A/N: This is a companion piece to my story “Lost”, but could be read alone. This is the first chapter of what is insisting on becoming a much larger work. This part is basically the events of “Lost” from Blair’s POV, as well as back history for Blair. More action to come in subsequent parts.

Found

I couldn’t believe it. There I stood in the doorway of a child's room on the 3rd floor of the Cascade Center for Emotionally Disabled Children after having been hastily hired and sent to this particular floor. There were expertly drawn pictures of me all over his room, and there, in the bed, in a zone to beat all zones, was the very boy I’ve been seeing in my dreams for almost eight years. I had been looking for Jimmy for all that time, but, as I stood there in that doorway, I realized that until just that moment I always had just the smallest doubt that he was real…almost a small hope that he wasn’t, that there wasn’t a suffering child who needed me, whom it took me so long to find. All my energy for all that time was spent in finding him, yet there was still a niggling doubt…until I stepped into that doorway.

“Jimmy,” I whispered, “I didn’t completely think you were real.”

He didn’t move; he didn’t blink. He just lay on the bed, so still, and stared at the ceiling. I knew I could help him. I moved to his side, touched his hand and said, “Come on, man, come on back now.” I put my hand on the boy’s head, and Jimmy looked at me. The child immediately turned his head toward me, and though his eyes were still a little unfocused, he had no trouble recognizing me.

“Hi Chief,” he said, and reached out to be hugged, like I had always hugged him in my dreams.

It was so natural for me to hear Jimmy talk, and for him to want to be touched, that it took me a while to realize why all the staff members in his room were doing the best imitations of goldfish that I had ever seen. One of the staff, the forty-something lady who had told me that she had my first assignment, seemed to recognize my confusion. She came to stand close to me and said in a hushed voice, “That’s the first time we’ve ever heard him speak.”

He always could, of course. He spoke to me all the time in my dreams. It just took so much of his concentration to manage his over-active senses, something he was never meant to do alone, that he couldn’t spare the energy needed to speak in “the real world”. He couldn’t handle casual touches either, for the same reason, so I understood why the staff looked like they were about to collectively faint from shock.

He finally let go, and looked at me. “Chief, you’re here? You’re really here?” He looked around his room. “Not in the jungle?”

“No, buddy,” I got him to lie back down, and rubbed his hand as I spoke. “Not in the jungle this time. We’re right here, in your room.”

Jimmy yawned and looked exhausted. I learned later that he had been in a zone for the last five hours, but zoning wasn’t the same as sleep, and this little boy desperately needed some rest.

“Go to sleep now, big guy. I’m working here now, so I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He smiled and was asleep almost immediately.

By that time, the staff’s shock had worn off and curiosity had set in with a vengeance. It was all I could do to get them all out of Jimmy’s room before the never-ending string of question began.

“Chief?”

“Jungle?”

“Jimmy can talk?” The questions bombarded me simultaneously.

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I set about answering their questions, but I thought for sure that I would be laughed out of the room as soon as I started talking about blue jungles and conversations with a child I’d never met. I no doubt would have been, had it not been for two things: the recent events in Jimmy’s room, and the pictures of me all over Jimmy’s wall (and apparently scattered throughout the rest of the facility). As it was, I had a spell-bound audience as we sat in the living room area for the next several hours while I told them my story

The first time I dreamed of Jimmy was about eight years ago. I suddenly found myself in a blue jungle, and heard a small child crying. As I searched the jungle for the sound, I finally found a young boy, about 4 years old, huddled by a tree, crying like he was completely lost in the world…lost TO the world. I somehow knew this child’s history, like an adult awareness of all his memories.

He had always been a child that had trouble processing sensory input. Lights were always too bright, sounds were always too loud. His mother had to constantly try to structure his environment so that he wasn’t overwhelmed by these things. She couldn’t have possibly understood why her child was such an extraordinarily fussy toddler: why he screamed in the presence of bright lights, new noises, or strong smells; why he refused to eat all but the blandest of foods; why he constantly ripped off his clothing, even in public. From his memories of her, she seemed to do the best she could, and actually helped him quite a bit. But, despite her best efforts, he’d still have sensory spikes and sometimes would zone on a particular sense…an unusual sound, a colorful object, or a peculiar smell.

To his parents, this was terrifying. They didn’t know what was going on with their child. His father dealt with it by distancing himself from his son, leaving the child’s mother to deal with him by herself. By the time Jimmy was 3 ½, there was a new baby brother on the scene, and his mother, being completely overwhelmed, left the home. I can’t imagine that she anticipated that her leaving would make things so much worse, or that Jimmy’s father would abandon him, too. She couldn’t have known that he would put their son in a residential facility for handicapped children.

Jimmy was labeled autistic, and was all but forgotten by this family. The new environment only made things worse, and he drifted away into a sensory nightmare. Somewhere in all this confusion, he managed to somehow call me.

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Months went by, and I hadn’t dreamedof the poor lonely child in the jungle. I almost convinced myself that it wasn’t real. There wasn’t really a child out there who needed me, who was so lost. Then the dream came to me again.

