Chapter 31

 

Tuesday, March 9th, 1993

    

 

     Over the course of forty some odd year’s time, Cecilia Simon had seen her sons arrive home together in a variety of different ways.  By foot, on their bikes, on skateboards, on the back of Rick's motorcycle, in A.J.'s Camaro, in Rick's truck, and even in a zoo tram once. But in all the many years this was the first time she'd witnessed A.J. walking stiff jawed in fury, with Rick trailing him at three miles per hour in the pickup. To say it was an odd sight would have been understatement.

 

     A.J. brushed past his mother without a glance or word in her direction.  Her inquiry of "A.J.?" to his retreating back went unanswered.  It didn't surprise Cecilia when she heard the slam of the guest room door from up above.  That door had been slammed more in the last week than it had been slammed in the forty-six years Cecilia Simon had owned this home.

 

     Cecilia heard the idle of Rick's truck engine cease.  She watched as he slid out of the cab, pocketed his keys, and walked toward her.  Much like her oldest son, Cecilia's sense of humor never completely left her, even in the most adverse of situations. 

 

"I take it this means A.J. isn't joining us for lunch?" 

 

     Despite the aching cheek that was hidden from his mother by the rim of his sunglasses, Rick smiled.  "Yeah, Mom.  I think that's what it means."

 

     Cecilia led the way into the kitchen.  "So are you and I in the dog house again?"

 

     "Oh, believe me, I think we've moved from the dog house straight to the city pound."   

 

     Cecilia began pulling the lunch out of the refrigerator she'd kept waiting for her sons.  She filled a tray with sandwiches and added a pitcher of lemonade. 

 

     "Grab some plates and glasses for us, Rick.  You know where I keep the chips if you want to grab a bag of those.  And there's macaroni salad in the fridge.  I thought we'd eat out on the patio.  I'll let A.J. know where we're at.  If he wants to join us, he can.  If not...well, he knows where everything is.  He can make himself something later on."

 

     It wasn't until Cecilia returned from upstairs without her youngest son that she got her first clear look at Rick's face.  Now that his sunglasses and his cowboy hat had been removed, the evidence left behind by A.J.'s fist was clearly broadcast.

 

     "What in the world happened to your face?"

     Rick smiled as much as his bruised cheek would allow.  "Let's just say A.J. wasn't too pleased to find Randy livin' in his house and leave it at that."

 

     Cecilia's eyes widened with incredulous shock.  She reached up and lightly grasped Rick's chin between her fingers.  She encouraged him to turn his head so she could get a better look at the injury.  

 

"A.J. did this to you?"

 

     "It's no big deal, Mom," Rick shrugged.  "I've been in worse shape over the years."  Rick reached up and gingerly touched the tender, swollen flesh.  "Though I gotta admit, my kid brother packs a helluva punch when riled."

 

     "Yes, I can see that," Cecilia agreed.  She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled a blue medicinal ice pack out of the freezer.  

 

     "Here.  Hold this against it while I finish getting our lunch together."

 

     "I take it A.J.'s not eatin' with us?"

 

     Cecilia turned her back on Rick in an effort to avoid displaying her raw hurt to him.  "No.  He says he wants to be left alone.  He told me...he told me to get the hell out."

 

     Rick gave a grim nod.  "I see."

 

     The detective threw the ice pack back in the freezer.  Between his mother and himself they carried their lunch outside to the patio table.  Rick had already sat down when Cecilia went back in the house for a brief few seconds.  She returned carrying a cold can of Budweiser.  She handed it to her son.

 

     Rick gave his mother a quizzical look.  "I thought you didn't like me drinkin' if I've gotta drive.  I'm plannin' to go back to the office yet this afternoon."

 

     "I know.  And no, I don't like you drinking if you have to drive, but I think for today one will be okay."  Cecilia's eyes twinkled wryly as she took in her son's battered appearance.  "You look like you could use it."

 

     Rick chuckled.  "Yeah, Mom.  I guess I can."

 

     Cecilia smiled as she bit into her tuna sandwich.  "Before this is all over, I may even gain a fondness for a beer every now and then."

 

     Rick laughed.  He'd never known his mother to drink anything other than an occasional glass of wine, or perhaps champagne if she was at a party.  There was no way Rick could picture Cecilia Simon guzzling a can of beer.           

     In effort to make their meal as pleasant as possible, both Cecilia and Rick refrained from discussing the most recent tumultuous event.  It wasn't until their plates were pushed aside, and Rick had refused his mother's offer of dessert, that the subject of A.J. came up.

