taking a nap. He’d been so tired after his lessons that morning that, not caring what time it was, he’d gotten undressed and climbed into bed. He’d braved New York alone, cane in hand. The instructor had given him places to meet at, told him to use subway or bus, then had left him to his own devices.
New York was loud. It was big. He could feel buildings towering over him. He could feel people brushing past. He could smell everything. Unclean people, dead fish. He’d noticed a hint of snow in the air, but he’d ignored it.
Christie wanted to go out.
He shook his head. “I haven’t done snow yet.”
“Then now’s as good a time as any.”
He sat up slowly and she caught his hand. “No thanks.”
“You’ll have to do it eventually.”
“Yeah. Eventually. Not today.”
“Jimmy.”
“Not today! I’ve been warned about snow. I’m not going out the first time with you. You don’t have any idea, Christie.”
“Then when?”
“I have more O&M tomorrow. Probably then.”
* * *
(The cheesy ending, followed by the cold ending. Christie’s a hard girl to pin down, depending on her mood. These were possibilities if Chapter 29 was The End, right after Jim got home that night. I rearranged a bit when I finally got there, though, so I didn’t end with Christie. I decided I wanted a more happy ending.)
The rain was coming down so hard Jim could hear individual drops on the window. He stood next to the windows, leaning against the wall, staring out at the droplets as though he could see each one. A beer in hand, the other hand in his pocket, he felt—
“Is it ever going to get back to normal?” Christie asked.
“What?” Jim asked, caught off guard. He removed his hand from his pocket and slowly turned.
“Us.”
Jim stared at her, remembering every feature of her face so clearly he could picture the look she was giving him as she waited. Jim shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered, as honest as he could be. He moved over toward the couch—used to swagger, that’s what Christie had told him once, years ago. She’d been watching him walk away, so purposeful, and she’d laughed. He knew that now, even in the apartment, he didn’t move the same way he used to. You couldn’t swagger when you weren’t on top of your world any longer, when you felt even an inkling out of control.
He sat and listened as Christie swished toward him, waited until she’d sat, two feet away down the couch. He grimaced. The fight was over, the pretending done, and she just sounded sad. He’d been more honest then than he had in years and thought maybe he owed her some more honesty in a less spiteful situation, no matter what it brought. He stared down toward his beer, twirling the bottle. “I need time,” he finally said. “Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and—I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I don’t know what I’d see because I’m just not there. And sometimes, I’m not sure who I am anymore.
“I know I’ve had a lot of time, more than I deserve.” He looked up at her and smiled. “But sometimes, when I come here after work, I know I’m home. I’m starting to get a sense of who I am now. Slowly.”
Christie shifted on the couch. “Why didn’t you ever tell me before?”
Jim looked away, took a sip of beer, barely ready to admit—“Because I thought it might scare you. It scares me sometimes, to wake up in the morning to nothing, just wondering who I am.” Galloway would be proud, Jim finally admitting that fear to his wife. Jim just hoped Christie could appreciate it, that it wouldn’t scare her away.
It took her a minute to answer. “Well, then,” she said slowly, “I’ll be there for you in the mornings when you wake up. And you can come home to me at night.”
* * *
“Jimmy?” Christie asked slowly. “Do you remember what I look like?”
“Yeah.” He stopped in the hallway and set down his keys. Christie was standing there, waiting by the door for him.
She reached up and took off his sunglasses.
Jim knew what that meant—no hiding, no holding back. “I’ll always remember what you look like. You’ll always look exactly the same, you’ll never get any older.” He reached out and took her hands so he would have the same connection with her that she had.
She squeezed one of his hands. “And you’ll always be the same guy to me, the same cop who saves people and tries to make the world a better place. The same one who’s always getting into fights. The one who takes care of me.”
Jim smiled, but he wasn’t reassured.
“The same one I wasn’t enough for.”
His smile disappeared and he stepped back, looking away, but Christie didn’t let go of his hands.
“I didn’t want things to end badly between us.”
“You want to stay friends?” he asked without looking up at her.
“Yeah. Jimmy, I know you. You’ll be okay whether or not I’m here. You don’t need me.”
“Maybe it’s not a question of need. Maybe… Christie, I want you with me. Come on, Christie—forget the past year and a half and tell me—do you love me?”
