IF WISHES WERE HORSES
(This story is rated K. It is an alternate universe where Jim Ellison has been convicted of killing his mother and lives in a mental institute. Blair's reputation as being involved in junk science, study of sentinels, has cost him his academic career. This story is crossed over with The A-Team. Yes it is a rewrite of an older story and goes in a new direction.)
If wishes were horses
Beggars would ride.
Kneeling in the mud the boy rested his chin against his chest. Rain ran through his crew cut hair down into his face. His broad shoulders shook. Maybe he shivered from the cold or maybe he was crying. Detective Shore wasn't certain.
The boy's water sodden tee shirt stuck to his athletic frame. Rain washed away the blood from his jeans. A grim faced officer stood over the boy reading him his rights.
Detective Shore's attention went to the other boy. Cherubim faced and younger his blond hair plastered to his head the boy clung to an aristocratic looking grieving man.
"Please," the voice spoke in the manner of one of good breeding and wealth. Ignoring the fact that his expensive custom made suit had been ruined in the rain the man turned pleading light blue eyes towards Detective Shore. "Please, my wife," his voice broke. "You're not going to leave her out here. Grace shouldn't be lying in the mud. She just had her hair done."
Bowing his head the man sobbed. Sobbing the young boy buried his face against his father. The devastated husband and father, William Ellison, gently patted his youngest son.
Mentally Detective Shore cursed. This was going to be one of those nights when he'd have to stop at a bar to clear his head. As gently as he could he herded the shattered family away from the plastic tarp covered body on the muddy ground. "Let's go inside," he said kindly. "You don't want your son to catch pneumonia."
Behind them a uniformed officer pulled Grace Ellison's killer to his feet. Her eldest son was placed into the back of a squad car. They had already bagged the murder weapon. James Joseph Ellison's baseball bat still bloody with pieces of scalp and blond hair had been found where he'd thrown it through the open door of the garden shed.
James, Jim to his friends at school, sat with his head down. Water dripped down the end of his nose. Tears ran down his cheeks to his quivering mouth. In his mind he could still hear his mother screaming.
'JIM! NO! JIM!'
Did I kill her? Did I kill my mother?
His body shivered from the icy rain that had soaked through his clothing. The door of the police car opened. A burly uniformed black police officer tucked a blanket around his shoulders. "Why don't I dry off your hair and face?" He spoke in a soft baritone voice.
Jim shook his head. He kept his eyes on the blanket that now covered his shivering body. Mucus dripped down from his nose to his upper lip. "Did I kill my mother?" His whisper escaped hoarse from his raw throat. "I was looking up at the bird's nest. I lost myself." His body shuddered as a sob tore through him.
"I heard her screaming for me to stop. Please tell me I didn't kill my mother. I didn't take my mediation. I didn't like the taste. I'm sorry." Sobs racked his body. "I'm sorry mother—I want my mother."
Young Officer Joel Taggart's mouth went dry. His dark eyes looked back at his partner. "Lord in heaven," he whispered. He stood up gently closing the patrol car door. "Kid just confessed to killing his mother."
Rain drummed on Officer Malcolm Everett's plastic covered uniformed hat. He shook his head. "Rich kid had everything and he kills his mother. With the evidence and his confession if he's tried as an adult he'll be given the death sentence."
Joel looked back at the small figure huddled in the back of their squad car. "Jim talked about not taking his medication and blacking out."
Everett's eyes rolled. "Well, if he's a head case and IF the old man decides to help him, rich kid Jim Ellison will spend the rest of his life in a mental hospital."
Through the closed squad car door and the heavy rain drumming on the metal roof of the police car, Jim had heard everything. He lay down on the backseat. Drawing up his legs on the seat Jim began to rock. Guilt darkened his soul. A single thought ran through his troubled mind. I KILLED MY MOTHER.