 

     Cecilia stared out over her backyard.  Its brightly colored beauty couldn't chase away the darkness that shrouded her soul. 

 

"Sometimes it feels as though everything we've done since A.J. came back to us has been wrong."

 

     "No, Mom," Rick shook his head.  He wasn't going to allow his mother to blame herself for what ultimately belonged at Eduardo Agilar's feet.  "It's like I told A.J. a little while ago. Everything we've done, we've done because we love him.  We may not have always made the right decisions, but that doesn't change the fact that we're doin' the best we can."

 

     "I know we are.  And I'm certain, deep down inside, A.J. knows we are, too.  It's just that things are only getting worse instead of better, and I know we can't go on like this.  None of us.  I'm so scared, Rick.  So scared he's going to do again just what he did this morning."

     "Disappear?"

 

     "Yes.  Disappear.  Only the next time we might not be so lucky as to find him.  I know it comes from an entirely different set of circumstances, but currently I see in A.J. the same restless sense of not belonging that I saw in you when you returned from Vietnam.  Three weeks after you came home you left.  I didn't see you again for three years."

 

     "Mom...I'm--"

 

     "No," Cecilia held up a hand.  "Don't apologize.  We've been through all this a number of times.  It's not my intention to rehash the past, or to make you feel you owe me further apologies, because you don't.  We came to our understanding regarding this subject a long time ago.  It's water under the bridge.  The only reason I'm referring to it now is because the...pain and uncertainty I see in A.J.'s eyes brought on by his experiences with Agilar, is the same pain and uncertainty I used to see in yours.

 

     "As much as it broke my heart the day you roared out of the driveway on that motorcycle, Rick, I knew you were perfectly capable of looking after yourself.  Certainly I was worried about you, and continued to be until A.J. finally moved to Miami to live near you.  But I never had reason to be concerned that you couldn't take care of yourself.  I never had reason to be concerned that someone would try to take advantage of you, or hurt you.  But right now, with A.J., I do worry about those things.  You and I have both acknowledged that, while in some ways, he's very much the A.J. we're familiar with, in more ways he's not.  If he leaves, Rick, if he goes some place where we can't find him, I'm afraid someone will hurt him.  I'm afraid, given A.J.’s current mental state, that he can't take care of himself.  It's only through a miracle, and the Lord's intervention, that A.J. was found and taken care of by good people like Malachi and Dominique.  Every day in this country homeless people lose their lives to violence.  Just the other evening on the news I saw where two teenage boys in Chicago set a homeless man on fire.  That could have so easily been your brother."

 

     "I know it," Rick agreed.  "And I've been seein' the same restlessness and uncertainty in him that you have.  Especially over the weekend when the friends and relatives kept poppin' in.  I could easily remember how that feels.  They want you talk about things you can't even relate to."

 

     Rick's eyes took on a distant look that told Cecilia his mind was traveling back in time over twenty years. 

 

"Hell, all you cared about was stayin' alive another day, while people all around you were bein' blown to bits...and Aunt Joan wants to know if you ever got to Thailand on R&R, and Uncle Bud and Aunt Edie are fighting about what day of the week it was he returned stateside after World War II, while some ignorant neighbor wants to know if you ever killed anybody.  And the whole while you feel like you're under a microscope.  You feel like everyone's tryin' to assess how much you've changed, and tryin' to figure out whether or not you still fit into the family.  Then the day comes when you can't take it anymore.  Can't take the questions, the stares, the strained silences, or the muffled whispers goin' on behind your back.  So you take off for places unknown.  You take off, because you think there's nothing here for you anymore.  You think you'll find what it is you're looking for somewhere else."  Rick shrugged.  "Of course, you don't.  But if you're real lucky, time helps you heal.  Time, and a kid brother by the name of A.J. who shows up unannounced on your front porch one night."

 

     Cecilia gave a small smile at that last sentence.  She deferred to her oldest son's knowledge in this situation. "So is that what it is A.J.'s feeling right now?"

 

     "Is some of what I just said what you felt after you were..." Rick stopped.  He didn't know how to delicately phrase what he was thinking.

 

     "Assaulted?"          

 

     "Yeah."

 

     "You can say it, Rick.  It's not a dirty word, you know."

 

     "It is to me."