There was silence. He knew she was staring at him. He wished he could see the look on her face.
She didn’t answer.
THE END
* * *
(Christie was being very mean one night and so I ended up with a couple alternate endings. This would have been the “end of show” leads into the beginning of the next show…)
“Come on, Christie—forget the past year and a half. Forget I can’t see for one second—it doesn’t really matter. Just forget all that and tell me—do you love me?”
There was silence. He knew she was staring at him. He wished he could see the look on her face. She didn’t answer.
Last time on Blind Justice…
He couldn’t look at her. Not for lack of trying, she knew. Used to be he could take one look at her and know what she was thinking and feeling, look into her very soul almost. But now, even though he was standing a mere ten feet away, that connection had been lost.
In the silence she knew he didn’t need an answer, he’d stopped expecting one.
“Now what?” he asked. He shrugged and turned away, left her standing there and sank onto the couch.
“Love isn’t everything.”
* * *
(Dialogue from the very last scene of Chapter Thirty—it just wasn’t the type of thing that normally comes up in conversation, nor would they have followed up on it if Tom had asked the question. I deleted it as forced dialogue. This wasn’t supposed to be a buddy movie.)
“You two okay, partnered up?” Tom asked. “Not that I should ask when you’re both here…”
Jim looked over at Karen, wishing he could see her reaction to the question. “Are you okay with me as a partner, Karen?” He smiled. “Not gonna go have a conversation with the boss about me?”
“We’re long past that conversation,” she said.
Jim nodded. “You know, I never had a girl for a partner before you, but I’m okay with that.”
“You’re okay with never having had a girl partner?” It sounded like Karen was grinning as she said, “And don’t say that’s so typical of a woman, turning your words around like that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Well, I never had a blind partner before, so I guess we’re even,” she said dryly.
“And Marty’s calmed down, right?” Tom asked.
“Calmed down?” Marty asked.
“We’re all friends, now, right?”
“Friends?” Marty asked.
“You didn’t say anything about—” Jim started.
“I already told him he had to earn—” Marty started at the same time.
Jim glanced at Marty and they both started laughing. “Exactly,” Jim said.
Tom sighed.
“Lighten up,” Jim told him.
“Yeah, who said anything about being friends?” Marty asked.
Jim reached out carefully toward the pizza pan. “There’s absolutely no reason for us to be friends,” he said. He’d been friends with Terry, and sometimes he wondered if he would have called Terry on his inability to do his job if they hadn’t been friends. Sometimes he thought he could trust Marty and Karen and Tom more than he’d been able to trust Terry. Jim clenched the crust of the pizza and pulled.
“Here’s the spatula,” Karen said, gently placing the handle against the back of his hand.
Jim reached over with his free hand and cut the piece out.
“What do friends do?” Marty asked. “Go to the bar together?”
Jim waved a hand at him. “Bad example.”
“Go to games? Take their wives out together?”
“Yeah, but… I thought you and I were friends, right?” Tom asked, sounding almost worried.
“Not really,” Marty said.
Tom made some noise. Jim was sure he was trying to just blow off the comment.
“Just kidding, Tom. Now who needs to lighten up?”
“You actually want to be friends with Marty?” Karen asked. “No offense, Marty.”
“Yeah, who’d want to be friends with me when they could be friends with that Anne friend of yours. You know, the bitchy one.”
Jim groaned. He didn’t want to get into the thing with Anne again.
“Hey,” Tom defended, “she was pretty.”
“So what?” Marty asked.
“Yeah, so?” Karen asked.
“Jim, help me out here,” Tom pleaded.
“I’m not gonna say anything about Anne.” He grabbed his water, feeling his face getting red just from saying her name. He half expected Marty to come up with a comment like “you met her, right, Jim,” but Marty was blissfully quiet.
“You met her, right, Jim?” Tom asked.
Jim glanced at Karen, hoping she was looking at him and would notice his silent plea for help.
“What was that look for?” Tom asked.
“Yes, I’ve met Anne,” Jim said. He considered for a second, toying with his pizza, telling Tom everything. But Tom didn’t need to know, and sometimes it’s a stronger guy who holds it in.