He was in the jungle again, crying again, alone again. I found him and held him, and told him everything was going to be okay. Somehow, in the dream, I believed that. As soon as I woke up, I tried to find him. I had no idea where to start. I didn’t know his last name, because he didn’t know. I didn’t know what city, or even what state, the child was in, because he didn’t know. All I knew was that he was in a residential facility, but he didn’t know the name.

So began my search of all the residential facilities in the United States. At least I hoped he was in the United States. He had an American accent, as did all the people in his memories, so I went with that assumption. The thought that he might be in another country altogether was one I just couldn’t deal with right then.

"" "" "" ""

Meanwhile, I continued to dream of him. There was no set pattern as to the frequency of the dreams. I imagine they happened when life in the “real world” got to be too much for Jimmy, for whatever reason, and he retreated to the jungle…probably during one of his zones. When he went there, I was drawn there too. I got to know him quite well…we would talk, and just spend time together, and that alone seemed to help him. I got the impression from him that he couldn’t or didn’t talk in the real world, but he talked to me.

I remember the first time we got past the crying. He looked around, saw that we were in a jungle, took one look at me, with my long hair and colorful clothing and decided I must be the chief of the local Native American tribe, and asked “Are you an Indian chief?” His mother had often read to him from various books about native tribes, especially those of South America. It must have been a special interest of hers and she passed that along to her son. I told him that I wasn’t, but his mind was made up. Therefore, I’ve been “Chief” for the last eight years.

The more I dreamt of Jimmy, the harder I searched for him in the waking world. I started with the all the residential facilities in the state of Virginia, which was where I was at the time. I was a student at the University there, when I could afford classes. When I couldn’t, I worked at whatever job I could find, so that I could save up for more classes. I was an Anthropology major, and the fact of someone having all five senses heightened to a degree far above “normal” struck a cord with me. I’d heard about something like that before. So, I started to research when I wasn’t in class, working, or calling residential facilities. I finally found what I needed. Sentinels! Jimmy was a sentinel. Each time I found out something new, I couldn’t wait to share it with Jimmy. We learned a lot about Sentinels and Guides … Jimmy and I…over the course of the next eight years.

The search for Jimmy didn’t go nearly as smoothly as my research on sentinels. I had called every facility in Virginia. Several institutions had autistic boys named Jimmy, about the right age. But, when I tried to narrow the search by giving a physical description and as much background as I knew, no one matched. I then found a library that had phone books for other states, and I started looking farther away. I found three possible matches in separate Eastern states, and started my long journey. I finished the semester at my current school, and headed to the first state with a possible match. I had to stop along the way to work, to get enough money to travel, and to eventually continue taking classes. I thought about just dropping out of college altogether, but colleges and universities were the best place to find information about sentinels. I also found a few professors who had heard about them, and were intrigued enough by my story to help me research, using materials that would not have been available to a lowly student.

So went my life. I’d work for a while, travel until my money ran out, work some more and enroll in a nearby college for a semester. All the while visiting hopeful residential facilities, and even working in some, so that I could get a better sense of what Jimmy’s life might be like outside the jungle. When I wasn’t doing any of that, I was calling facilities farther away. As I found possible matches, I headed West.

I used every clue I could get from Jimmy. He mentioned once that there were lots of trees where he was, and mountains. That eliminated quite a few places. I’d ask him about the weather, and it seemed to rain a lot…eliminating some more cities and states. So it went for the next eight years.

"" "" "" ""

As I finished looking in Oregon, and entered the state of Washington, I felt an undeniable sense of urgency. My meetings in the jungle with Jimmy were even more sporadic than normal. Even when he was there, he was agitated, and didn’t stay long. With what little time we had together, he pleaded for help, saying that something was desperately wrong, and that he needed me to find him…now!

I had found precious little about sentinel children in all of my research. But I did find references to sentinels during puberty. Apparently, heightened senses and whacked out hormones didn’t really go together very well, and the young sentinel and his guide had a tough time ahead of them. I found disturbing citations of sentinels dying during this time if their guide couldn’t break them out of unusually long zones. I found no mention of what would happen to a pubescent sentinel with no guide.

I had a sense that I was close. On one of his short and increasingly rare visits, Jimmy mentioned that he thought he was in Cascade, Washington. The teacher had mentioned it in school. I drove straight through to Cascade. Somehow, I didn’t feel I had time to stop. No more research for a while. I had to find Jimmy. There was only one residential facility for autistic kids in Cascade, so I made my way there. I went into the administration office, intending to ask about Jimmy in person, and maybe ask for a job as well. I was completely out of money, and despite the sense of urgency, I would have to get a job for a while if I needed to continue my travels.

The director wasn’t immediately available, so I thought I’d apply for that job while I was waiting. As I stepped into the Personnel office, and got the attention of the lady there, she took one look at me, gasped, and told me, on the spot, that I was hired. I hadn’t even told her my name yet, let alone fill out an application. I found out later that she had one of Jimmy’s pictures of me tacked up on the wall next to her desk. She sent me to the third floor, and told me they would know why, and I was ushered into Jimmy’s room. My search was finally over. The sense of dread eased, and I knew things had suddenly gotten better.