 

     Cecilia smiled at the fierce protectiveness she heard in her son's tone.  "Yes, Rick, I know it is.  But regardless, I suppose some of what you just relayed is how I felt.  I can't deny that for a while leaving San Diego was a very compelling thought."

 

     Rick nodded.  He recalled quite distinctly that within a few days after his mother was raped, she was firmly committed to

selling her home and moving as far away as possible.

 

     "So," Rick went on to confirm, "it's because of my own personal experiences that I'm comin' to the conclusion I am regarding what A.J.'s feeling.   Let's face it, Mom, he was locked in a five by five...dungeon, for lack of a better way to describe it, for six months.  Six months, Mom.  Six months in which he was beaten, starved, deprived of sleep, drugged, brainwashed, and God only knows what else.  Then..."  Rick had to swallow his boiling rage.  "Then he was...dumped on the side of the road in a strange city like some unwanted animal.  He didn't know his name.  He couldn't talk.  He was injured, and he was sick.  You're right, it's nothing other than a miracle that he's come back to us as healthy and sane as he has.  Nothing I experienced in Nam comes close to what Agilar put A.J. through."

 

     Rick's eyes met his mother's.  "And that's why I'm scared too, of all the same things you are.  That's why my heart just about stopped today when you came runnin' towards me tellin' me A.J. was gone.  I thought for sure we'd never find him."   Rick paused a moment, then finished with, "I want to help him.  I want to help him more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life.  But I just don't know how, Mom.  I just don't know how."

 

     As it had always been between Cecilia Simon and her sons, one of them instinctively knew when the other needed support and strength.  Cecilia reached a hand across the table in an effort to offer Rick both those things.   Rick took her hand and gently squeezed. 

 

     Cecilia was the one firmly in charge of the situation now.   "I think we need to call Clay Burrows, Rick."

     "But A.J. won't see him."

 

     "A.J. might not want to see him, but that can't stop you and me from seeing him."  Cecilia returned Rick's squeeze.  "We need help with this, honey.  It's grown far too big for us to handle.  We've barely gotten through the first week, and already A.J. has digressed.  What is it going to be like next week, or the week after?  I'm not going to wake up some morning to find him gone.  I lived through that hell for eleven long months.  I refuse to live through it again."          

 

     "I don't wanna live through it again either, Mom," Rick readily admitted.  "I'll call Clay when I get back to the office."

 

     "Good."  Cecilia released her son's hand.  She picked up the pitcher of iced lemonade and refilled her glass.   Now that Rick's beer can was empty she also filled a glass for him and slid it across the table.

 

     Cecilia took a long drink of the cold liquid then sat her glass down.  “One of the first things we need to know is what Clay thinks about A.J. returning to work."

     "What?"  Rick's question was voiced as though Cecilia had suggested they ask Clay when it would be okay for A.J. to dance naked in Balboa Park.  

 

     "About A.J. returning to work.  About us helping A.J. get back into a normal routine."

 

     "But things aren't normal for him right now," Rick pointed out.

 

     "I realize that.  But think about it.  Aside from the obvious, why aren't things normal for A.J.?"

 

     Rick tried to follow the track his mother's mind was running down.  Rick's question came out sounding like a guess.  "Because he and I are living here with you?"     

 

     "That's one thing.  You're both living here with me, which of course, isn't normal for either one of you."

     "But, Mom, after everything we've just discussed, I sure don't think A.J.'s ready to be livin' alone."

 

     "I don't think that either.  But perhaps when he first moves back into his home you can live there with him like you used to when the Hole In The Water was anchored in his backyard."

 

     Rick's head wobbled back and forth with indecision.  "Maybe.  I mean, that's fine by me, but he'll probably have a fit."

 

     "So be it.  Nonetheless, I have a feeling that will be the first step he takes toward getting back to a normal routine.  And as far as work goes, he wants to return to it, Rick."

 

     "How do you know?"

 

     "Because he told me."

 

     "When?"

 

     "This morning.  And yesterday as well.  He keeps asking me when he can go to the office with you."

 

     Rick let out a long, slow breath.  "Mom...I don't know.  I don't think he's...stable enough right now to do some of the jobs we take on.  I mean, with the way A.J.’s moods swing up and down, I hate the thought of puttin' a gun in his hand."