“That’s all I wanted to know. But it’s not like I’d have a chance with her, if she doesn’t date cops.”
Jim couldn’t look up. He could just about see Anne with Tom, or the faceless representation of Tom his imagination had conjured up, and her telling him everything. She’d never exactly promised to keep it to herself.
“I can take a hint,” Tom said. “So, what are you guys secretly planning for my birthday?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your little secret lunch the other day.”
Sometimes a scene just plain doesn’t work. Other times you just have to go in a different direction by the time you get to that point of the story. The perils of not writing in order. I put them here just because I think I have a couple nice moments, even if they have no bearing on the story.
***
(This scene would have taken the place of Christie Snaps Jim Out of His Funk after the scene at the church when he met Uncle J the first time. Chapter 15. I’d been watching a little too much Smallville that week.)
Christie looked up when the front door opened.
“Jimmy?”
He didn’t answer.
“The lieutenant called me at work. He said you weren’t feeling well.”
Jim dropped his keys and his sunglasses on the table by the door, but didn’t answer.
Christie watched him closely. She’d asked the lieutenant what was wrong, but he said he couldn’t say, didn’t know, just that an interview had gone awry and Jim didn’t seem like himself.
Hank followed Jim and whined. He still had his harness on.
“Hank,” Christie called.
He padded over and looked up at Christie, giving her his best puppy dog look, hoping she’d help him and help Jim, whatever was wrong.
“I wish you could talk,” Christie whispered. She cautiously leaned over and unhooked the harness.
Hank licked her hand, thinking, “Thanks, but you don’t want to know what I’d say.”
Jim sat on the sofa and leaned back into the (red?) leather. He looked like he was fighting himself mentally, mostly blank, but occasionally his brow would furrow or he’d frown and slowly shake his head. He got up and went to the window, staring out at the city.
Christie cautiously went over to him and put a hand on his arm. “They said you’d gotten back from an interview. Did you learn anything?”
Jim shook her hand off and turned toward her, his blue eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I learned my life is too ordered. We’re stuck in a rut, Christie.”
“Jim…”
He grabbed her and kissed her hard, like he hadn’t seen her in years and would never get to kiss her again. He pulled back, breathing hard and gently ran a finger down the side of her face as he stared intently at her. “I don’t know how I feel about you anymore. We haven’t been getting along that great, but I wanted you to know. I may not always like you, but I do love you.” He ran his hands through her hair. “I love your hair. I love your smile.” His fingers played over her mouth. “Come on, Christie, smile.” He sighed and tried kissing her again.
Christie gasped as she stared at him. “Jimmy—”
“Well? You used to love me. Do you still?”
“Yes.”
“Stop trying to manipulate me and we’ll get along great. Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s go out.” He tugged her toward the door.
“I need to get my purse.” She pulled her hand away and watched him walk toward the door as unerringly as always.
“Don’t be too long.” He grabbed his keys, but left his cane and sunglasses on the table, didn’t grab his coat.
“It’s cold out!” she called as he swung the door open.
He reached for the coat rack and grabbed his black leather coat, then disappeared into the hallway.
Christie ran for the bedroom for her purse. She didn’t want to lose him. Hank was waiting at the front door as Christie searched the pockets of his overcoat for his phone.
Hank whined. If he’s not blind anymore, shouldn’t you tell me? he tried to ask.
“Hank, stay,” Christie said. She gave an extra glance at the dog, wondering for a second if she should bring him along, then ran out the door. If Hank had been able to help, he would have done so before Jim got home.
Jim as already on the sidewalk out front before Christie caught him. He was looking up and down the street, turning his head first one way, then the other. He turned, probably hearing her footsteps. “I thought you forgot about me,” he said with a grin. “Let’s get a cab and go spend the evening in the Park.” He raised his hand as a car passed.
Christie looked out at the street. It wasn’t a cab. Part of her was thankful. She didn’t want Jim outside the apartment, not like this.
He sighed as the car drove past. “Let’s walk. We’ll catch a cab later.” He headed off down the sidewalk.
Christie ran and caught his hand. She tried to put it on her arm to guide him, but he kept sliding his hand down into hers. Resigned, she figured it was better than nothing.
Jim leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You don’t want people to think you’re out with a blind guy, do you?”
Christie turned her head away, as if he’d be able to see the tears in her eyes.
“Let’s go in here.” Jim stopped suddenly.
“We can’t. It’s an apartment building.”
“Then let’s find a cab.”
“There’s a restaurant across the street.”
She needed to get him settled somewhere, call Karen, or maybe Dr. Galloway. She needed to find out what had happened. Maybe he had a head injury and needed medical attention. She could only hope.
Jim immediately started to cross the street without checking for traffic. Christie pulled his hand back too suddenly, reeled him in as he stumbled.
“Don’t do that,” he said viciously. But this time he went through the motions of looking up and down the street.
“It’s clear,” Christie finally said. She took a step forward with him. “Curb.” The stepped down and went halfway across the street, then she stopped him to wait for the other way to clear.
“You’re nervous,” Jim said, lifting her hand to his lips.
“Come on,” she said. They crossed the rest of the lanes. “Curb.”
“Don’t do that. I don’t need that,” he said with a sigh.
“If you’d hold my arm properly, you wouldn’t need that,” Christie said quietly.
“You want to argue here? On the sidewalk for everyone to hear? Go ahead.” He put on hand on either side of her face and looked down at her. “Christie, I’m blind. I’m always going to be blind. But I’m not going to let it rule my life.”
Christie stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss, then led the way into the restaurant. She sat him down, then excused herself. At the other side of the room, near the restrooms, Christie opened Jim’s phone and started scrolling through his address book. She could keep an eye on him while she made a couple calls. A waiter went up and handed him a menu. Jim held it awkwardly a minute, opened it, squinted, leaned closer. He ran his hand over the laminated surface, then set it down. Christie turned back to the phone. She found Karen’s number and pressed send, but when she looked up, Jim was gone.
She ran.
He was standing in the middle of the street, listening for traffic. She waited for a truck to pass, then ran after him, just as he made it to the other side, his foot catching the curb and pitching him forward. He rebalanced and stepped onto the sidewalk, then made a ninety degree turn and kept walking.
“Where are you going?” she asked, breathless. She caught his hand, but he shook her off.
“You call this normal?” he asked angrily.
* * *
(This would have taken place in Chapter Seventeen, right after Clay’s visit, right after the very end of the chapter.)
“Let me help with dinner,” he offered.
His cell phone rang before she answered and she pulled away.
“Christie—”
“It’s okay, you can help.”
The phone rang again. He sighed and crossed over to the table by the front door where he’d left it. “Dunbar.”
“Jim,” Karen said, “how’d the rest of the day go?”
He groaned. “I forgot to call you back. Sorry. Walter stopped by.” He filled her in on what little else they’d learned.
“Where does he get this information?” she asked. “He knows something about everyone.” She sounded a little bitter.
“Walter’s been around. He knows everyone.”
“But still—”
“Karen, next time you have a date, run him by Walter first.”
“Thanks, Jim,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Definitely. Get some sleep.” He turned the phone off so it wouldn’t interrupt again. If it was an emergency, they could page him.
“How’s Karen?” Christie asked when he walked into the kitchen.
“Feeling better.” He leaned against the counter a second, then remembered the visit from Clay. “Did you see the envelope from your editor?”
“Yeah. I’ll work on it later tonight.”
He nodded and left her, going into the living room for his beer.
“I see you’ve been busy,” she said as he started to clean up the coffee table. “Leave them out. We can work together tonight.”
Jim set the books back down. “’Kay.”
“You know, while you were in rehab…” she started slowly. He listened as she got out a pan from one of the lower cupboards. “They told me I should write you love notes in Braille. Sort of an incentive for you to learn it.”
Jim didn’t even have to ask if she’d done it. They’d barely been speaking at that point in time and he’d been too busy learning how to get around to care about how he was going to read. Then he’d immediately started lessons in fighting, gone to get a guide dog…
“Shoot,” he said. “I have a class tonight.” He checked his watch. “It starts at eight.”
“Oh.” He heard her put the pan back in the cupboard. “I’ll make something quick and you can get out of here.”
“Thanks.” He cleaned up the books and put them back on the shelves.
“You aren’t going to—”
“I don’t like leaving things out.” He grabbed his beer. “But if you’re still up when I come back, I’ll read you the exercises, how’s that?”