     "Then don't take those kinds of jobs," the ever-practical Cecilia stated.  "You boys have worked plenty of jobs over the years that certainly don't require the use of guns.  Thank God more of those than you have the other kind.  Pick and chose carefully what you take on, Rick.  Try to avoid whatever it is you don't think A.J. can handle.  I know it won't be easy, especially because you've got to consider A.J.'s input as well, but do the best you can.  That's all you can ask of yourself."

 

     "But he can hardly bring himself to talk to people.  Look how he reacted to the relatives this weekend.  Or to Dianna, for that matter.  Why would A.J. suddenly say he wants to go back to work?"     

 

     "Because he's bored out of his skull, sweetheart."

 

     "Bored?"

 

     "Yes, bored.  A.J.'s never been one to sit around and do nothing. You know that.  In the past, if he wasn't working at the office or on projects around his house, then he was engaged in some sort of physical activity.  About the only way he's ever relaxed is by cooking, or sitting down to read a book.  Believe me, dear, even a woman as active as I am can't come up with enough to keep your brother busy.  I think he's getting a little tired of helping me weed flowerbeds and fold laundry.  Not to mention cleaning out the garage and attic.  You should have seen the look he gave me this morning when I told him tomorrow we'd take all the dishes out of the kitchen cabinets and give the insides a thorough scrubbing."

 

     Rick chuckled.  "I see your point."

 

     In all seriousness, Cecilia said, "He misses you, sweetheart.  He misses being by your side."

 

     "Whatta ya’ mean?"

     "Whenever you leave the house, A.J. stands at the kitchen window and watches you until the truck is out of sight."

 

     "And this has been goin' on ever since I brought him here?"

 

     "Yes,” Cecilia nodded. “It happened last week when you went to see Abby, and then again when you went to see Joel.  It's happened every time you've left to run an errand for me, or to stop by the office to pick up the mail and return phone messages.  Then it happened again this morning when you left for work."  Cecilia smiled in fond memory.  "I can't help but think back to when he was a little boy of just two and three.  He'd stand on the front steps every morning and cry as you ran off to school.  He wanted nothing more than to go with you.  He'd turn to me and say, "Wick go chool.  I go chool with Wick."

 

     Rick smiled.  "I remember that.  The little bugger used to make me feel so bad for leavin' him behind."

 

     "And then when he was six, and you'd leave him behind when you ran off to play with your friends, he used to come into the kitchen with his chin hanging down on his chest while wearing a big old pout.  I'd ask him, "A.J., what's wrong?  Why the long face?"   Invariably the answer would be a crushed, "Rick ran off without me.  He's says I'm too little to play with the big guys."

 

     "And he thinks that's what I'm doin' now?"  Rick asked.  "Running off and leavin' him behind?"

 

     "He hasn't said.  But I imagine that's how he feels. The two of you have worked together a long time.  You've been a big part of each other's lives since the day A.J. was born.  It probably doesn't feel...normal to A.J., to watch you leave without him."

 

     "To tell ya’ the truth, Mom, it doesn't feel normal to me to leave without him either.  But right now I'm at a loss as to know what to do.  I mean, if A.J. wants to return to work...well, I have no objections to that.  I miss him bein' by my side, too.  But when I think about how he reacted to Dianna last night, I worry that the minute someone tries to communicate with him, he's gonna freeze up.  Then he's gonna end up goin' into a fit of rage because he's angry at himself for not bein' able to talk."

 

     "I think he'll do better with people who don't have expectations of him," Cecilia stated with firm conviction.  "With people who don't know him, or at least don't know him well."

 

     "Maybe, but maybe not.  He couldn't even bring himself to talk to the waitresses at the restaurant where we ate," Rick reminded.

 

     "I know that.  But I also know he needs...something right now, Rick, that's more than weeding flower beds with an old lady."

 

     "Mom!  You're not an old lady."

 

     "Depending on a person's perspective, that subject's debatable," Cecilia smiled.  "But I thank you for your loyalty, son.  Regardless, what A.J. needs right now I can't give him by keeping him trapped here in this house all day."

 

     Rick pushed himself away from the table as he mulled over everything his mother had revealed.  "I'd better get back to the office.  If you need me for anything, call.  I think...I think you've got a good idea about me puttin' in a call to Clay regarding you and me seein' him.  I'll do that as soon as I get there."

 

     Cecilia nodded her agreement.  She shooed Rick away when he tried to help her carry dishes into the house.  He settled for giving her a kiss on the cheek and walking around to the truck.

 

     As Rick backed out of the driveway he glanced up at the house.  There, at an upstairs bedroom window, stood A.J. looking down at the Dodge truck with a longing stare. 