“You’re not still working on random letters, are you?”
“I moved up to full words already.”
“How long until you can read me a coherent story?”
“Coherent? Maybe never at this rate.” He leaned against the counter. “But I’m working on it.”
“You want to light the candles? We can have a nice romantic dinner of leftovers.”
Jim got out the box of matches, feeling for the wicks of the tapered candles. He lit two of them carefully. “You need to get some scented ones so I can enjoy them, too.”
“I thought you didn’t like candles.”
“Yeah, open flame around a blind guy. Sounds like a good idea to me.” He took a drink of his beer and cupped a hand around the flame, feeling the heat. He stared, focusing his eyes, trying to see what he knew to be a concentrated bright light, but there was still nothing. “Blueberry,” he said. “You should get blueberry next time.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He brought his hand down and touched the cold beer bottle after the warmth of the fire. “Did I tell you I actually didn’t get in trouble about yesterday?”
“But you got in trouble for going out to the bar?”
“Strange, huh? But Tom backed me up.”
“That was nice.”
“I guess Marty and Karen backed me up about the bar thing…” He shook his head. “I still wish Karen had been there yesterday.”
“You don’t think anything would have happened if she’d been around?”
“I don’t know. I trust her. And I was so worried about how I was going to do my job without her. The other detectives, I’ve never needed them before.”
“So now? Are you going to let them in on what makes Jim Dunbar tick?”
“I think I should. It’ll be easier on me if they know.”
“It’ll be easier on them, too.”
“What do you mean?” He followed her movements as she went to the microwave.
“I mean, sometimes it’s hard to know what you can and can’t do. If you let people know, it’s more comfortable.”
He blinked. “I still don’t follow.”
“Remember Walter’s party? You were okay around me and Karen and Walter, but around the people you work with now, I saw them watching you a couple times, wondering if they should jump in and help.”
“Help with what? If I need help, I ask.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Or, if you need help, do you just ask Karen?”
Jim bit his lip as she set a plate in front of him. “I don’t want to have to rely on people.”
“Oh, Jimmy, not that again.”
“Okay, I admit, I lean on Karen more than the guys. But most of the time I don’t need help.”
“You just told me you trust Karen more than Tom or Marty—”
Jim laughed at the mention of Marty’s name. “Yeah, Marty, like I’m going to be opening up to him anytime soon.”
“You still don’t know what happened between you two?”
He shook his head. “I was actually almost getting to trust him…” He picked up his fork. “I don’t know, Christie, maybe I do bring out the worst in some people.”
* * *
(continued, same chapter, next scene)
He felt good and focused, if mildly bruised, after an hour sparring on the mats. He’d learned a few new techniques, even managed to incorporate one into the fight that night. He’d been able to really concentrate, blocking everything else out. It had been a while since he’d been able to not think of anything but the movement.
He buckled Hank’s harness in place and whistled a little tune as he pulled on his coat. It was getting colder outside and it really did smell like Christmas, that biting chill that sometimes precedes a big snow. He hoped it wouldn’t snow yet. He’d been out a few times, training mobility in the snow. It was easy to get lost and disoriented: normal sounds muffled, landmarks obscured, snow piled where the day before the route had been clear. He’d have to go through it all with Karen, the sooner the better for warning her, he was sure.
Christie’d been there for a lot of it. She had to learn, too, all the little things about guiding him properly and what to help with and how to make sure he could use everything in the apartment. At the time he’d resented spending time with Christie and the mobility instructor. He hadn’t wanted her to be aware of anything—he’d thought he could go through rehab, come home, and fake it. She’d never know the difference.
“Come on, Jimmy, it’s snowing.” She’d woken him up by shaking him.
“What time is it?” he asked groggily.
He had batted her hand away.
“In the afternoon. It’s Saturday.”
He’d forgotten he was taking a nap. He’d been so tired after his lessons that morning that, not caring what time it was, he’d gotten undressed and climbed into bed. He’d braved New York alone, cane in hand. The instructor had given him places to meet at, told him to use subway or bus, then had left him to his own devices.
New York was loud. It was big. He could feel buildings towering over him. He could feel people brushing past. He could smell everything. Unclean people, dead fish. He’d noticed a hint of snow in the air, but he’d ignored it.