 

     "I'm gonna find out how to help you, A.J."  Rick vowed.  "Somehow I'm gonna find out how I can help you, so you can be by my side once more."

 

_________________________

    

 

     It was a silent and withdrawn A.J. who joined his family for supper that evening.  Even without verbal clues, Rick got the impression the anger from earlier in the day had passed.  Instead, A.J. seemed depressed in a way Rick had never seen him at any other time in his life.  Rick feared he was correct when coming to the conclusion that A.J. no longer knew how he fit into his former life. 

 

     Rick had talked to Clay Burrows for over an hour that afternoon.  Because of the publicity the case had gotten and his past association with the Simons, Dr. Burrows had been well aware of A.J.'s disappearance under suspicious circumstances, and now his subsequent return.  All that he didn't know, and there was plenty, Rick filled him in on.  The doctor immediately agreed A.J. was need of counseling.  Knowing the Simons as he did, it came as no surprise to Clay to find out A.J. was refusing to entertain the idea.  For the time being, the psychologist agreed the next logical step was for him to begin meeting with Rick and Cecilia on a weekly basis.  Because of Rick and Cecilia's fears in regards to leaving A.J. alone, Clay readily consented to seeing them individually.

 

     For now, that was the best Rick could do.  As he looked across the table at his brother he worried it was, by far, not enough.

 

     After the kitchen was cleaned up A.J. retreated to the backyard.  Rick dug around in the garage until he unearthed a couple of well-worn mitts and a baseball.  Without doing more than calling, "Hey, A.J.!"  he tossed a mitt in the direction of his brother.  A.J. didn't question Rick's intentions.  Nor did he refuse them.  He slipped the mitt on his left hand and remained where he was, standing on the opposite side of the lawn from Rick.  Rick took up his position and threw the ball to his brother.  It was cleanly caught and thrown back.  This odd form of therapy seemed to bring some sort of comfort to A.J.  He wasn't anymore talkative when the brothers finally called it quits because of darkness, but he didn't appear to be as depressed as he had been earlier.

 

     It was shortly before ten-thirty when Cecilia went upstairs for the night, leaving control of the television's remote to Rick.  A.J. had gone upstairs an hour earlier.  She saw the light was on underneath his bedroom door, but didn't disturb him.  She had already said her good nights to him, and she'd be checking on him once more before she retired for good, as had become her habit since his return.

 

     Cecilia caught herself dozing off in her book an hour later.  She marked her page and set the book on her nightstand.  She tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed.  She didn't bother shoving her feet into her slippers, but did belt her robe over her nightgown.

 

     Cecilia could faintly hear the sound of the television droning from below when she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.  Its blue and white light cast dancing shadows on the stairs.  She suspected Rick had fallen asleep with the TV on once again, but didn't go down and rouse him.  Somehow he always managed to wake himself up and get to bed. 

 

     The light was still on within A.J.'s room.  Cecilia knocked softly on the door.  "A.J.?  A.J., may I come in?"

 

     When Cecilia received no answer, she tried again.  "A.J.?"

 

     The woman assumed her youngest had done what she almost had, fallen asleep while reading.  When another knock and verbal inquiry gained no response, she entered the room. 

 

     A.J. was bare chested and dressed in the faded blue jeans he had favored sleeping in ever since he'd returned from San Francisco, despite the fact his pajama bottoms and robe were at his disposable.  He was awake and sitting against the headboard of the bed. 

 

      A puzzled frown dominated Cecilia's features.  "Honey, why didn't you answer me when I knocked?"

 

     A.J.'s disturbing silence caused his mother to move closer.  In the dim glow of the bedside lamp she could see he was sweating profusely.  His eyes were glassy and vacant, as if his mind was no longer present.  Cecilia mistakenly concluded he was in the throes of some sort of muted nightmare.

 

     "A.J...honey?  A.J., wakeup, it's Mom.  A.J."

 

     Cecilia advanced on the catatonic man.  "A.J.?"

 

     Whether it was the close proximity of her voice, or the hand she reached out and laid on A.J.'s arm, Cecilia never knew.  What she did know, was the second her hand made contact with his   clammy skin, A.J. propelled himself off the bed with the guttural snarl of a rabid animal.   Cecilia screamed as the force of her son's body slammed her painfully into the wall. 

 

     "Stay away from me!  Stay away!"