Christie wanted to go out.
He shook his head. “I haven’t done snow yet.”
“Then now’s as good a time as any.”
He sat up slowly and she caught his hand. “No thanks.”
“You’ll have to do it eventually.”
“Yeah. Eventually. Not today.”
“Jimmy.”
“Not today! I’ve been warned about snow. I’m not going out the first time with you. You don’t have any idea, Christie.”
“Then when?”
“I have more O&M tomorrow. Probably then.”
* * *
(The cheesy ending, followed by the cold ending. Christie’s a hard girl to pin down, depending on her mood. These were possibilities if Chapter 29 was The End, right after Jim got home that night. I rearranged a bit when I finally got there, though, so I didn’t end with Christie. I decided I wanted a more happy ending.)
The rain was coming down so hard Jim could hear individual drops on the window. He stood next to the windows, leaning against the wall, staring out at the droplets as though he could see each one. A beer in hand, the other hand in his pocket, he felt—
“Is it ever going to get back to normal?” Christie asked.
“What?” Jim asked, caught off guard. He removed his hand from his pocket and slowly turned.
“Us.”
Jim stared at her, remembering every feature of her face so clearly he could picture the look she was giving him as she waited. Jim shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered, as honest as he could be. He moved over toward the couch—used to swagger, that’s what Christie had told him once, years ago. She’d been watching him walk away, so purposeful, and she’d laughed. He knew that now, even in the apartment, he didn’t move the same way he used to. You couldn’t swagger when you weren’t on top of your world any longer, when you felt even an inkling out of control.
He sat and listened as Christie swished toward him, waited until she’d sat, two feet away down the couch. He grimaced. The fight was over, the pretending done, and she just sounded sad. He’d been more honest then than he had in years and thought maybe he owed her some more honesty in a less spiteful situation, no matter what it brought. He stared down toward his beer, twirling the bottle. “I need time,” he finally said. “Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and—I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I don’t know what I’d see because I’m just not there. And sometimes, I’m not sure who I am anymore.
“I know I’ve had a lot of time, more than I deserve.” He looked up at her and smiled. “But sometimes, when I come here after work, I know I’m home. I’m starting to get a sense of who I am now. Slowly.”
Christie shifted on the couch. “Why didn’t you ever tell me before?”
Jim looked away, took a sip of beer, barely ready to admit—“Because I thought it might scare you. It scares me sometimes, to wake up in the morning to nothing, just wondering who I am.” Galloway would be proud, Jim finally admitting that fear to his wife. Jim just hoped Christie could appreciate it, that it wouldn’t scare her away.
It took her a minute to answer. “Well, then,” she said slowly, “I’ll be there for you in the mornings when you wake up. And you can come home to me at night.”
* * *
“Jimmy?” Christie asked slowly. “Do you remember what I look like?”
“Yeah.” He stopped in the hallway and set down his keys. Christie was standing there, waiting by the door for him.
She reached up and took off his sunglasses.
Jim knew what that meant—no hiding, no holding back. “I’ll always remember what you look like. You’ll always look exactly the same, you’ll never get any older.” He reached out and took her hands so he would have the same connection with her that she had.
She squeezed one of his hands. “And you’ll always be the same guy to me, the same cop who saves people and tries to make the world a better place. The same one who’s always getting into fights. The one who takes care of me.”
Jim smiled, but he wasn’t reassured.
“The same one I wasn’t enough for.”
His smile disappeared and he stepped back, looking away, but Christie didn’t let go of his hands.
“I didn’t want things to end badly between us.”
“You want to stay friends?” he asked without looking up at her.
“Yeah. Jimmy, I know you. You’ll be okay whether or not I’m here. You don’t need me.”
“Maybe it’s not a question of need. Maybe… Christie, I want you with me. Come on, Christie—forget the past year and a half and tell me—do you love me?”
There was silence. He knew she was staring at him. He wished he could see the look on her face.
She didn’t answer.
THE END
* * *
(Christie was being very mean one night and so I ended up with a couple alternate endings. This would have been the “end of show” leads into the beginning of the next show…)
“Come on, Christie—forget the past year and a half. Forget I can’t see for one second—it doesn’t really matter. Just forget all that and tell me—do you love me?”