 

     Despite her sixty-seven years, Cecilia was almost as agile as she had been in her youth.  Her good physical condition and swift agility is what saved her from serious harm.  As A.J.'s fist drew back to rain a blow on her face, Cecilia ducked under his arm. Her movement didn't stop his knuckles from making painful contact with her jaw, but it did enable her to get out of the room before he got a hold of the back of her robe.

 

     Cecilia ran for the stairs as though fire was licking at her heels. "Rick!  Rick!"

 

     Cecilia had been a much younger woman the last time she'd flown down that stairway with such speed.  "Rick!"

 

     The groggy detective sat up on the couch.  He looked around, not certain at first if he'd heard his mother's voice, or if it was the television that woke him.

 

     A panic filled cry of "Rick!" pierced the night again.  This time Rick knew it was real.  He hurdled over Rex, who was sleeping on the floor, and raced for the stairs.  He met his disheveled mother halfway.  His eyes took in the angry red welt that covered most of her right jaw.

 

     "What the—-“

 

     "Something's wrong with A.J.!   Please go to him, Rick!"

 

     Rick bolted past his mother taking, the stairs two at a time.  He heard her bare footsteps behind him.  The mark on her face, the panic in her voice, and the terror in her eyes, gave Rick a pretty good idea as to what was going on. 

 

     Thankfully, A.J. had not progressed out of the bedroom.  Rick guessed the reason behind that good fortune was because in A.J.'s mind, he was once again locked in that tiny room in Agilar's basement. 

 

     Rick slowed to a halt when he came to the bedroom doorway.  A.J. was standing in the same spot where he'd been when he hit his mother.  What the blond was seeing Rick didn't know.  Rather than cowering in fright like he had been the last time he'd experienced a flashback, A.J. was crouched over at the waist, ready to fight.  His knees were flexed and his bare feet were spread a few inches apart.  His arms were held away from his body and bent at the elbows, his hands balled into fists.     

 

     Rick felt the terry cloth of his mother's robe brush against his arm. Without turning around, he threw that arm straight out and blocked her progress into the room.  "Don't go any closer, Mom.  Stay right here."

 

     Cecilia was short enough in stature to easily see under the arm Rick was using to hinder her passage.  "What's wrong with him, Rick?"

 

     "He's having a flashback."

 

     Rick had told Cecilia of the flashback A.J.'d incurred in the motel room the night they'd been reunited.  And, of course, she was well aware that Rick had experienced them over the years as a direct result of his service in Vietnam, but never before had she witnessed one.

 

     Rick took a slow step into the room.  To his mother, he sternly cautioned, "Whatever you do, stay outta this room and stay outta his way."

 

     "Rick--"

 

     Rick's eyes remained locked on his sibling.     "Mom, I mean it.  He doesn't know you right now, he doesn't know me, and he doesn't know what he's doing."

 

     Rick didn't wait to hear his mother's acknowledgment.  Cecilia watched from the doorway as Rick carefully inched farther into the room.

 

     "A.J.," Rick called quietly.  "A.J., it's me.  Rick.  Everything's okay now, A.J.  You're home with me and Mom.  No one's gonna hurt you."

 

     A.J.'s teeth clenched as Rick advanced, and his breaths came in hard uneven pants. 

 

     Rick switched tactics to one that had seemed to produce positive results ten days earlier at the Traveler's Rest Motel. 

 

"Andy, it's okay.  No one's going to hurt you.  Come on, Andy.  Take a look around.  See where you are.  You're at Mom's house, remember?"

 

     For just a second A.J. seemed to be doing what Rick encouraged.  It was Rick's mistake to misread that brief second of calm and advance again.  

 

     A.J. sensed his brother's sudden movement.  With a harsh shout and the speed of a coiled rattlesnake he struck.  Rick couldn't stop the hands that went for his throat and threw him off balance.  Fortunately for the older man, A.J.'s aim was off.  Rather than wrapping his hands around his assailant's neck as he had desired, A.J. ended up with nothing more than a grip on his brother's shoulders.   That was enough, however, for A.J. to fling them both to the floor.  Rick was slammed onto his back with A.J. on top of him.  For a few seconds all thoughts of fighting A.J. off were forgotten as Rick instead, fought for breath.  The wind had been knocked out of the detective when he'd made contact with the hard surface beneath him.  By the time Rick regained the oxygen he needed, A.J. was plummeting his upper body with his fists while shouting incoherently. 