There was silence. He knew she was staring at him. He wished he could see the look on her face. She didn’t answer.
Last time on Blind Justice…
He couldn’t look at her. Not for lack of trying, she knew. Used to be he could take one look at her and know what she was thinking and feeling, look into her very soul almost. But now, even though he was standing a mere ten feet away, that connection had been lost.
In the silence she knew he didn’t need an answer, he’d stopped expecting one.
“Now what?” he asked. He shrugged and turned away, left her standing there and sank onto the couch.
“Love isn’t everything.”
* * *
(Dialogue from the very last scene of Chapter Thirty—it just wasn’t the type of thing that normally comes up in conversation, nor would they have followed up on it if Tom had asked the question. I deleted it as forced dialogue. This wasn’t supposed to be a buddy movie.)
“You two okay, partnered up?” Tom asked. “Not that I should ask when you’re both here…”
Jim looked over at Karen, wishing he could see her reaction to the question. “Are you okay with me as a partner, Karen?” He smiled. “Not gonna go have a conversation with the boss about me?”
“We’re long past that conversation,” she said.
Jim nodded. “You know, I never had a girl for a partner before you, but I’m okay with that.”
“You’re okay with never having had a girl partner?” It sounded like Karen was grinning as she said, “And don’t say that’s so typical of a woman, turning your words around like that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Well, I never had a blind partner before, so I guess we’re even,” she said dryly.
“And Marty’s calmed down, right?” Tom asked.
“Calmed down?” Marty asked.
“We’re all friends, now, right?”
“Friends?” Marty asked.
“You didn’t say anything about—” Jim started.
“I already told him he had to earn—” Marty started at the same time.
Jim glanced at Marty and they both started laughing. “Exactly,” Jim said.
Tom sighed.
“Lighten up,” Jim told him.
“Yeah, who said anything about being friends?” Marty asked.
Jim reached out carefully toward the pizza pan. “There’s absolutely no reason for us to be friends,” he said. He’d been friends with Terry, and sometimes he wondered if he would have called Terry on his inability to do his job if they hadn’t been friends. Sometimes he thought he could trust Marty and Karen and Tom more than he’d been able to trust Terry. Jim clenched the crust of the pizza and pulled.
“Here’s the spatula,” Karen said, gently placing the handle against the back of his hand.
Jim reached over with his free hand and cut the piece out.
“What do friends do?” Marty asked. “Go to the bar together?”
Jim waved a hand at him. “Bad example.”
“Go to games? Take their wives out together?”
“Yeah, but… I thought you and I were friends, right?” Tom asked, sounding almost worried.
“Not really,” Marty said.
Tom made some noise. Jim was sure he was trying to just blow off the comment.
“Just kidding, Tom. Now who needs to lighten up?”
“You actually want to be friends with Marty?” Karen asked. “No offense, Marty.”
“Yeah, who’d want to be friends with me when they could be friends with that Anne friend of yours. You know, the bitchy one.”
Jim groaned. He didn’t want to get into the thing with Anne again.
“Hey,” Tom defended, “she was pretty.”
“So what?” Marty asked.
“Yeah, so?” Karen asked.
“Jim, help me out here,” Tom pleaded.
“I’m not gonna say anything about Anne.” He grabbed his water, feeling his face getting red just from saying her name. He half expected Marty to come up with a comment like “you met her, right, Jim,” but Marty was blissfully quiet.
“You met her, right, Jim?” Tom asked.
Jim glanced at Karen, hoping she was looking at him and would notice his silent plea for help.
“What was that look for?” Tom asked.
“Yes, I’ve met Anne,” Jim said. He considered for a second, toying with his pizza, telling Tom everything. But Tom didn’t need to know, and sometimes it’s a stronger guy who holds it in.
“That’s all I wanted to know. But it’s not like I’d have a chance with her, if she doesn’t date cops.”
Jim couldn’t look up. He could just about see Anne with Tom, or the faceless representation of Tom his imagination had conjured up, and her telling him everything. She’d never exactly promised to keep it to herself.
“I can take a hint,” Tom said. “So, what are you guys secretly planning for my birthday?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your little secret lunch the other day.”