 

     Cecilia rushed into the room.  "A.J.!   A.J.!  Stop it!  It's Rick!  Stop it, A.J.!  You're hurting Rick!  You're hurting your brother, A.J.!"

 

     Rick grabbed his brother's fists and fought to still their motion.  "Mom, get the hell out of here damn it!  Get out!"

 

     "Rick, I can grab his shoulders!  I can--"

 

     "Mother, no!  I mean it!"  Rick yelled from underneath the wildly struggling A.J.  "I can't worry about him and you both!  Now get out!"

 

     Neither of Cecilia Simon's sons had ever spoken to her in such a manner before.  Just by Rick calling her 'mother,' indicated to Cecilia how dangerous the situation was. She reluctantly retreated to the doorway and watched the affray gone amok with open anguish.      

 

     The two men strained against one another.  Rick attempted to throw A.J. off him by thrusting his body upward.  Despite the fact that Rick now had a firm grip on A.J.'s wrists, the blond man remained astride his brother like a seasoned cowboy remains on a bucking bronco.

 

     In an effort to keep his balance, A.J.'s right leg flew out to the side.  It made such violent contact with the leg of the only chair in the room that Cecilia momentarily feared he'd broken a bone.  A.J. thought someone had accosted him from behind.  He turned around to see who had inflicted pain upon him.  That brief second was all Rick needed to gain the advantage.  Using the leverage he already had on A.J.'s wrists, Rick catapulted his upper body off the floor using all the strength he had left.   By virtue of his position on Rick's stomach, it was now A.J. who was pinned on his back.

 

     Rick Simon was panting so hard with exertion that for a few seconds he was unable to get any words out.  He could feel the sweat rolling down his back and pooling in his underarms.   Both he and A.J. smelled like they'd just come off two hours on the racquetball court.

 

     When Rick was able to focus on more than keeping control of his brother's thrashing body he looked down into A.J.'s wide eyes.  He saw with disheartening certainty that A.J. was still lost in a nightmare world filled with nothing but people who cause pain.

 

     Rick felt a bit hypocritical assuring his brother no one was going to hurt him, while at the same time sitting on A.J.'s chest, but that's what he did.  Repeatedly, Rick said whatever soft words came to mind in an effort to break the terror-filled spell A.J. was under.

 

     A.J.'s physical stamina far outlasted anything Rick could have imagined.  For thirty minutes time the blond fought and bucked and kicked and cursed in an effort to gain his freedom.  It was fifteen minutes after midnight when the steam finally seeped out of A.J.'s engine.  Both Rick and his brother were soaked with sweat.  Their mother's delicate guest room had taken on a musky male odor, not unlike the way Rick imagined the Charger's locker room smelled by the end of the fourth quarter.  Yet even then, as A.J.'s energy slowly ebbed, the flashback retained its grip on him.  When he could no longer put forth any physical effort A.J. turned his head to the side.  His open eyes were glazed and unfocused.

 

     Cecilia took a few tentative steps into the room.  "Rick?"

 

     Rick cautiously released his brother's arms.  When that movement produced no repercussions he slid off A.J.'s body, but remained crouched by his side. 

 

     "Rick?"  Cecilia queried again as she moved closer.  "What's going on?"

 

     Rick stared down at his brother's vacant face.  "I don't know, Mom.  I've never seen a flashback last this long on anybody."

 

     Rick finally made eye contact with Cecilia.  Despite his steady voice he was unable to hide his fear.  "Fill a bowl with cool water and bring a towel."

 

     "What if that doesn't work?"

 

     "If that doesn't work, then we're gonna have to call Joel and Clay."

 

     Cecilia's tone was almost pleading in nature.  "Rick...given A.J.'s current state they'll put him on a psychiatric ward, you know they will."

 

     "I know, Mom," was all Rick could bring himself to say on the subject.  "Now please bring me that water and a towel."

 

     Cecilia gave her unresponsive youngest son one last heartbreaking look before rushing off to do as her oldest requested.  In five minutes time she was back with a deep bowl filled with cool water, two towels, and two washcloths.  Together, she and Rick bathed A.J.'s face, chest and arms.  They unconsciously fell into a pattern of talking to him.  Where Rick would leave off, Cecilia would pick up and begin again.  After ten long minutes of effort they finally began to see some response. 

 

     Much like the night in the motel, it took A.J. several minutes to make the transition from the world his mind had been trapped in to the safe world in which he now existed.   Rick allowed A.J. the time he needed as the blond's eyes flicked about the room.  When they finally focused on Rick's face, the lanky detective offered his brother a gentle smile. 

 

     "You back with me, A.J.?"

 

     A.J. swallowed hard and nodded.

 

     Rick looked across A.J.'s supine body at their mother.  "Mom, you wanna grab one of the blankets off the bed please."

 

     A.J. turned his head and glanced up at his mother.  It was obvious he was just realizing she was in the room with him.  Cecilia ran a hand down the side of his face and gave him a smile that matched Rick's in its gentleness. 

 

"Are you okay now, sweetheart?"

 

     A.J. closed his eyes and nodded once again.

 

     Cecilia reached behind her and pulled a blanket off the bed.  Rick threw it over his brother, who was now beginning to shake.  Rick wasn't sure if the violent tremors were because A.J.'s was cold, or if they were involuntary muscle spasms brought on by the mental trauma and physical stress of the past hour. 

 

     Rick slipped a hand underneath A.J.'s back.   Cecilia copied his movement when she realized what her oldest had in mind.  Rick caught his mother's eye.   "We'll help him sit against the wall on three, Mom.  Ready?"

 

     Cecilia nodded her head.

 

     "Okay.  One, two, three."

 

     When Rick said three, both he and his mother helped A.J. to a sitting position.  They were close enough to the wall that it took little effort to scoot him back until he could lean against it.  Cecilia rearranged the blanket so that it was wrapped firmly around him.  She and Rick watched with despair, as the shaking grew worse.  A.J. wouldn't look at them, and when Rick asked him twice if he was cold, his only response was a repeated, "I'm okay.  I'm okay."

 

     Cecilia left the room only long enough to pour a glass of orange juice.  When she returned, she held the glass to A.J.'s mouth and encouraged him to take a drink.  He was obviously in need of the liquid because he drained the glass dry. 

 

     "Do you want more?"  Cecilia asked.

 

     The blond head shook back and forth in a negative gesture.  Cecilia swiveled on her heels and sat the empty glass on the nightstand.  When she turned back around, A.J. was studying her with eyes shrouded in exhaustion. His voice was hoarse after having spent forty-five minutes yelling, screaming, and cursing. 

 

"Did I do that to you?"

     "Do what, honey?"

 

     "That bruise on your jaw.  Did I do that?"

 

     Cecilia glanced over A.J. to briefly look at Rick.  Though the silent exchange between Cecilia and her oldest lasted no more than five seconds, five seconds in which they both agreed to lie to A.J. as to how Cecilia's jaw became bruised and swollen, A.J. quickly came to his own conclusion.

 

     "It was me, wasn't it?"  He softly questioned.  "I hit you, didn't I?"

 

     Cecilia tenderly cupped the right side of his face and brushed thick hair out of his eyes.  "Honey...it doesn't matter.  You didn't mean to.  You didn't know what you were doing."

 

     Cecilia Simon couldn't recall the last time she'd seen her youngest son dissolve into tears.  It had probably been thirty-five years since he'd last cried in her presence.  But as she watched, his face crumpled with sorrow and despair while tears spilled over to run down his cheeks.    

 

     Cecilia gathered A.J. in her arms and pressed his head to her chest.  "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry.  Don't cry.  It doesn't hurt.  You didn't mean to.  Don't cry, honey."

 

     "I'm so sorry, Momma," A.J. sobbed.  "I'm so sorry."

 

     Tears ran down Cecilia's cheeks to mingle with her son's.  She rocked back and forth with him in her arms.  "Oh, A.J., I know you are.  I know.  Don't cry.  Please don't cry."

 

     "I don't know what's happening to me," A.J. pushed out between gasping sobs.  "I'm so scared.  I'm so scared I don't belong here anymore."

     "Shhh, A.J.  Shhh," Cecilia soothed.  She reached up and stroked a hand through A.J.'s tangled hair.   "Of course you belong here, sweetheart.  Of course you do."

 

     Cecilia could feel A.J.'s head shake back and forth against her chest.  "No, I don't.  I hit you.  And I hit Rick.  I hit him today when he came to pick me up from the house.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."

 

     Rick reached out a hand and began running it over the blanket that covered his brother’s back.  "A.J., it's okay.  It's okay."  Through his own unshed tears Rick repeated his mother's words.  "You didn't mean it, A.J.  I know you're sorry.  It's okay, little brother.  It's okay."